#he'd be the charismatic muscle

[maximura]

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Yakuza x Reader (III)

A whole lot of confusion as to whether Reader and her yakuza friend are actually dating. After much back and forth and a coworker being threatened, the awaited confession might finally take place.

Bonus part: Kazuya tells Reader about his and Daitou's past and how they ended up working for the yakuza.

Content: female reader, obsessive behavior, violence

Tags: @vinivave @ansy-tea @evvie8 @angelicbunnee @jingerbreadoutofstock @azukoya @randomlyblues @alien-consummation @neverlandlostchild @mimiemie @toji-whore @cloudie-skay @lilkittenmitten

[Part 2] | [Part 4] | [Yakuza Masterlist]

The items are scanned and Kazuya finishes paying. He looks back, searching for Daitou, and finds him wandering among the narrow aisles of magazines and manga. They'd stopped by the konbini at the train station after their job.

"Here's your bentou." The blonde man extends a small box, eyeing his friend suspiciously. "Say, do you have an upset stomach or something? You're uglier than usual." 

Daitou thanks him with a nod, but doesn't take the neatly packaged food. He's idly playing with the cover of a romance volume, bending and straightening its corner.

"Nah, nothing like that. Just, ya know, feels a bit like (Y/N)'s been avoiding me. She hurries straight home after work and barely waves hi. I thought we'd do more things together now that we're dating."

Kazuya nearly spits out the soda he opened while listening to Daitou's troubles. He snorts and quickly wipes his mouth. 

"Wait, are you serious? You actually asked her out? And she said yes??"

Daitou thinks back to the time he gifted you your stalker's finger and teeth, the way you defended him, and the way you quietly walked home and almost held hands. That pretty much made it official, didn't it? So he confidently nods to his utterly baffled partner in crime.

"You little rascal, you! Who would've thought you had it in you?!" He cheerfully slaps Daitou's back and wraps his arm around his neck. The dark haired man blushes and scratches his cheek awkwardly. "You should've told me earlier!"

True. Between the two of them, Kazuya has always been extremely charismatic and popular with women. His perfectly combed blonde hair, his sparkling designer suits, his luxuriously elegant cologne. The handsome features and assertive smile. More than once he'd been approached by modeling agencies, and he likes to joke his lust for violence stopped him from living the glamorous life. In comparison, Daitou has the opposite effect on people. The room will empty if he steps inside. He's unnervingly tall, with bulging muscles, has multiple scars crossing his face, and his prosthetic eye always ends up twisted in the strangest position, causing him to look like he's only missing the straight jacket. Everyone is shocked upon hearing about their friendship. 

So it makes sense that Kazuya would have the required experience to offer him decent advice when it comes to (Y/N).

"Listen here, if there's one thing you should know, it's that women like a guy that fights for them. You gotta show them you care. What can you offer that other guys can't?"

The tall man listens intently, with a concentrated frown as if taking mental notes. He's not entirely sure who he should fight in this ordeal, but he doesn't want to embarrass himself in front of Kazuya, so he nods vehemently to his words.

"That's the short preview. If you have any more questions, just come over later. I'm piss tired, so I'll go home and have the nap of a lifetime." He yawns deeply to showcase his exhaustion and slowly walks away, throwing his hand in a lazy wave. 

The yakuza remains standing, still ruminating over the words of wisdom generously offered by the expert himself. Is he to randomly beat up people on the street as you watch? Won't Boss be angry if he attacks civilians? He gasps in realization. Perhaps this is what Kazuya meant. What kind of man is he if he can't even go against his Boss? So what if Boss won't like it? He has to prove himself to you. 

With newfound determination, he clenches his fists and gazes out of the window. 

That's when he notices you. You seem to be returning from work. Even more - and this causes his jaw to tighten in anger - some unknown man is walking next to you, cheerfully chitchatting and gesturing. 

That settles it. 

"You really didn't have to walk me home." You laugh clumsily to the man at your side.

A new coworker recently joined your company, and you've been asked to show him the ropes. You gradually discovered you had quite a lot in common, throughout your ample opportunities to gossip and talk leisurely. Your schedule isn't as packed nowadays, given you'll show up earlier and leave later.

Normally you'd prefer to be in your warm bed as soon as possible, but you've been feeling rather tense since the incident with Daitou. During his heated exchange with Kazuya, you've heard mentions of 'being liked by women' and 'having a crush on someone'. You thought it involved you and you nervously awaited further explanations from Daitou himself, but on the way back he was completely silent. You didn't have the courage to bring it up, so you assumed there must've been a misunderstanding somewhere along the way. 

Which, after all, would make plenty of sense. What business would a yakuza have with you? He's already shown much more courtesy than it was required of him. Hoping he'd also confess his feelings on top of everything was downright ridiculous and you're embarrassed to admit you'd harbored such cheesy fantasies to begin with. 

"Don't sweat it. You might not know", the coworker warns with lowered voice, "but this area is reeking of gangsters. I'm surprised you've been fine so far, but you should be more careful."

"O-oh...I see..." You glance at him and hold back a smirk. You doubt he could protect you from Daitou or Kazuya, but you appreciate his chivalry nonetheless. 

There's an uncomfortable pause as you stand in your doorframe, having reached the intended destination. The man hasn't left yet, waiting expectantly. He lowers his head towards yours and you swiftly slam the door, muttering something about an emergency. 

"Cute." He thinks to himself as he chuckles and steps away.

There's always a next time.

The coworker heads towards the train station in a relaxed strut. At the first intersection, however, he feels his clothes being pulled and he finds himself abruptly shoved in an empty room by an unknown assailant. 

Daitou easily lifts him up by his collar and nonchalantly throws him in a chair. It seems to be a small storage unit, possibly belonging to one of the shops. 

"What's your business with (Y/N)?" He barks.

"Huh? I should be the one asking-" The man pauses for a second, going over his conversations with you. "Could it be that you're the stalker she mentioned?"

Naturally, you had left out the part where your stalker was carefully packaged and dumped in a place unknown. To your coworker, he was very much still alive and a potential threat.

The yakuza is taken aback. 

"I'm her boyfriend!" He retorts angrily. 

"Bullshit. She doesn't have a boyfriend."

Another slap to the face. Daitou's cheeks are becoming increasingly red and he runs his fingers through his hair, attempting to calm down. Why, this son of a...

He marches to one of the metal shelves behind, grabbing his tool belt. Simultaneously, the door opens and Kazuya sheepishly peeks his head in. His blonde locks are ruffled and one can tell he's freshly woken up. 

"Yo, I just realized I might've been too metaphorical with you back at the store so I've been texting you, but you didn't-...Wait, why is there a guy handcuffed to the chair?"

He crosses his arms, with a habitual scolding glare towards his friend. 

"I just caught this cockroach flirting with (Y/N)! Went all the way to her place!" Daitou whines, his face full of indignation.

"Of course you know where she lives, you fucking stalker." The coworker exclaims bitterly. 

"Watch your mouth buddy, he ain't no stalker!" Kazuya straightens his back and approaches the mysterious man. "If he's right, and you've been messing with his woman...We ain't letting that go. Today you learn why no one fucks with the yakuza." 

The two men exchange a knowing look.

You drop yourself on the sofa and groan. Tomorrow will certainly be strange. Was the coworker trying to kiss you just now? You'll have to think of a polite way to turn him down next shift. Is it because you're not interested, or because you're still hoping to have a chance with Daitou? You slap your cheeks vigorously, trying to pull yourself out of such thoughts. 

You suddenly notice the foreign wallet sticking out of your bag. Your  coworker had dropped it earlier today while running for the train, and you offered to throw it in your bag to save time. Except you forgot to return it.

You check your phone. It hasn't been that long, so maybe you can still reach him if you hurry. Without much contemplation, you pluck the wallet and sprint out.

As you dash past the buildings, you have the idea of calling the man and asking him to wait instead. Why run like a madman? You stop and rest a hand against the wall, trying to catch your breath. Ugh, you've been so scattered today. This should've been the obvious choice, instead you sprang out. Silly. 

From around the corner you can make out the familiar wails you've learned to ignore. Whoever the yakuza tortures is not your problem. You are about to scurry away, yet something about these whimpers feels odd. No...Could it be?

You tiptoe down the vacant alleyway and try to catch a glimpse inside through the small, dirty window. As a matter of fact, it is your beloved coworker. Kazuya is holding his arm against a table, with the fingers forcefully fanned out, and Daitou has a blade secured over the pinky finger. 

You elbow yourself against the door in a theatrical entry. 

"What the hell are you guys doing?! That's my coworker!" You yell.

Daitou freezes, and Kazuya instantly releases his grasp. They turn to you, shocked.

"Stay out of it, (Y/N), this is to be settled among men. This bastard insulted your boyfriend, we can't let it slide!" Kazuya regains his composure and defends his cause fervently, pointing to the man that's now sobbing and crying uncontrollably. 

"Boyfriend?" You question, mouth agape. 

The blonde man stares at you. 

"You're...You're dating, aren't you?"

"Since when?" You demand, confused and upset.

Both you and Kazuya turn to Daitou for answers.

"I'm going to ask you one more time. Did you actually ask her out, Daitou? Did you say it out loud?" Kazuya's voice breaks in exasperation.

"W-well, I didn't...I didn't say it, but I thought..." the man's eyes dart between you and his friend. He gulps. "W-we almost held hands, didn't we?"

Overwhelmed with anger, the blonde stomps over to the shelves and kicks one to make his point, loudly bemoaning his friend's lack of social awareness. He can't believe he went along with his nonsense. Him, of all people! He should've anticipated it. 

As the coworker weeps and Kazuya continues his foul monologue, you can't help the blush that's now burning across your face. You fidget anxiously next to the tattooed man.

"Y-you thought we were dating?"

"Sorry for not making it clear." Daitou is once again twiddling with his prosthetic eye, dejected. "Is it too late to ask you out now? Because I do like you a lot..."

"Since you put it so nicely...I can't really say no~" Your ears are bright red and you're twirling your hair. Is it truly happening? Are you dreaming? Everything feels snug and fuzzy and the butterflies are swarming your stomach. 

You don't have time to enjoy your romantic encounter, as Kazuya is now behind you, clearing his throat.

"Alright, you lovebirds, what about this one here, then?" 

You suddenly remember your coworker and an icy cold flashes through your body. 

"Oh God, how will I explain this at work? I'll get fired!" You bite your nails in terror. You can already visualize the slip of unemployment. The long lines at the Job Center, you and the homeless. Panic begins to build up. 

Until Daitou's large hands rest on your shoulders. He's unexpectedly warm. 

"Don't worry about it, (Y/N). I'll have a word with Boss, and we can get you a job here. This way we can spend more time together", he suggests with childish enthusiasm. 

You glance up at him, moved by his soothing words.

"I wouldn't want to bother you like that."

"Hey, it's my fault you ended up in this situation. You can leave everything to me." He reassures you proudly.

"That didn't answer my damn question." Kazuya points out, annoyed.

"Can't we just kill him or something? He did call me a stalker, and I'm still upset about that..."

Daitou stretches and sighs in boredom, pondering the options. Once he's decided on the outcome, he shoos you away lovingly. You don't need to see this part. 

Bonus: Daitou's backstory 

"Oh, right, how did it go with your tickets?"

Kazuya is walking beside you, hands in pockets. Every now and then he removes the cigarette from his mouth to tap away the piling ash.

"Well, I still have both kidneys, but I won't be swimming in cash for the next months at least." You respond, slouching your shoulders dramatically for the effect. 

"Flying abroad is always expensive. Unless, I don't know, you book years in advance."

"Yeah. I should've looked earlier, but I wasn't sure about my work schedule. At least I get to see my family and friends for Christmas." 

After a few more steps in silence, you glance up at the blonde man. He notices your curious stare and raises his eyebrows, as if encouraging you to speak up. 

"What about you? Will you be going home for the holidays?"

He grins at your question and proudly places a hand on his chest.

"This is my home, actually! I was born and raised in this very neighborhood."

"Really? Was it not a yakuza quarter before?" Your eyes widen at his statement. 

"It was." Kazuya blows some of his smoke in your direction and you cough lightly. "You know the soapland further down the street?"

You nod.

"Mom used to work there. One of the clients got her pregnant and she found out too late. She had a room upstairs, and I just kind of tagged along. The other girls looked after me, too."

You recall one instance when Kazuya received a phone call about some drunkard causing a ruckus at the brothel, and he shot up without a word, rushed out and returned with bloodied knuckles. At the time, you'd assumed he's a client himself and maybe got attached to one of the girls. Now it makes sense. You're a little embarrassed of your obvious prejudice. If he grew up there, it must be his way of showing gratitude to the workers who loved him despite the circumstances. 

"Oh, what about Daitou, then? Is he from the area, too?"

The man frowns and purses his lips thoughtfully. After a moment, his features soften up again and he sighs.

"I suppose you're his girlfriend, after all. It's also not a secret per se..."

Your ears perk up at the strange reaction to your inquiry. 

"I mean, it's just a bit of a grim topic. No one knows for sure. Boss found him on the streets years ago, when he was a wee kid." 

He presses his thumb and index finger together, emphasizing the small size to you. 

"I don't know all the details, just what the Seniors told me - I was a kid myself back then - but it was pretty bad. Had no shoes on, scratches and cuts all over. His left eye was swollen and terribly infected, that's how he lost it, actually. Boss felt sorry for him, so he took him in.

They did try to ask him for parents or relatives, but apparently he wouldn't speak at all. Took him like a year to finally open his mouth. Even now, if you ask him anything about his past, he just pretends he didn't hear you. So maybe don't bring it up to him."

You shake your head along, urging him to continue with more details. Kazuya seems to warm up to the memories and slows down, indulging in the recollection. 

"Anyways, one day Boss' car is followed and he gets shot in the shoulder. Some snot-nosed trainees from the rival gang. They hadn't even gotten their pins yet, wanted to impress their older brothers I guess.

Daitou heard about it and went after them. One of our Seniors - he's a tough guy alright, been with the Family for decades - he told me he was sweating like mad when they found him. Daitou was just a teen at the time, but he butchered those guys up so bad they couldn't tell them apart anymore. Even bit a few bullets, and still kept going, like a crazed animal. The adults were freaking out. They didn't expect him to be this strong.

I suspect they were pretty afraid of him, you know? They were probably thinking, "if one day he has it out for us, we're done for!", so they told Boss they should kick him out. But at this point Daitou was like his own son, so he laughed and said, "What's the matter with ya, he does your dirty work and you wanna get rid of him?! If the boy wants to fight, let him!", and he arranged for Daitou to join the Family officially. I was recruited around the same time.

We didn't get along at first, I mean, they warned me to stay away because he's crazy and also Boss' favorite. He didn't hang out with anyone. He had his own jobs, the mercenary stuff no one else wanted to deal with.

You might not believe it, but back then I was an angry, stubborn asshole. It didn't sit well with me that this guy was out there, doing his own thing. I had a reputation myself, before I dropped out of high school I was pretty much undefeated. I thought I'd see it with my own eyes, this all-powerful jackass even the Seniors avoided."

You smile faintly, trying to imagine a young Kazuya without the expensive, flashy suit and polished appearance.

"So one evening I just walked up to him and told him to join me outside. Didn't even give him a speech, just rammed my fist into his face. This was my signature move, you know, I can't even count how many guys I knocked out with this punch. Straight into the jaw, sends your brain spinning. Whew, and this guy? He didn't even flinch! Just stood there and looked at me like I was dumb. I was pissed off at this point, you can imagine, it felt like he was mocking me. So I yelled we ain't done until one of us gives up. 

He understood what I wanted and finally fought me earnestly. Hell, he even knocked some of my teeth out. This one here's an implant. Mad expensive. Anyhow, as much as it hurt my pride, I'd lost fair and square. So I got up, wiped the blood, and asked him to come grab a drink with me. My treat. 

You should've seen his face, (Y/N). I think it was the first time I've witnessed him smile. 'Really? Can I? Are you sure?' He was like a stray dog after you've thrown him some leftovers. Kept that dumb grin the whole night. You could've given him a clown hat and people would've paid to see the circus. 

That's when I realized this poor bastard probably just wanted a friend. The next day I went to pick him up again and he was beaming like a princess. Heh. Afterwards he started following me around and eventually Boss called me in. I thought I got into trouble or something, even brought a bunch of gauze pads in case I needed to slice off my finger. Turns out he'd heard of us becoming pals, and he asked me to maybe attend Daitou every now and then because he always leaves a mess and everyone's too scared to deal with him. We've been teamed together ever since."

You realize you've been standing in the same spot ever since Kazuya begun talking, completely entranced by his story. He chuckles upon seeing your expression and ruffles your hair. 

"Man, I sure rambled a lot. Sorry about that. In any case, that was my piece about Daitou. I'm sure you already know this, but he's not a bad guy. Just has a twisted sense of loyalty. Once he finds someone to serve, he doesn't see anything else.

Hell, I'm his closest friend and I'm convinced he wouldn't hesitate to kill me if it was for Boss."

Upon further consideration, he smiles and winks at you.

"Or for you. Especially you."

[multifandomimagin3s]

Realising they accidentally hurt you while making out - 141 + König

Requested by Anon

some angst, fluff, mentions of sexual themes but nothing explicit.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Gentle isn't really in his vocabulary - he's six feet of pure muscle and strength and while he tries to make a conscious effort to reign himself in, he can sometimes get a bit carried away in the moment.

For him to be physically intimate with you on any level, you'd have to be close to him; in this scenario, you'd have worked your way into his heart.

Doesn't like being vulnerable, point-blank.

But once he realises that he'd hurt you, someone he cares so deeply for, he feels guilty. Beyond guilty.

Notices the bruising on your wrists from his solid grip, when he'd been holding them above your head during a passionate kiss, and feels his stomach drop.

Even as you insist to him that you're okay, he'd be distant.

With all of his past experiences - with his Father, his Mother, and his childhood as a whole - he internally and solemnly swore that he would never lay a finger on you or hurt you, in any way.

And now? He feels like he's done just that.

Would probably take him a while to get out of that headspace - you knew that trying to push him wouldn't help but still checked up on him; which in turn made him feel more guilty, you were so kind to him and deep down he felt like he didn't deserve such kindness.

You would be cooking a meal for the both of you, when he would wrap his arms around your waist from behind, wordlessly pressing his head into the crook of your neck.

"'m sorry." He was apologising not just for the bruises, but for everything - he had been hiding himself away, and the lack of intimacy was borderline painful for the both of you.

You turned around in his embrace, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling you to him in a hug. He stiffened, before his arms tightened around you slightly, as if he was making sure that you were still here with him.

You were, and you silently promised that you weren't going anywhere.

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny is your typical 'class clown' - he's charismatic in such a way that you can't help but laugh along with him, and his energy just makes him fun to be around.

The only time he really gets serious is when he's working but even then he's always one to crack jokes with the Team - namely, with Ghost (who 9/10 pretends to be annoyed at the Sergeant, rather than admitting he enjoys his company).

He always misses you so much when he's deployed - to be honest even if you were also in the military, if you both got sent on different missions or were even apart for a day, he'd still feel like he hadn't seen you in forever.

So when he does see you again, he's very passionate in showing you just how much he missed you.

It wasn't until you winced from how hard he was gripping onto your hip during a make-out session that he pulled away, panicked eyes searching your form for the source of the pain.

His eyes fell onto the slightly discoloured blotches on your hip, and he instantly frowned, scooping you into a hug.

"Aw I'm so sorry, Darlin', I didnae realise I was hurtin' ye."

The make-out session was completely abandoned, as he rubbed your hip gently, kissing your forehead.

Makes mental notes to keep his strength reigned in in future, and feels absolutely awful when he sees the finger-shaped bruises forming on your skin :(

Definitely would turn up with a bouquet of flowers for you, orders your favourite food and dotes on you for days after it - no matter how much you may protest, he's going to treat you the best he can.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Another guy who's very passionate when he's been away from you for a long period of time.

He misses you more than you'll ever know - he even carries a little photo of you in the pocket of his tactical vest.

Can get a bit excitable when making out, picking you up under your thighs, pushing you against the wall - a little bit too forcefully.

He notices your breath hitching and it takes him a second to realise that it wasn't sexual, but he had in fact accidentally knocked the back of your head against the wall with the momentum.

Immediately places you down on the bed, apologies continuously flowing out of his mouth as he pulls you to his chest, cradling your head.

It didn't hurt that much, more of a dull ache, but in his eyes he might as well have fractured your skull.

Like Soap, he dotes on you for ages after it, promising that in future he'll be more careful with his strength.

Captain John Price

He's been in the military for a long time so he likes to think that he has a good awareness of his strength, and is always mindful around you.

He doesn't treat you like you're fragile, but he's never rough with you - unless you ask, that is.

I reckon that he's incredibly good at reading people, so if he noticed even a slight hint of discomfort or pain on your features during a make-out session, he'd immediately stop and ask if you were alright.

If you voiced your discomfort or pain, he'd feel guilty for hurting you in the first place, hands delicately massaging any sore spots.

He treats you like royalty anyways, but after this? He'd practically on bended knee, would do anything you asked.

Wouldn't ask to continue with your make-out session, waiting for you to be comfortable first; he'd never want to make you feel pressured or uncomfortable with him.

All in all, he's very mature about it, apologising profusely - your happiness and safety is paramount to him.

König

König is always hyper aware of his sheer size and strength - he knows he's big and strong, it's what makes him so good at his job in the first place.

It's also why he's always so cautious around you, he practically treats you like you're made of glass.

Even if you're in the military or part of KorTac, he's still going to be hesitant to spar with you for fear of hurting you in the process.

If he hurt you while making out, he'd honestly want to curl up in a ball and cry.

Doesn't matter if it's a tiny bruise or a scrape, he's going to completely shut down; it'd be like how he was when you initially met him, the closed-off mercenary who doesn't speak to anyone and keeps to himself.

He tries to make it clear that he's not angry at you - quite the opposite, he's livid with himself for not being able to control his own strength.

Like Ghost, it would take him a while to come around - but you would have to make the first move.

He would be sitting on your shared bed, head in his hands as he licks his wounds, inwardly cursing himself; his sniper hood would be back on, as if he was trying to hide himself away from the world.

Coming to stand between his legs, you'd gently place your hand over his, encouraging him to lift his head up to look at you.

"It's okay, I'm alright."

He said nothing, hands coming to rest on your hips, as he pressed his forehead to your stomach. You encircled your arms around his broad shoulders and his tentatively wrapped around your waist.

He'd eventually come around but it would take a lot of convincing to get him out of the mindset that he was going to end up hurting you again.

Poor guy just loves you so much :(

[wyvernest]

Oh my god I saw your requests were open and I love eveything you write<33

I See many fics where Miguel is the one who is jealous, but what if the tables turned and the reader is the one who is jealous, maybe she’s a civilian and she feels like he’d be better of with a spider person who understands his work better? I’d love to see him feel sad that his love feels that way can you tell I like pain lol

Thank you so so much<33 wishing you all the best for your exam! I’m sure you’ll do amazing!

shameless

pairing: bf!miguel x f!civilian!reader

warnings: jealousy, fluff, suggestiveness, public display of affection

summary: you're worried that miguel might be better off with a spider-person, but he is eager to reassure you (and everyone else) that you're more than enough

a/n:thank you and i hope you like it! im thinking of making a part 2 with balcony sex above nueva york let me know if yall would want it<3

divider by @cafekitsune

You are aware of the so called disadvantages of him being your boyfriend.

He is handsome, no doubt. But that means a lot more than being able to watch him work around the HQ, swinging your legs and wondering how you landed him.

It means having unfamiliar eyes linger over him more than you'd be able to tolerate. Flirty looks and remarks thrown at him like he's magnetic, regardless of everyone knowing he's with you.

Even walking through the glassy hallways and cloud scratching towers of Spider Society is a stab in the heart. 

Noticing all the single spider-women look him up and down, eyelids heavy with the seconds that passed as they unabashedly stared at his physique; his broad back, the bulky arms and toned thighs, at the way the muscles underneath his suit rippled with every heavy step he took, not letting his weight drop lazily on each foot but rather walking with the energetic strength of a man with insane stamina.

You couldn't stop a venomous surge of anxiety mixed with the most sour amount of jealousy from dripping into your nerves as you met their gazes, seeing how beautiful and charismatic they all were.

How agile and gracious they were, swinging by just to blow Miguel a fleeting kiss.

And you certainly couldn't stop wondering if he'd be better off with one of them. One of his kind. One that would be able to swing alongside him, to practise with him, to accompany him.

One that would understand him better than perhaps you ever could.

You know he loves you, or else you wouldn't be together. But the idea that he maybe even once looked at all the women lining up for him and thought they'd be interesting to try is gutting you out.

And he starts noticing it.

Of course.

He isn't oblivious to how you straightened your back or curled your arms around his when another spider woman passed you with flirty looks or remarks. How you'd shut down and become awfully quiet when you two would get home following one of these encounters.

He couldn't bear to see you unhappy. Some of the times he even felt the sharp sting of guilt poking into his heart, knowing that he was the reason others were upsetting you.

More so, your bond.

You are heading towards his lab at HQ, walking beside him, heart pounding intermittently with anxiety and bubbling anger. Eyes darting around you swiftly, like those of a feral feline making sure no other animal is preparing to jump her and snatch her food from her.

Suddenly, two flowy silhouettes shoot mile long webs far up into a tunnel bridge, only to drop down and swing right past you and Miguel. 

Purring out a simultaneous "¡Hola, Miguel! Looking good today!", reaching their hands down to him while boasting perfect balance with their webs tied to their ankles, they disappear into the distanced skyscrapers of Nueva York, with echoing giddy laughters.

Miguel doesn't move his head in their direction, already way too familiar with such interactions, and already too interested in hearing only one particular ¡Hola, Miguel! - yours.

Only your focus isn't on him. Your mind is running wild with how talented they seemed to be, how flexible and enticing. Already imagining him, playfully swinging with them, his force and precision perfectly matching their grace and melodic rhythm.

A dance you could never participate in.

What you also fail to see is the frown on his face as he turns to you, intrigued and finally ready to catch you off guard.

"¿Qué pasó, amor?" (What happened, love?) He leaned into you, dragging you by your arm to stop you behind a glass pillar. 

You're hauled out of your reverie, eyes widening in panic as you think of something less pathetic and embarrassing to say than the truth.

"Hm? Nothing, I just think they're nice to look at." You motion with your head the direction the two women swung in, clarifying. "Everytime you bring me here, it's all so … breathtaking." You internally wince at the excuse, pulling the best poker face you could muster.

He takes a deep breath, annoyed but patient.

"You know you can tell me anything." He assures you, voice low and whispered so as not to embarrass you in front of the spiders passing by. He is aware that the place isn't the most fitting for the conversation, but any other time he'd tried to coax it out of you, you dismissed it with a "It's nothing. I'm just feeling off today."

Truth be told, he had his suspicions. He is by no means unacquainted with the ways of women, and without a single condescending bone in his body when it came to you, he wants you to spit it out so you could talk about it. So he could untangle the knots in your heart, the doubts about him and your relationship.

"I know." You reply shortly, something in you dying to snap out and tell him everything, but instead, you shut it down at the last moment and decided to leave it at that.

"Then why don't you?" He looms over you, unintentionally, but you start to feel utterly cornered. Your heart is drumming out of your chest, and you are more than certain he can at least hear it. His face reveals his disappointment, however hopeful and attentive he wants to seem.

And just like that, your fronts break down.

"I'm - Don't get me wrong," you trail off, not looking him in the eye. You feel his warm breath fan over your forehead, getting dizzy from the sudden proximity. "I love this place. All the work you put into it.." Your eyes meet his for a fleeting second. "But sometimes it reminds me of how different I am.", You pause, waiting for a response. When he doesn't interrupt, you continue, "How I don't fit in,... here, beside you."

"What is that supposed to mean?" He looks almost pissed, as if you had told him he doesn't fit in. As if he was the one that didn't fit you.

"I mean I'm not … them. I'm not a spider."

"I'm aware of that." he retorts, ironically. "When did that stop me from loving you?". His tone is scolding. He is trying to maintain an unaffected demeanor so you would keep talking, but inside, his heart cracks at your words.

Your face heats up, surprised.

"It's not that." You have to actively stop yourself from leaning into his body and hiding into the warmth of his embrace, so that maybe all the jealousy and worry will wash away. But he deserves an explanation, now that you've admitted your feelings. "They know a side of you that I can only imagine. How it feels to be…like you."

His face softens, full of love and pity.

"I'm the odd one out here." You spit out, frustrated with his silence. "I can't give you everything they can!"

"I don't want what they have." He answers quickly, sincerely. You find it hard to believe, even though he's never lied to you.

To you, he's perfect. He deserves everything. Everything he could get.

And you're not enough.

"Escúchame." (Listen to me) He leans closer into you, his breath hot on your face. "Estoy enamorado de ti." (I'm in love with you.) "I only need you to be happy." 

You finally meet his gaze, full of consideration and fondness. You pray to whatever god hears you that he means it, because you're too far gone in your love for him to go back now.

"What will it take for you to just relax and stop being jealous, hm?" He whispers, smugly and amused. It's clear that he's flattered with your sentiments and possessiveness, but wants to nonetheless fix your issues.

You feel yourself getting immersed into the scent of him, his body heat radiating onto yours. You don't quite know the answer yourself. He grabs your waist right above your hips, sending shivers up your spine. Pulling you closer to him, he moves his head to your ear.

"What if I kissed you right here, right now? Let everyone know that I love you, and only you."

Miguel was very clearly overjoyed with the excuse to show you some public affection, especially if it meant having you so flustered and pliant beneath him.

"Would that make you feel better? Knowing they'll be the jealous ones now?"

You nod, more or less consciously, lifting yourself up on your tiptoes almost reflexively.

His warm and eager hands on your waist strengthen their grip, lifting you further up against his body as your feet lose contact with the ground, your chest meeting his. His lips are soft and tender against yours, dancing in a slow, passionate kiss. With your eyes still closed, you hear a few gasps near you in the hall; some happily amused, some offended.

But you don't care. All you care about right now is how he's tilting your head to the side with one of his palms at the back of your neck, slipping his tongue into your mouth and deepening the kiss. 

You continue to make out without a care in the world, just for the whole Spider Society to receive a much needed reminder that Miguel O'Hara is taken. 

His hands knead the supple flesh of your lower back, making your hum softly into his mouth, your own arms curling around his neck in a vicious hold.

When you least expect it, you feel one hand descend swiftly, leaving you no time to react as he grabs at your ass hard, so hard you jolt up against him, eyes snapping open in shock.

Without moving his hand, he presses his nose to your pulse point, exhales sultry on the sensitive skin.

"I have another idea."

[lemoncrushh]

Saturday Night

Summary: Harry needs comforting after his performance on SNL.

Warnings: None, lots of fluff and emotions

Word Count: 1639

A/N: One shot written in 2017 after Harry's appearance on SNL. I believe this was a request. Written in first person, but the woman's name is not given.

He was nervous.

He didn't want me or anyone else to know he was, but I could tell. And who wouldn't be? It was his first performance in over a year, and his first ever as a solo artist. I would have been nothing but a ball of nerves if it were me. He'd paced back and forth in the green room, spreading his fingers out as far as they would go, bringing them back into a fist over and over again, repeating the cycle each time he'd make it to the other end of the room and turn around on his heels.

I'd sat quietly on the sofa, nibbling on the display of fruit and crackers that sat in the middle of the coffee table. I was nervous too, but I said nothing unless it was to reply to a question, giving him the most space I possibly could. I'd asked him earlier if he would rather I took a seat in the audience, but he assured me he wanted me backstage, waiting for his return. Though he never expressed why exactly, I took it to mean he wanted me to be there for him, for him to see my face and perhaps share an embrace after he'd walked off stage, and I took comfort in that.

I'd watched his first performance on the monitor in the green room, sitting on the edge of my seat, my hands tucked underneath my thighs as I bit my bottom lip. By the end of the song, I'd felt my eyes well up, quickly wiping them away with the back of my hand before he saw. I could tell as soon as he walked in that he was less than pleased with himself. He'd missed a couple of notes, his voice raspier than usual from all the practicing, and once he'd even had to drop a word at the end of the phrase due to lack of air. I knew he had to be mentally scolding himself. But I'd thought it was flawless. He'd done it. He was Harry Styles, rockstar.

He didn't say a word to me as I rose from the couch and our eyes met. Instead, I saw his chest rise and fall with a deep breath before he removed his suit jacket and discarded it on a nearby chair.

I'd watched the rest of the show in the same spot, my gaze again meeting Harry's whenever he reemerged, but quickly faltering. I felt a tenseness in my muscles, a sourness in my stomach, wanting badly for him to tell me how he was feeling. But I knew better. He'd tell me when it was all over, and he could finally take a step away from it all and get out of his head. During the skits, he was his usual charismatic self, and I could tell he was having a good time. But I knew that during his second song, he was again in his head. Not that that was always a bad thing. Just as before, he was flawless, at least to me and probably ninety-nine percent of his fans. Though he seemed a little more relaxed than he had been during the first song, his nerves remained apparent. I wanted to hold him, to tell him how proud I was of him - remind him how incredible he was.

This time when he came into the room, I sensed a lighter air around him, a calmness. I let out a breath and smiled at him, to which he returned with a thumbs up, making me feel a little more at ease. However, he still said nothing, only rolling down his sleeves and grabbing his jacket to put back on. I bit my lip as I watched him on the screen one final time, to bow and blow kisses to the audience as Jimmy thanked him and the rest of the cast and crew. He looked genuinely happy, and that filled my heart with joy and pride.

I stuck around for a while after the show, allowing Harry to hug everyone and say goodbye. I could tell they all adored him, as it should be. I stood by his side while he chatted lightly with people, feeling his hand sometimes squeeze mine. I'd give his a squeeze back, our own little silent conversation. I could feel the tension dissipate from his body little by little as the evening progressed into early morning, though I knew eventually there would be a discussion with actual words. For the time being, I was content in letting him enjoy his moment, the friendly banter with the cast members serving him temporary distraction.

By the time we arrived at our hotel, Harry opting out of the cast party that followed, I could tell he was exhausted, though itching to finally talk. I sat on the edge of the bed, removing my shoes as I watched him, his back to me while he unbuttoned his shirt.

"You were amazing," I declared.

I saw his head turn slightly, though he didn't look at me.

"Coulda been better," he muttered with a shrug, shaking out of his shirt and tossing it on the floor.

I sighed as I rose from the bed, carrying my shoes to my suitcase.

"I don't think so," I argued. "It was perfect to me."

"Mm not to me," he huffed, pulling down his trousers. "I fucked up."

I stood frozen as I watched him cross to the bed and lie down, his arm over his eyes.

"I think you're a little hard on yourself," I said. "Everyone loved it."

"I didn't love it."

"Harry..." I murmured, climbing onto the bed next to him. "It was live television. You were bound to be nervous."

When he didn't reply right away, I worried that I'd said the wrong thing. I laid down beside him, watching his bare chest rise and fall. I wanted so badly to make him feel better.

"I'm really proud of you," I whispered.

Harry dropped his arm and blinked as he stared at the ceiling.

"You did exactly what you set out to do," I continued. "On your terms. Your rules. Your music. That's like every musician's dream. You're living it."

Turning his head finally to look at me, I saw his green eyes glisten.

"You liked it?" he asked, his voice scratchy.

"I loved it, baby," I replied. "And so did your fans. You have to know that, right? Everyone is rooting for you. We're on your side. A couple little glitches mean nothing. In fact, if anything, they made you more likable. It was so raw and real."

"It just sounded better in rehearsal," Harry muttered.

I tried my best to hold in a chuckle.

"You're such a perfectionist," I grinned. "But that's one of the things I like most about you. You keep pushing yourself because you know you can do it. That's what makes you great. That push...that drive...it's appealing."

Harry's expression softened as he sighed, his gaze returning to the ceiling.

"I'm just mad that I let my nerves get the better of me."

"It happens," I said. "But it didn't ruin the performance. It was spectacular."

I caught the corner of his mouth wiggle slightly. "Thanks, baby."

I scooted closer to him, placing my hand on his chest. I was relieved when he covered my hand with his and gave it a squeeze.

"You know how wonderful you are, right?" I asked rhetorically. "I envy you. Even though you might have been nervous tonight, you're the most fearless person I know. You just exude sheer talent, it's in your blood. I'm constantly hearing how kind and charming you are, and I'm so grateful I can attest to that because I see it with my own eyes. At least half the planet is crazy about you, and the other half just saw the show tonight and are gonna be talking about it for weeks."

I saw Harry's eyes blink faster at my words and he squeezed my hand tighter.

"I'm not saying all of this just to make you feel better," I stated. "I mean, I want you to feel better. But I'm saying it because it's true."

I pressed my lips to his cheek then, kissing a trail to the tiny freckles on his cheekbone and up to his temple.

"I'm so proud of you," I whispered again in his ear. "So proud."

With one last kiss, I released him and rolled onto my back. But within seconds, Harry followed, laying his head on my chest. He wound his arms around me, nearly taking my breath away. I smiled to myself as I heard him hum, the vibration tickling my skin from the inside. I let my fingers comb his hair as he continued to breathe and hum gently to the rhythm of my heartbeat. We laid there like that for several minutes until I thought he might be asleep.

"I love you," he spoke, making me jump.

"What?"

I wasn't sure I heard him correctly. Although I'd known for a while that I was in love with him, neither of us had confessed our feelings for the other. Raising his head, Harry looked at me and crawled up my body so that he hovered over me. I stared into his eyes with anticipation until he closed them softly and lowered his mouth to mine. He kissed me passionately, like he had many times before, but somehow also differently.

"I love you," he repeated.

"Harry..." I murmured, pulling him back to me for another kiss. And another.

"I..." I stumbled between kisses. "I love you, too."

Harry grinned, pressing his lips to my forehead, then the bridge of my nose.

"I know," he said, before kissing my lips once more.

If you enjoyed, please like, comment, reblog or send me a msg!

MASTERLIST | KO-FI | FEEDBACK

[idesofrevolution]

Never Sleep with Your Phone On

Throughout recorded history, humans have been terrified of the dark. They created stories of sordid creatures of the night that would creep out from beneath your bed and drag you to some subterranean lair to languish in your final moments; or slither out of your mirror if you left it uncovered when your lights were extinguished to steal your soul from your snoring lips. The tales and cryptids across all cultures were all effective in terrifying their communities once the sun set on the horizon. Though that is not necessarily to say that every tale was crafted from pure imagination.

When technology bloomed, humans believed that the horrifying superstitions of yore were long behind them. They had evolved past the primitive fears of what lurks in the shadows, where in reality they had become complacent, arrogant, and lulled. Certainly some of the eldritch creatures had subsided, as all creatures do eventually. Though for every dead legend, a new myth sprouts, and each of those grew and evolved right there along with us. Which, of course, brings us to Asher.

Asher West was, by all accounts, a fairly normal guy. Graduated from high school, going straight into college on a modest academic scholarship. He played frisbee golf with his friends on the weekends, studied hard from 9 to 5, and was seldom seen without a cup of Starbucks in the mornings. He had a sizeable social media following, as was expected for someone with a traditionally handsome visage and adequately charismatic personality. Every day he'd happily post a quick selfie, posting for his thousands of admirers a run of the mill shirtless pic, often without so much as a filter. It'd almost become muscle memory for him: tap the camera icon, snap the pic, post with some benign emojis as the caption, and boom. 900 likes as the day meandered on. Did it provide him with a momentary burst of endorphins? Yes. Was it satisfying? Somewhat, at least he thought so. Years of his staggeringly average life had been all but usurped by this second life online, where he was glamorous, exciting, and adored.

It was so much easier to live in that fantasyland than to truly be present in the real world around him. He, as many of us are, was living his life as someone else- and a life that spectacled easily caught attention. It was easy to come across him in the sea of countless names and faces. It was easy to stumble upon that pretty face. It was easy find, attracting more than just starry eyed fans. Skulking in the void between lines of 1 and 0, buried deep in the infinite cosmic vacuum of the world electric and technological, another pair of eyes would befall him.

It had slinked into his vast sphere rather quickly, and it had begun to watch. Watching each and every 'tasteful' selfie, every vapid thought that he'd post, and every like and pin he'd make, it watched him with empty, expressionless black eyes from within a fragment of his phone's memory. It studied him, curious at first. Things of its nature were always curious, always inclined to watch and analyze and replicate. Even as he slept, his phone siphoning it's charge from it's cable, it would read. The more it saw, the more it had learned about Asher. In fact, it knew more of Asher than perhaps he himself was aware of, if not able to admit.

It had seen those intimate moments he'd taken careful measure to hide from the vast majority of those watching eyes. Second accounts under pseudonyms, gave way to countless of hidden alternate lives he lived: Tumblr blogs dedicated to bad-boy thrist traps and queer erotica, Twitter accounts cataloguing pictures and videos of his closest kept kinks, a well used and well loved Chaturbate account with his face tastefully cropped out of frame... all these lives immortalized in the endless archives of the internet. And after all it's patient watching, all the hours of analyzing, all the months of consuming his information, it had grown an attachment.

Asher had come home late one night. Not unusual for him, as the occasional party wouldn't derail his real life ambitions. After a few libations, and no small amount of cannabis, he'd made his way back home to his small apartment above the corner store. Just as he'd done numerous times before, he stripped himself of his shirt, pulling his camera from his jeans pocket, and snapped a slightly inebriated picture of himself. It'd be enough to boost his ego the next morning, enough to power through the long haul of his draining daily agenda.

SNAP. The flash of the camera went off, and his beloved face was shared for all to see. Though, that night, he mis stepped. Perhaps it was the booze, perhaps it was the toke, perhaps he was simply too tired to notice that he'd left the screen on. By the time he'd hit the bed he was out like a rock, collapsed onto the bed and quietly drifting to sleep. There on the brightly lit screen, in the darkness of the unlit bedroom, it saw its opportunity.

From it's perch on the nightstand, the phone began to spark. Small sparks at first, a quick fizzle and quiet pop. Then more: louder, brighter, faster. It began to rumble against the wooden tabletop, sizzling and sparkling as it danced before the screen went black and dead. Slowly, electric crackling gave way to a bubbling sludge. The glass subtly started wave and bellow, as if it were liquified, not taking long to begin to spill over the edges of it's metal frame. The black sludge fell like oil onto the hardwood floors, collecting in a growing, bubbling pool.

From the primordial ooze burst forth a long, slender arm; it's taloned fingers scraping as it braced itself on the ground. A second arm clawed it's way out, and with an echoing slosh, it had begun to pull itself out of the sludge. It's long, emaciated torso and thick muscled legs had slithered out, landing on two massive, clawed feet. It towered above Asher's bed as he slumbered, bent over so as not to hit it's back onto the eight foot ceiling. It stood there, looking at the person it'd observed and studied for so long. The image presented in the world it'd pried himself out of was nothing of what lay before it. From what it had gathered from his more clandestine dealings, it had noted that he was far from the archetypes he'd collected on Asher's behalf.

He did not have the tattoos like those he'd pinned on Pinterest. He was not wearing the dark, heavy clothes like those he'd saved on Instagram. He wasn't well endowed like the video's he'd favorited on X-Tube. He didn't give off the aura of some rebellious casanova like the stories he'd reblogged on Tumblr. To a creature of symmetry and consistency, this was an error to be corrected; a dichotomy requiring integration.

It crouched down above his drooling maw, gently caressing his head to face it's clenching claw. The talons pressed ever so tenderly past his lips and over his tongue, becoming the very black ooze it had crawled out of once more. It flooded down his throat as it's second arm made it's way into his mouth, as if it were being sucked into Asher. He was drinking it's essence, it's aqueous body slurping down into his core. It's torso compressed as it wriggled down his gullet, ringing out splashing squelches as Asher gargled it down.

As quickly as it had entered, it's long legs slithered into his mouth, leaving only its large feet thrashing about in the air. Asher's stomach was bubbling and undulating under the sheer pressure from this invasion, growing to a large gut spilling over the waistband of his jeans. One loud slurp and a crisp pop, and the feet slipped into him, leaving his writhing body squirming on the bed. It expanded within him, incorporating itself into every fibre of his being. Pressing into his arms, his legs, pushing up his throat until it met the top of his palate. The pressure began to mount, black goo dribbling down the corners of his mouth, until a wet crack sounded in his cavernous head, and it flowed into his skull.

It took mere seconds for it to reach his brain, which it flowed freely into throughout the grooves and nooks. Entirely coated, imbued and inoculated with it, the deed was done. Asher opened his eyes, tiredly sitting up in his bed. He looked over at his phone, tapping it with his finger: 3 AM.

At first it seemed like a nightmare. He could recall moments here and there, though the majority of his 'dream' was a blur. From what he could remember, it was nothing visual he could recollect... but it he could recollect the sensations. Wet, slimy, invasive, and cold- much like he felt drunkenly sleeping in his cold sweat. He brought himself to his feet, dragging his feet on the slippery floorboards to his bathroom.

Flipping the switch, the harsh fluorescent light flickered to life above him, as he turned the nozzle on his shower. Immediately, his jaw nearly dropped to the floor. In the mirror, Asher finally caught a glimpse of himself: strange black bruises and undulating bumps were scattered across his body. That pristine, smooth skin was now covered in sprawling web-like lesions from head to toe. He had mere moments to process the horror reflected in front of him before an immediate pain in the gut had him doubled over the counter.

His stomach started to bubble and groan, and through the foggy haze of his blurred vision he saw his feet begin to ripple and swell. He could feel the slick sweaty soles slide across the tile floor as they expanded and grew. As they reached a substantial size 13, the swelling crept it's way up his calves and into his thighs. Asher wobbled on his feet, as if they were filled with gelatin beneath his slippery skin while his knees began to buckle. He collapsed into a crouch, the fumes of sweaty footmusk bellowing up to his nostrils as his legs cracked and stretched above. He'd never truly experienced scentplay as he'd so dearly fantasized about throughout countless hours of edging to such content, nor had this funk ever emanated from his own soles. In the moment, he felt something within him prod into his brain. As if poking the individual folds of his cerebrum with thousands of tiny needles, causing cascades of thoughts to enter his mind- all of which telling him to embrace. In his mind's eye, he could see himself burying his face into his sweaty sole, between his long toes, lapping up every droplet of sweat that was spewing from his pores. The thought was buried deep in his subconscious, pried out with expert measure, by something now within him.

Grasping for anything to steady himself on, Asher gripped the edge of the sink, pulling himself upright once again and now towering above the countertop. He hung his aching head low, watching with strange newfound fervor as his cock began to feel heavier and heavier. Drool started to drip from the bottom of his lip, landing square onto the lengthening shaft. Like a sandbag, his balls dropped and swelled while he got harder and harder. Another onslaught of pinpricks in his head brought forth another command: stroke.

Steam started build in the bathroom as the hot water continued to fall from the shower, intensifying the scent wafting from now both his feet and his pendulous sac. Each breath of hot, wet musk hit like ecstasy, and with bated breath, he softly grasped ahold of his python and began to pump. Each knead of his engorged member was accompanied by a change. His fingers grew long and sinewy, smooth and slick with precum. His arms remained thin but toned, growing longer and packed with lean muscle. His torso lengthened, topped off with a firm pair of pecs above his sinewy abdomen.

As pressure began to build in his balls, his mind began to feel the needles one last time, imbuing his brain with one last injection of a single trait: pride. He didn't need the approval of anyone else, he was aware of how fucking hot he was. He didn't need to heed the rules that society had straddled him with, he always forged his own path. He had no fears of recompense for his attitude, his ego, his spirit- the world would either stand with him, or he would step on top of them. Either way, what bliss. As the last of his inhibitions and fears had gathered in his groin, he cried out in elation as he erupted. Rope after rope of black sludge shot from his cannon, washing him with a sense of relief he'd never before known. He released his grip on his softening cock, hanging at an obscene eleven inches. He smirked at the sludge coating his mirror and pooling beneath his toes. A sight like that would have shocked and terrified the old Asher, though as he stood before his reflection, devoid of any tension, he relented to the entity within him. It had delivered onto him a new self, a new image, a new viewpoint. As tattoos both vulgar and delicate began to sprawl across his skin, he happily admired his new likeness.

The entity had bestowed a gift to him; throughout the horror, throughout the fear, he was becoming the true Asher that had only ever peeked out from the abyss of his psyche. He leered, bringing his thumb and middle finger together before snapping loudly. From his pores, the black sludge began to spill across his body until he was nearly covered from the neck down in what appeared to be a rubber suit before it began to become a bit more defined. A plain white tee shirt, classically fashioned with a black and white varsity jacket from his college. Skinny, weathered black jeans barely containing his sizeable commando bulge beneath it's thin fabric. On his feet, a pair of white socks and tightly tied high top Chucks, quelling the ripe stink of his soles within the sneaker for some sub to pry off and enjoy.

He grinned, posing and modeling for himself, before he finally turned off the steaming water. After the long, arduous, painful process, the entity had incorporated itself entirely within him- now completely indistinguishable from parasitic to symbiotic. It had rewritten him, completely remade him in the likeness of who he had shown the vast virtual world. There was no cognitive dissonance, there were no lies, there was no deception. All that remained was the Asher he had created in his fantasy, now ready to fuck the real world and all within it.

Thus, as our creature feature comes to an end, I leave you with a modicum of friendly advice. Don't leave your phone on as you slumber, for those that are watching, those that are waiting, those that have been learning are a mere sheet of glass away from finding their way inside. Take my counsel, or ignore it. But do so knowing the outcome, and whether or not you are prepared to weather such a storm.

[allieebobo]

Merry Crisis—Cast of characters

Romance-focused x Slice-of-life x Queer x Non-Euro-centric x Character-based

Demo | Features | Dev log | Back to Main Post | COG forum | Dedicated tumblr | Ko-fi

Credit: The wonderful amazing INSANELY talented @dumplingcatho made these STUNNING character portraits!! I am still reeling from how dang good she is. I swear she probably made a deal with the devil for this talent but I shall not question it.

Nat [M/F]

The soulmate/ex/best friend.

Your ex. Your parents never approved of them, but you suppose it doesn’t matter anymore. Despite the breakup, you’re still friends, and worse still - you still live with them in a tiny shoebox apartment. New York rent, man—it's hard to say no even though you know you should be moving on, and moving out.

Height: 6′2 (M) | 5′11 (F)

Nationality & race: African-American

Occupation: Post-doc fellow, working towards becoming a tenure-track professor.

Description:

Warm, twinkling eyes, and big, infectious laugh. Can swing from nerdy charm to extreme goofyness at the drop of a pin.

Loving, thoughtful, and kind to a fault. Relaxed, gentle demeanour

The kind of friend—and partner—you can trust with your life.

An incurable optimist.

Loves people, art/movies (especially talking about them with friends), food/cooking, their two dogs. 

Nat's dogs

Kiho [M]

Breed: Cairn Terrier

Age: 8

Description: Proud, small, intelligent, standoffish, with a stern grandpa energy. Apparently, a reader/player told me long ago that Kiho means "big boss" in Finnish colloquial slang and that was so perfect that it stuck. If Kiho were human he'd wear an old patagonia vest and spend his weekends fishing (not very adeptly).

Liz [F]

Breed: Border collie

Age: 3 (adopted when MC and Nat were already together.)

Description: Not exactly literal golden retriever energy but... close enough. A ray of sunshine, playful, easygoing, happy-go-lucky and a voracious eater (she eats everything), loves playing in puddles and has a special love for chewed up tennis balls.

Qiu [M/F]

The estranged first love / soulmates.

Your first-love (or platonic soulmate), from junior college. You’d not kept in touch, and now, they’re ridiculously successful. But, according to your intel, still…single.

Height: 5′8 (M) | 5′4 (F)

Nationality & race: Chinese Singaporean

Occupation: Public prosecutor

Description:

Extremely intelligent, with a sharp, cutting wit.

Ambitious, determined, and a bit cynical / jaded.

Dark, piercing gaze, with a completely unreadable expression.

Formal, a little bit stiff, and always impeccably dressed.

Aloof, almost intimidating presence despite their relatively average height/slim build.

Loves a job well done, being useful, stimulating conversation, and solving problems. Peace and quiet.

Shay [M/F]

The charismatic stranger.

Your neighbour (Auntie Pearl)'s new tenant. Sexy, confident, and unabashedly unconventional. Your mother definitely does not approve, but you might not be able to resist their roguish charms.

Height: 5′10 (M) | 5′6 (F)

Nationality & race: Chinese (Peranakan) Singaporean

Occupation: Lead singer & guitarist in a rock band

Description:

Thick, sweeping eyebrows, expressive eyes that twinkle at the edges, and a permanent roguish half-grin.

Tan, athletic, with an undeniable swagger to their walk. Has a penchant for sleeveless muscle tees. Good with their hands (and... possibly other parts of their body).

Adventurous, resilient, unflinchingly honest, and uncompromisingly true to themselves / the people they love.

Loves the outdoors (and constant motion), music (especially rock, reggae and soul), dancing, soccer, nature/plants (including gardening).

Other asks

[happy74827]

I'm not sure if requests are open but I just wanted to ask if you could write Gideon graves with a bossy/dominant reader

Also I absolutely love all of your fics they are so good!! ☺

Powerless

[Gideon Graves x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Gideon had always made people believe he was the man in charge with his brashness. But when he goes too far, you decide to put him in his place.

WC: 2255

Category: Spice/Lime

Hopefully by bossy/dominant reader you meant Gideon being a begging mess… because that’s what I wrote lmfaooo

『••✎••』

Gideon Graves sat across from you in the upscale restaurant, the clinking of cutlery and the soft murmur of conversation forming a soothing soundtrack to the night. He looked handsome in his tuxedo, the sharp lines and high-quality material only highlighting his strong shoulders and narrow waist and his long, lithe body that had so often pressed against yours. He watched you across the table, his dark eyes following your movements as you lifted your glass and took a small sip.

"The food is delicious," you said. "But then, I should've expected that. You always have to show off."

Gideon's lips quirked, his gaze lingering on your mouth.

"What?" you said.

"I'm enjoying myself," he murmured, reaching across the table for his own glass of wine. "We haven't done this in a while. I'd forgotten how much fun it is."

"That's because you're the most insufferable person I've ever met."

"Is that why you keep me around?"

Truth be told, there were a lot of reasons. He was attractive and charismatic, with a sharp mind and a quick wit, not to mention a tongue that was just as wicked as it was talented. But that was all surface, and what really kept you around were the things he kept hidden. The way he would smile and his eyes would soften, the way he'd sometimes rest his chin on your shoulder, his arms wrapped around you as you watched a movie, the way he would kiss you like he needed your breath to live.

"Something like that," you said.

You leaned across the table, and his eyes glittered, anticipating a kiss. But you stopped just short of his mouth.

This was Gideon’s reason for “keeping” you. The thrill of the chase, the game of dominance. You were both the hunter and the hunted, the cat and the mouse. Though, on paper, he was the one with all the power, all the money, and influence, but you knew who was really in control. And you made sure to remind him of it whenever the opportunity arose.

He watched you, his expression unreadable, his face impassive. You waited, not moving a muscle, watching him watch you. It was a battle of wills, a game of chicken. He broke first, leaning forward to close the gap between you, but you leaned back just enough so his mouth missed yours, catching your bottom lip between his teeth instead. You held his gaze, watching the dark fire in his eyes, the hunger in his face. You waited a few moments until his expression grew impatient, and then you pulled away, leaving him grasping at air.

He smiled, the edges of his expression turning dangerous.

"Dessert?" he said.

You grinned. “Yes, actually.”

Gideon chuckled, that pissed-off smile still in place. He snapped his fingers, and a waiter hurried over. You hated it when he did that, but you had to admit, it was effective.

"Hey, man," he said, looking down his nose at the waiter. "Say…what do you have for dessert here? You got anything chocolate?"

"Chocolate mousse, sir," the waiter said.

"Cool, yeah, I'll take one of those. What about you, Honey?” He knew how much you hated it when he called you by pet names. That’s why he did it. “I know you love your chocolate. Oh, but not too much, now. We have to watch our figures."

You were absolutely livid. You glared at him from across the table, but his smirk didn’t waver. He could read your emotions like an open book.

"I'm going to the bathroom," you said.

"I'll call if our food arrives," he said, giving you a wink. As you got up, secretly fuming, you saw the waiter glance over at him, a nervous look on his face. Gideon caught the look but simply told the waiter to add another chocolate mousse to his order.

At least he knew what you liked.

The bathroom was a welcome escape from the tension. You splashed water on your face, breathing deep. When you had calmed down enough, you exited the bathroom, only to find Gideon waiting for you by the door.

"I ordered some champagne for you," he said, and though his tone was innocent, his expression was not. “I thought it would help wash the chocolate down."

You exploded. All that was on your mind was the memory of the bathroom being completely empty. With the assurance that no one else was around, you grabbed his lapels and shoved him into the bathroom. He barely had time to gasp in surprise before you shoved him against the wall, pinning him there.

All the sarcasm and snark left him, replaced by a wide-eyed stare and flushed cheeks. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his breath coming in short pants.

"Are you out of your mind?" He managed to say, but his voice shook. You had him right where you wanted him.

"What, Gideon? Did I ruin your little game?" You pressed yourself closer, the heat of his body radiating through his clothes. His skin was so warm. You felt the outline of his body through the fabric, the hard line of his waist, his chest. You slid your hands along the edge of his coat, feeling his ribs, his heart.

"No," he said. His eyes were wide, and you could feel him trembling. He was always like this, at the mercy of his own desires, his own wanton lust. It was so easy to play him, to manipulate him. You didn't even need to use your powers; it was his own weakness. He was putty in your hands. "Not yet."

You moved your hand down, over his stomach, and lower, between his legs. He moaned, his head falling back against the wall. His skin was so hot, you could feel it through the fabric. He was hard, and his hips twitched, seeking more contact.

"Don't stop," he said, his voice strained.

"Why shouldn't I?"

He didn't answer. He was just a panting, desperate mess, a slave to his own urges.

You pulled away, and his face fell, the flush draining from his cheeks. This was his punishment, and you loved every second of it.

"I think we should go back," you said. "Before our dessert gets cold."

"I'll buy the whole restaurant," he said.

You raised your eyebrows, and his expression darkened.

"Anything," he said. "Anything, I'll buy it. You want the fucking moon? It's yours."

You laughed. "That's not how it works, Gideon."

"Please," he begged. "Let me..."

You leaned in close. His breath was hot against your cheek, his heartbeat racing. Gideon was the picture of desperation, and you were the only one who could bring him this far, the only one who could make him lose control. You kissed him, and he groaned, his hips bucking into your hand. He was so eager, so pliant. He was at your mercy.

"I want my mousse," you whispered. “And I want all the teasing to stop. I've been a good girl, haven't I?"

He whimpered. "Yes."

"So, I think you owe me a reward, don't you?"

"Yes, yes," he said, nodding quickly.

"Good.”

He shuddered, closing his eyes. You could see his chest rising and falling as he took a few deep breaths, calming himself. He swallowed and opened his eyes again; the fire returned to his gaze. He gave you a smile, a real one, the kind of smile that made your stomach flutter.

“Home, then? I imagine.” He ran his fingers through his hair, smoothing the disheveled strands. He took a step towards you, and you moved away. His smile widened.

"Nope. You’re not getting anything tonight. You'll have to prove to me that you can behave, or I'll leave you in the cold."

His expression fell.

"And, no, that's not a euphemism," you added.

"That's not fair."

"Well, life isn't fair, is it?"

"I'll take a cab home," he said, a slight growl to his voice.

"You won't. Because I know that the second I leave, you're going to get yourself off."

"You can't tell me what to do," he said, and a small smirk spread across his face. He was trying to get a rise out of you.

"You're right. I can't. But I know that if you don't listen to me, you'll never get what you want. And if you want me, then you better be a good boy."

He bit his lip, his eyes flicking over your body.

"Okay," he said, finally. "I'll be a good boy. Promise."

"Good. Now let's go have our mousse."

Gideon groaned, his expression pained.

You giggled. "I mean, unless you'd rather just go home..."

"No," he said quickly. "No, no. Mousse is good. Great."

You smirked. "That's what I thought."

The two of you headed back out, and Gideon took his seat, looking more composed than before, though he was still flushed.

"You okay, there?" You said innocently.

"Mhmm."

"I mean, if you'd like, I can ask the waiter for some water or-"

"I'm fine," he snapped.

"Good. I'd hate to see you suffer."

He looked at you, and his expression was pained. But you ignored it. The mousse was placed in front of you, and you dug in. It was rich and smooth and absolutely delicious.

“Thanks, honey," you said, flashing a smile at Gideon. You might’ve slammed him into the wall and practically choked him with lust, but the mousse was delicious, and you had to thank him for that. You’ve always been good with manners.

Gideon smiled back, though it was clearly forced.

"You're welcome," he said.

The rest of the night was pleasant despite his suffering. He kept quiet, his eyes lingering on you, watching your every move. You finished your mousse and asked for the bill, and Gideon paid for the entire meal. You felt slightly bad since the check was more than the down payment for your apartment, but Gideon assured you that it was fine and that money was no object.

He escorted you out, and the valet brought the car around. He opened the door for you, and you slipped inside. You watched him walk around to the other side and climb in. He was so graceful, like a dancer or a model.

"Where to?" He said.

"Yours," you said simply, with a soft smile.

He paused, his eyes widening with surprise. And then, his expression softened, his features becoming relaxed. His smile was warm, and he nodded.

"Of course."

Gideon might’ve kept his cool in front of the valet and the staff at the restaurant, but the second the two of you stepped inside his apartment, his composure began to crumble just as you knew it would. His eyes were glazed over with desire, his breathing was shallow, and his cheeks flushed.

This was the Gideon you wanted. This was the Gideon you craved.

He followed you inside, and as soon as the door closed and you allowed him to, he pushed you up against the wall. You let him kiss you, his mouth warm and soft, his tongue darting out to tease yours. He was eager, his hands gripping your hips. He was still holding back, trying not to let himself go, but you knew he couldn't resist.

"Touch me," you demanded, and he groaned, his lips sliding down to your neck. He kissed your throat, his teeth scraping lightly over your skin. He was gentle, but you could tell he wanted more. You tilted your head back, giving him access to the smooth expanse of your neck, and he obliged, his tongue and teeth working together to tease and torture.

You sighed, letting him pleasure you. He was so talented, so skilled. It was hard to believe that the man who could give you such blissful, agonizing ecstasy was the same man who could make your blood boil and your skin crawl.

"Fuck," you breathed as he nipped at your collarbone. He knew all the places to touch, to tease. He could play your body like a finely tuned instrument, drawing out every last note.

He lifted his head, his eyes dark and hooded. His lips were swollen, his breath coming in hot pants.

"I want you," he whispered.

"I know."

"Let me have you."

"Not yet."

"Please.” He was begging again. You loved it.

"Soon."

"Now."

"Be patient, Gideon."

He whimpered. You could feel his hands trembling, his hips twitching against yours. He was straining against his clothes, aching for release.

And unfortunately for him, the night was only just beginning, and you happened to love it when he was begging and pleading for release.

So, with a coy smile, you pulled away and started towards his bedroom. He was frozen in place, his expression dazed and his cheeks flushed. His gaze followed you as you moved, watching as you undressed.

You removed your blouse, letting the silky fabric slip off your shoulders and down your arms. You tossed it aside and unclasped your bra, letting it join the pile of discarded clothing. Your skirt followed suit, pooling at your feet. Gideon swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing.

You stepped out of your clothes and turned around, heading towards the bedroom, leaving him behind. He didn't follow. You heard a low moan and the soft shuffle of clothes. You couldn't help but smirk.

The bed was soft and warm. You stretched out on the covers, running your fingers through your hair.

And with one simple word, you made him forget everything.

"Come.”

[voidscreamintheories]

Kitten: Theory of a "Hunter"

Spoilers for Hunter The Parenting

So Kitten. He is our happy lil Br*tish hunter. He also is always wearing ski goggles, a sweater, and full face covering. Even in the one flashback image we have of him. As always we must acknowledge the DNA this series pulls from: Kitten was the Captain General in TTS, this is why he uses a spear with a gun and a stake at the end in HTP, it's a guardian spear by way of hunter. It was a running gag in TTS that his helmet was never removed, even all of his other garments were. Side tangent, 1. WHAT WAS SHE THINKING 2. I hope desperately Lockwarden and Santodes return in HTP, because both of those characters were immaculate and we didn't get enough of them. Side tangent complete.

TTS acknowledgement aside, let us consider what Kitten might be. In the audiolog between Kitten and Big D, kitten seems to question the existence of some supernatural creatures, like the witch. Yet two of them he is unphased by them being mentioned: The vampires, which makes sense as the family is hunting vamps and Kitten has fought a vamp (important later). And the werewolves. This is the sticking point to me: Kitten not only is unphased about the existence of werewolves, he in fact says "wait hang on you know about werewolves" to Big D. Now that's a might curious, why wouldn't Big D, master-hunter and well known supernaturalist know about werewolves, and even more so, why would Kitten know and Big D not?

My theory is that Kitten IS a were creature. But not a wolf. In World of Darkness there are a few species of shapechangers like the werewolves. The wolves are the most common, but the other kinds know of each other's existence as well. I propose that Kitten is a werecat. Not only this, I suspect Kitten is a specific kind of werecat, a metis (can someone who knows more about WoD tell me is this is pronounced Met-iss, a made up word, or May-tea, a real word for a real world group of people who this does not necessarily apply to). A metis (in world of darkness, not the real world ethno-cultural group) is a shapechanger born to two shapechanger parents. When they are born they come out in their warform, the half-human-half-animal "hollywood monster" form. These shapechangers often have malformations of some variety, and this can include very obvious animal features even in human form. Say for example, cat ears and fur. I think Kitten wears his ski stuff, and has ears on his hood because he is a lil catboy under that hood. As a werecat he would be familiar with the shapechanger culture and practices, he'd know about other shapechangers (notice in the black shuck story at one point he says "and it is [black shuck]" not "and it PROBABLY is", maybe because he actually knows who black shuck is?), and he'd be supernaturally strong. Perhaps even strong enough to overcome a vampire that just fed. Kitten describes his encounter with the vamp at college, with maybe a Ventrue or Torreador vamp (I think Ventrue because he was charismatic but had a need for a violent feeding), while these clans aren't the normal muscle for the vamps, they are stronger than humans. Yet Kitten managed to beat this vampire, even though he was hopped up on blood. I think our lil cat boy was using his own supernatural strength. Another thing mentioned around this story is the tragedy that befell Kitten's parents, which left him with the house. If they are shapechangers, there is the potential that Kitten killed them during his first change, a not uncommon occurence in Garou families. There's also the possibility that his parents were killed in the war that all Garou are fighting, or because they broke the litany (werewolf mascarade) by having a metis child.

Now. Problems. Both Grimal and Markus have cannonically "broken that boy". Now is Kitten a "sorry babe, the ski mask stays ON during sex" type gamer? Or do Grimal and Markus both know? Not sure! Grimal could probably be convinced he was just REALLY into cosplay, I bet. And Markus may have known about Kitten being a cat from their childhood, depending when they first met.

But! This lets me talk more about garou society as evidence for Kitten being a cat. In shapechanger society, a metis is often hidden from the public until they can control their form, so as to not give the game away on werewolves being real. Maybe Kitten was isolated as a child, making it harder for him to interact with other kids when he did eventually get his form *more* under control. Maybe in the time before he was allowed in public, he became a true gamer. Maybe Markus was one of the few kids weird enough to hang out with him. Maybe those lack of social skills brought him closer to Grimal when they first met, two strange weirdos with similar experiences (please Alfabusa don't make Grimal the ghoul, I don't want her to get Arcanum'd)

Also! The werecats have some characteristics in their culture that might explain why our lil cat friend isn't just vibing with the other werecats. Some of the Bastet (Bastet means werecat, Keikaku means plan) are VERY curious lil fellas. They seek out hidden knowledge and talk to other garou clans to learn their secrets all the time. Maybe Kitten became a hunter because of his in-built desire to be a gatherer of lore. This would also explain how he knows all these stories, and finds secrets in games. He just HAS to know these things. This would further explain why he is SO upset about being blacklisted, he wants desperately to be able to study and learn, but has been cut off.

In brief, I believe Kitten is a werecat and his lil sweater ears are not just a fetish thing. He joined the arcanum/our hunters because it's a great way to sate his innate curiosity.

Now something to consider, as many of us know, curiosity does have a certain reputation regarding cats...

[artificialfanfiction]

Hey my lovely!

I've been down bad for Folio recently~

Could I request some smutty fluff with nick please~

I hope you're having a great morning, afternoon or evening!! 🖤🖤

Thank you for your request! Hope you liked it! Nick Folio, the charismatic drummer for the rising rock band Bad Omens, stumbled into the dimly lit tour bus after another exhilarating show, his heart still pounding from the rhythmic symphony he'd just created. His girlfriend, y/n, a fiery person with a smile that could melt the coldest of hearts, was already nestled in their shared bunk, scrolling through her phone with a gentle smile playing on her lips. She looked up as he approached, her eyes lighting up with excitement and love. "How was it tonight?" she asked, setting her phone aside and making room for him.

Nick couldn't help but grin as he collapsed onto the narrow bed, his body buzzing with adrenaline. "It was insane," he replied, his voice filled with a mix of exhaustion and elation. "The crowd was wild. I could feel the bass in my bones."

Y/n leaned over, her hair cascading around them like a curtain, and kissed him softly. "You always put on a hell of a show," she murmured, her voice a sweet melody that soothed his soul.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer until their bodies melded together. The warmth of her touch and the comfort of her embrace were the only things that could ever truly ground him after a performance. "And you're always the best part of it," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear.

Her cheeks flushed a soft pink as she giggled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "You say that after every show," she teased, tracing her fingers along the line of his jaw.

He nuzzled into her neck, his stubble tickling her skin. "But it's never not true," he murmured, his voice dropping to a seductive purr.

The air in the small space grew thick with anticipation, the thrum of their shared passion echoing the beat of his drums from the stage. Y/n's pulse quickened as Nick's hands began to explore her body, the gentle touches turning more urgent, setting her heart racing in a way that no applause ever could.

"Nick," she breathed, her voice barely a whisper. "We should get some rest."

He pulled back, his eyes searching hers, filled with a hunger that went beyond the physical. "Rest can wait," he said, his voice gruff with desire. "We've got a whole bus to ourselves and nothing but time."

With that, he claimed her mouth in a deep, passionate kiss, leaving no doubt about what the rest of their night would hold. The curtains of their bunk closed, the world outside faded away, and the only music that mattered was the rhythm of their hearts beating in sync.

Nick's strong hands roamed over y/n's body, peeling away the layers of her clothing with a practiced ease that spoke of a thousand similar nights spent together. Her skin was warm and inviting, a canvas for his passionate exploration. As he kissed her neck, she arched into him, her breath hitching at the feel of his lips on her sensitive skin. The scent of their combined desire filled the air, mingling with the faint lingering notes of sweat and stage makeup. His calloused fingertips danced over her curves, igniting a trail of fire that shot straight to her core. With a growl of need, Nick pulled her closer, the fabric of their clothes the only barrier to the skin-on-skin contact they both craved.

Y/n moaned into the kiss, her hands fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, eager to feel the solid planes of his chest beneath her fingertips. Nick chuckled against her mouth, his own hands deftly unbuttoning and sliding the garment aside. The moment their bare skin touched, the spark between them turned into an inferno. His muscles flexed against her, the drummer's strength evident in every inch of him. She slid her hands down his back, her nails digging in just enough to elicit a groan of pleasure. As their kiss grew more urgent, their bodies aligned, the heat between them building to a crescendo that mirrored the intensity of their love. Nick broke away for a moment, panting, his eyes dark with lust. "I need you," he rasped, his voice a heady mix of want and need.

With a nod of understanding, y/n reached for the hem of her shirt, lifting it over her head. Her bra followed suit, revealing her perky breasts, nipples already hardened into tight peaks. Nick's gaze devoured her, his eyes smoldering with desire. He leaned in to kiss one, then the other, his tongue flicking over the sensitive skin as y/n's back arched off the bed. The sensation sent a bolt of pleasure through her, making her gasp. His hand traveled lower, cupping her through her jeans, and she could feel the heat of his palm even through the thick fabric. "Nick, please," she whimpered, her hips rocking against his hand.

He chuckled darkly, his teeth grazing her earlobe. "Patience, baby," he murmured, his fingers deftly unzipping her pants and peeling them down her legs. The cool air of the bus hit her heated skin, making her shiver. Nick's eyes never left hers as he discarded his own pants, revealing his rock-hard erection that stood tall and proud. The sight of him made y/n's mouth water and her core clench with need. He positioned himself between her thighs, his touch tender as he slid her panties aside and dipped a finger into her slick warmth. She was already so wet for him, her body eager to take him in. With a smirk, he added another finger, curling them inside her and hitting that perfect spot that made her toes curl.

"Nick," she breathed, her voice a desperate plea.

"You're so tight, so perfect," he murmured, his voice strained with his own desire. He leaned in to kiss her again, their tongues dancing together as their bodies moved in a timeless rhythm of passion. The promise of ecstasy loomed just out of reach, their hearts pounding in a shared symphony of want. As he began to thrust his fingers in and out of her, y/n's breath hitched, her eyes rolling back in her head. The sensation was exquisite, and she could feel her orgasm building like a wave ready to crash over her. Nick watched her intently, his thumb circling her clit, his eyes never leaving hers as she teetered on the edge.

The bus swayed gently as it sped down the highway, the outside world a distant memory as the only reality that mattered was the two of them, entwined in a passionate embrace, their bodies speaking a language that only lovers understand.

Nick's mouth traveled from hers, leaving a string of kisses down her neck and collarbone, pausing to suck on her sensitive spots that made her squirm with pleasure. His hand, still working its magic between her legs, quickened its pace, and she could feel her climax approaching with every stroke. Y/n's legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, her hips rising to meet his touch. As he slid a third finger inside her, she cried out, the intensity of the sensation sending her over the edge. Her body convulsed around him, and she shuddered through an orgasm that left her trembling and gasping for air. Nick watched her with a look of pure satisfaction, his own desire raging, before he removed his hand and positioned himself at her entrance. "Are you ready for me?" he asked, his voice a dark whisper.

Y/n nodded, her eyes glazed with lust. "Always," she breathed.

With one swift movement, he filled her completely, the head of his cock pushing past her slick folds and into her welcoming warmth. They both groaned in unison, the feeling of being one overwhelming them. He began to move, his rhythm matching the tempo of their racing hearts, each thrust sending waves of pleasure crashing through her body. Y/n's nails dug into his back, her legs tightening around him as she met him thrust for thrust. The bunk creaked beneath them, a testament to the power of their love and desire. The world outside was a blur, the only focus the intimate dance they shared in the confines of their private sanctuary. Nick's eyes never left hers, the connection between them as strong as the beat that had driven the crowd wild just hours before.

Their movements grew more frenzied, their breaths mingling in harsh pants. The tension coiled tighter and tighter, each touch and kiss bringing them closer to the precipice. Y/n could feel another orgasm building, and she knew he could feel it too, his own need echoing hers. He leaned down, capturing her mouth in a bruising kiss as he picked up the pace, driving deeper and harder. The sound of their skin slapping together filled the air, a primal symphony that resonated through the very core of their beings. And when she finally shattered again, her nails digging into his skin and her cries of pleasure ringing out, Nick followed her over the edge, his own release hot and powerful as it filled her completely.

As they lay tangled together, the aftershocks of passion still rippling through their bodies, y/n whispered, "Best part of the show, indeed." Nick chuckled, kissing the tip of her nose. "Always will be," he murmured, pulling her closer. They lay there, basking in the afterglow, the steady hum of the bus's engine lulling them into a peaceful, sated silence. The rest of the world could wait. For now, they had each other, and that was all that mattered.

As the afterglow of their passion began to fade, Nick rolled onto his side, pulling y/n closer so that she was spooned against him, her back to his chest. He wrapped an arm around her waist, his hand coming to rest on the soft swell of her stomach. His breath was warm against her neck, his heartbeat a steady drum in her ear. The silence was broken only by the occasional hum of the road outside and the distant sound of their bandmates' laughter from the front of the bus. With a contented sigh, y/n nestled into him, her body fitting against his like a perfect puzzle piece. Nick's hand began to idly trace patterns on her skin, his touch feather-light and soothing. They lay there for a few moments, their breaths synchronizing, their hearts beating in perfect harmony. "I love you," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

Y/n's hand found his on her stomach, her fingers lacing through his. "I love you too," she replied, her voice filled with warmth and adoration. "More than anything."

The words hung in the air between them, a promise and a declaration of the depth of their feelings. Nick pressed a gentle kiss to her shoulder, his hand continuing to explore the landscape of her body with a familiarity that spoke of countless nights just like this. The world outside could be falling apart, but in this bunk, in this moment, they were invincible. They had each other, and that was all they needed to conquer whatever the future held. With a sense of peace settling over them, they eventually drifted off to sleep, their limbs entwined like the notes of a love song that never ended.

The next morning, the sun had barely crested the horizon when y/n began to stir, the gentle rocking of the bus and the warmth of Nick's embrace rousing her from a deep slumber. She rolled over to face him, her eyes opening to find him already awake, his gaze fixed on her with an intensity that made her heart flutter. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his thumb tracing the curve of her cheek with such tenderness that she couldn't help but lean into the touch. "Good morning, beautiful," he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep and desire. Y/n's eyes searched his, finding the love and passion she knew she'd find there, no matter the time of day. "You know," she said with a lazy smile, "this might just be the best part of the entire tour." Nick chuckled, his arms tightening around her. "Every day with you is the best part, baby," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. And as they lay there, wrapped in each other's arms, the chaos of the world outside was nothing but a distant memory, a faint echo of a beat that had been drowned out by the steady rhythm of their hearts. With a playful smirk, y/n reached up and captured Nick's bottom lip between her teeth, giving it a gentle bite that sent a shiver down his spine. He chuckled, his eyes darkening with a hint of arousal. "Already eager for round two?" he teased, his hand sliding down to cup her ass. She nodded, her eyes gleaming with mischief, and rolled on top of him, straddling his hips. "Never enough of you," she murmured, her lips brushing against his in a series of feather-light kisses that grew increasingly hungry. Nick groaned, his body responding to her touch, his cock already beginning to harden against her thigh. She took advantage of his distraction, grabbing his wrists and pinning them above his head, her nails lightly scraping his skin. "You're mine," she whispered, her voice filled with possessive heat, "all mine." And with that, she claimed his mouth once more, her tongue dancing with his in a fiery tango that reignited the passion from the night before. Their passionate play continued, with y/n eagerly taking Nick's already-hard cock into her mouth, her tongue swirling around the tip and teasing the slit. His hips bucked upwards, his breathing growing ragged as she took him deeper, her hands caressing his balls in time with her sucking. Nick's eyes rolled back in his head, lost in the sensation, when the sudden sound of the bus door opening and the thud of footsteps on the floor brought them both back to reality. Their bandmates' laughter and rowdy banter filled the air, and y/n's eyes went wide with a mix of surprise and mirth as she realized they had an audience. She pulled back, a wicked smile playing on her lips as she looked up at Nick, whose own expression was a mix of shock and amusement. "Looks like we've got company," she murmured, not missing a beat as she licked the length of him one more time before releasing him from her mouth. He chuckled, his cheeks flushing, and reached up to tug her down for a quick, hard kiss. "Guess we'll have to save the grand finale for later," he whispered, his voice husky with need. They shared a secret smile, knowing that their private performance was about to be interrupted, but also knowing that the show was far from over.

The sudden intrusion only served to heighten their desire, their eyes locked in a silent challenge as the band members' voices grew closer. Y/n's laughter was a siren's call, her playfulness infectious as she scrambled to pull her shirt back on, her bare breasts bouncing with the motion. Nick, equally as amused, managed to tug his pants up, his cock still standing at half-mast, a clear indication of their recent activities. They leaned in for one more stolen kiss, the kind that promised a sequel to their secret show, before the curtain of their bunk was abruptly yanked open. The sight of their rumpled bed and disheveled clothes was met with a chorus of cheers and catcalls from their bandmates, who had clearly guessed what had been going on behind the closed curtains. Nick and y/n shared a look of mock innocence before joining in the laughter, the intimate moment between them now a shared joke among friends. As the bus rolled on, the day ahead filled with the promise of new cities and more electrifying performances, they knew that the real magic didn't happen on stage it was in the quiet moments in the early morning light, with nothing but each other's bodies and hearts to keep the rhythm going.

The band's vocalist, Noah, poked his head into the bunk with a knowing grin. "Breakfast's getting cold, lovebirds," he called out, holding up a plate of food with a wink. The smell of eggs and bacon wafted through the air, mixing with the lingering scent of their passion. Reluctantly, Nick and y/n parted, sharing one last kiss before y/n slipped out of the bunk, her cheeks still flushed from their recent encounter. She took the plate from Noah with a mock glare that quickly turned into a laugh. "Thanks, Noah," she said, taking a bite of the crispy bacon. "I guess we'll have to be a little quieter next time," she teased, her voice filled with a mischievous lilt that made Nick's cock twitch in response. As the band members gathered around the small table, sharing stories of the night's escapades and joking about their lack of privacy, Nick couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and contentment. Here they were, living the rock 'n' roll dream, and yet, amidst the chaos and the crowds, it was the moments like these, with y/n by his side, that truly made it all worth it. He watched her as she talked and laughed with the others, her eyes sparkling with life and love. It was clear to everyone who saw them that she was not just his girlfriend, but his muse, his home, and his heartbeat. And as the bus rolled on, the rhythm of their love story playing out against the backdrop of endless highways and neon lights, Nick knew that no matter how wild the music got, they would always find their way back to the sweet symphony of their shared bunk.

[fkinkindagauche]

Hot Knife

Posting just a snippet here of a one-shot I wrote while work was super slow the past few days and I had this song stuck in my head non-stop (Hot Knife by Fiona Apple). It's omegaverse, which I know is not everyone's cup of tea, so you have been warned! Full tags on AO3.

Read the full fic on AO3

Rating: Explicit | Relationship: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, mentions of Chrissy Cunningham/Robin Buckley | Tags: AU No Upside Down, AU Omegaverse, AU College, AU Modern Setting, full tags on AO3

I'm a hot knife, I'm a hot knife

I'm a hot knife, he's a pat of butter

If I get a chance, I'm gonna show him that

He's never gonna need another, never need another

“Him,” Steve said confidently, nodding across the dining hall at a gangly man with a mess of long brown hair who looked like he'd just walked out of a Mötley Crüe show.

“ Eddie Munson ?” Robin asked, nearly spitting out the mouthful of soda she'd just taken.

“Is that his name?” Steve asked, watching as the man - Eddie - nearly tripped over his own feet walking to a table.

“He's not exactly your type, Steve,” Robin replied. 

“I smelled him in the elevator. He's my type.”

“Okay, but he's, like, a huge fucking nerd. He's a music major. He plays Dungeons and Dragons. And he's in a heavy metal band.” She just kept listing things, like it was going to do anything to change Steve's mind.

He waved a hand at her dismissively. “Don't care,” he said, still watching. Eddie was talking to the other people at his table now, gesturing vigorously with his hands then throwing his head back and laughing loud enough that Steve could hear it across the dining hall.

“If you start something with Munson your swim team friends are finally gonna actually disown you,” Robin said. “You being friends with me was bad enough.” 

“Yeah, I think I’m at the point where I’m okay with that. They’re boring.” He had spent his sophomore year becoming increasingly annoyed with his teammates, who seemed to want to stay mired in the same types of people and pastimes they’d experienced in high school. He had enjoyed it during his first year, it had been nice to have continuity and had made the transition to college less jarring, but now he found he was looking for something more , and they all wanted to stay the same. 

He had met Robin in one of his classes, a geeky girl who had no interest in sports beyond what she observed from her section in the marching band, but she constantly made him laugh, and she was an omega, his first real omega friend. He had always been the only omega on the swim team, a bit of a freak of an omega given his large size and muscle mass. The other guys on the team had a tendency to completely forget about his designation, given the scent patches he wore all the time.

“I’m gonna go talk to him,” Steve announced, pushing his chair back. 

Robin shrugged. “Your funeral,” she said, and Steve rolled his eyes. He knew he was a very attractive and charismatic man, Eddie would probably be excited to be approached by him. 

Steve walked over to the table, Eddie still deep in conversation with his friends as he approached, not even looking up at Steve. A couple of his friends glanced up with confused looks on their faces, but Eddie just continued holding court. 

Steve sat in an empty seat directly across from Eddie, who finally acknowledged his existence. “What do you want, jock boy?” Eddie asked, derision evident in his tone. “I don’t sell to athletes, that’s a surefire way to get expelled while you just get a slap on the wrist.” 

Oh, he was a drug dealer. Robin had left that bit out of her list. “I’m not here to buy,” Steve said, holding out a hand. “I’m Steve Harrington.” He hit Eddie with his best bedroom eyes. He knew Eddie couldn’t smell him through the scent patch, but surely he’d heard of Steve Harrington, omega swim team superstar.

Eddie just stared at Steve’s hand, not extending his own. “Can I help you with something, Harrington?” He sounded annoyed. “Or are you just here to stare and interrupt our conversation?”

Okay, that was unexpected. This was not going the way Steve had expected. He typically had no trouble picking up alphas, in fact they tended to be the ones throwing themselves at Steve. He could deal with this, though. Just a little pushback. He’d try again when there weren’t so many people around, maybe Eddie was just shy.

“No, just wanted to introduce myself,” Steve said, smiling. 

Eddie waited for a moment then waved his hand away from the table. “Well, introduction done. Run along, jock boy.”

Steve stood, walking back over to Robin who had dissolved into snorting laughter at the table. 

“Oh my god, you just got shot down so hard,” she said between laughs. “How’s it feel, King Steve?” 

“He must not get subtlety, I might need to be more explicit,” Steve said, refusing to let his confidence take a hit. 

Robin wiped a few tears away from her eyes. “Sure, Steve. It definitely couldn’t just be that there’s one alpha out there in the world that won’t immediately whip their knot out for you at the first sign of interest.” 

***********

Eddie wasn’t sure what Harrington had been doing talking to him, if not to buy drugs. Maybe he was still angling for that, just trying not to scare Eddie away. Eddie knew who he was; everyone knew who Harrington was. Not just the golden boy of the swim team, but an omega with a pussy made of gold, to hear some of the alphas talk. 

He was also a cocky asshole too convinced of his own importance, and Eddie didn’t want to have anything to do with him. 

“What did Harrington want?” Gareth asked, like he hadn’t been sitting there right next to Eddie through the whole conversation.

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Eddie said, and looped the conversation back around to what they had been talking about before, the upcoming campaign for the D&D club. He didn’t want to waste any more breath on that man.

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

Steve really tried to give up on Eddie after that first flop, but he found he couldn't stop thinking about him. When he'd caught a whiff of him in the elevator it had triggered the strongest response he'd ever had to a scent. The most immediately noticeable notes of his scent were pretty typical alpha scents, something in the woody family with cloves mixed in, but underneath that Steve could catch hints of something sweeter, possibly jasmine, maybe even vanilla. Not typical alpha scents. Layered underneath all of that was just a hint of patchouli. A thoroughly sophisticated scent. 

He'd tried to describe all of this to Robin to explain why he wouldn't give up yet, but she found his hyperfixation on scents in general annoying, and even though she was an omega she had never been able to pick apart a scent as well as he could. Robin's lack of interest notwithstanding, he was too intrigued to give up after just one miss. 

As luck would have it, after swim practice the next day he found himself in the mailroom at the same time as Eddie,  who was filling in the address on an envelope. It seemed like Eddie never wore scent patches; Steve was once again surrounded by his scent as soon as he walked into the mailroom. Eddie didn’t even look up as Steve walked in and grabbed his mail.

“Hello,” Steve said when it became clear Eddie wasn’t going to acknowledge him.

Eddie looked at him, frowning, and his scent went a little sour. “What do you want?” he asked.

“Just… saying hi,” Steve said awkwardly, not sure how this man kept robbing him of his typical charm.

“Alright, you’ve completed your task, run along,” Eddie said, waving a hand toward the door. The hostility was a bit shocking to Steve, who had always managed to skate through life liked by everyone around him.

“Did I do something to you at some point that I don’t remember?” Steve asked, perplexed. 

Eddie sighed and rolled his eyes. “No, Harrington. I just have very little time for drug seeking rich boys who could get me expelled if I sell to them.” 

“I’m not looking for drugs,” Steve protested. “I’m just trying to talk to you.” 

“Sure, sure,” Eddie said, looking like he very much did not believe Steve. He finished writing on the envelope and threw it into the mail slot, brushing past Steve as he left the mail room, not even saying goodbye.

Steve was honestly a bit shocked. He didn’t think anyone had ever been that mean to him, especially not anyone he was showing interest in. He was really going to have to step up his game.

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

“Steve, you forgot your scent patch again,” Robin said as he sat next to her in the dining hall. 

“I didn’t forget it,” he replied. “I intentionally didn’t put one on.”

Robin furrowed her brow. “I thought you stopped needing to do that to get laid a while ago.” 

Steve sighed. “I thought so, too. But it appears there are still some people resistant to the powers of my scentless charm and reputation.” He looked over at the table where Eddie was sitting with his friends.

“What do you know about him?” he asked Robin, nodding toward Eddie.

Robin looked over her shoulder, following his gaze and sighing. “Really? You're still on this?”

“Yes, I’m still on this.”

“Is this just one of those things where you feel slighted by his rejection so now you need to relentlessly pursue him just to prove you can?”

“No, I told you. It’s his scent.”

Robin made a frustrated noise. “You are so weird about scents, Steve. I mean, I’m an omega, too. I have a nose. He just smells like an alpha. Maybe like an alpha who spent too long in a New Age bookstore, but not in a compelling way.” 

“Well he wouldn’t smell that good to you . I think we’re scentmates,” he declared, but Robin only rolled her eyes. 

“Okay, first, those don’t exist. Second, you claim you’ve found your scentmate at least once a semester, yet you never seem to want to keep them around after the novelty wears off. Doesn’t seem like a fated pair situation to me.”

“None of those were real! This time it is.” He was well aware of how ridiculous he sounded, but it was true. Sure, he’d really liked the way all those other people had smelled, but this was much more visceral. He felt drawn to Eddie in a way he had never experienced before.

“Okay, Steve,” Robin said with a long-suffering sigh. 

The person sitting next to Eddie stood to leave, and Steve took his chance. He stood up and walked over, sitting down next to Eddie. “Hi Eddie,” he said, leaning in as close as he could without risking a punch to the face, so Eddie could get a good whiff. 

Eddie turned to him and glared, but Steve could see his nostrils flare and his eyes widen incrementally before his face snapped back into neutrality. “This is getting old, Harrington. If you don’t want drugs then could you please tell me what you do want so I can never speak to you again?” 

Not a promising response, but at least he’d gotten a little bit of a reaction. “Just wondering if you’re free this weekend,” Steve said. “There’s a party at the Sigma Chi house.”

Eddie laughed in his face, stopping when Steve frowned. “Christ, are you serious? Absolutely not, I wouldn’t be caught dead at a frat party.” 

Okay, yeah, maybe Steve had miscalculated there, it was just the first thing he thought of. “Right. They’re not great. What do you usually do for fun on the weekends?”

“What is this conversation?” Eddie asked, looking more confused than pissed off at this point. “What is your aim here, Harrington? Is this like some sort of prank with your jock buddies?”

Steve made an exasperated noise. “I don’t even hang out with them anymore outside of practice and meets. Not sure if you’ve noticed but I pretty much just spend all my time with Buckley now,” he said, motioning towards Robin.

“I haven’t noticed, because I do not give two shits about you. I don’t even give one shit. No shits are given. Now go away and stop bothering me, you’re putting me off my food.” He pointedly turned his back on Steve, who got up and walked away, a little shell-shocked. He heard a few snickers from Eddie’s friends. 

Plopping down next to Robin, Steve put his head on his arms. “That didn’t look like it went well,” Robin said, patting Steve on the back. “Was he not immediately entranced by your luscious scent?” 

Steve half-heartedly threw an elbow at her. “I could tell he noticed it, but it didn’t help. I think he really doesn’t like me.”

Robin made a sympathetic noise. “This must be very new for you, to not be liked.”

“It is,” Steve whined, sounding pitiful even to his own ears. 

“I mean, you have to admit. You probably have, like, nothing in common with him,” Robin said. 

“How can I know that if he won’t even talk to me?”

“Okay, fair,” Robin admitted.

“What do you know about him?” Steve asked, picking up his head. 

“I already told you everything I know - D&D, heavy metal, and music school. You are interested in none of those things.”

“I could be, though,” Steve said. “Does his band actually have gigs?” 

Robin sighed. “I don’t know, Steve. Are you seriously going to keep pursuing this?” 

“Yes, absolutely. I will not back down from a challenge.” 

Read the full fic on AO3

[8turning]

Hii! Could u please do choi san as boyfriend?

of course, thank you for this request!! ♡

⌕ . . . choi san — boyfriend headcannons !

bf ! choi san x gn ! reader ★ fluff. established relationship. ★ bulletpoint ★ warnings: none that i saw. let me know if i missed anything!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀〈 REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED ! 〉

💭 THINKING ABOUT : SAN.

despite his exterior, san is a total softie! don't let his sharp features and muscles fool you.

he'd pride himself on being forward with his emotions - a natural flirtatiousness always present in his tone both before and during your relationship.

if he had approached you first after much of your time was suffocated by mutual pining, he'd show that shamelessness just that much more to see if you felt the same even before giving your answer.

but, his entire world would flip if you asked him out first. suddenly, his voice doesn't carry the stability it normally did and he cant meet your eyes. saying "yes" and talking about his feelings became a challenge, but luckily, you were patient with him (only for you to tease him about his bashfulness later on).

ultimately tries his hardest to wave off any shyness he faces because of you (he fails).

your biggest hype man!! never wastes a chance to tell you how amazing and talented and awesome and charismatic and energizing you are. genuinely feels so much ease when he's with you - and you feel such with him as well!

you're both each others safe place - instant relief and stress fading away with one simple hug.

loves loves loves to call you while he's away!! especially before you go to bed or once you wake up in the morning - sometimes when he's on tour, the time differences can line up just right.

when tours end, it almost became a habit to have him spend the next day with you in its entirety, making sure an extra set of his pajamas are at your place for his return.

the type of boyfriend to keep little things with him that can be useful (wants to come off as dependable).

an extra phone charger in his car in case you left yours at your place, another pair of earbuds straight from the package just for you, making sure to have your favorite morning beverage in the dorm at all times or having duplicates of whatever toiletries you have in his own bathroom for when you visit. shows just how much he really pays attention to you through more indirect practices, funnily enough.

but that isn't to say he wont be very direct at times!

he'll often ask you what it is exactly you want or need. want some space to study? got it. need some company while you run some errands? he'll offer to drive you around.

again, very much wants you to know you can depend on him, even if his work is demanding. he'll always be sure you know that he's there for you to rely on.

very much a warm-blanket, finger-tracing, soft-smile boyfriend ♡

© 8turning 2023.

[viburnt]

Heyyy loved your Izuku story, made me want to request one with the prompt "How could I do that to him/her?" Maybe someone is flirting with adult Izuku but he already has a partner and is very loyal OR maybe having an interview where the host makes a joke/insinuation he should go and take advantage that he is famous to meet many more people

Whatever you prefer 💖thank you

I hope I managed to convey the feelings you expected, Anon! Have some loyal dog Izuku *smooch* Also Pro-hero!Izuku is a smart crowd pleaser, he knows how to play his cards and outsmart malicious people. Also you didn't specify any gender so I went with gender neutral.

-Viburnt

𝐈𝐳𝐮𝐤𝐮 𝐌𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐲𝐚 || 𝐓.𝐕 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐬

— Welcome, everyone! Today, we're here with Japan's latest big shot and number one pro-hero, Deku! We are so excited that you were able to have some time for us, darling.— The model serving as a hostess said, her body language exaggerated, and her outfit provocative to gauge higher ratings for the show.

Izuku hadn't really planned to participate in the program, but after you convinced him to do so, he agreed; you'd always supported his career, so you encouraged him to engage with his fans often.

Izuku just wished it had been with a less slimy host, feeling uncomfortable with the frequent lascivious looks the model would throw at him.

—Thank you for having me.— The man said with his classic charming smile. —It's a pleasure to be here with you guys.

—Say, Deku, you've become quite an icon lately. Your popularity is almost as high as mine!— The woman joked, eliciting a slight laugh from the live public. —Have you grown used to being a groundbreaker?

Midoriya bashfully looked at her, feeling her eyes checking him out from head to toe as she spoke.

—Well, the hero life is a difficult path, I have to admit that.— He started, trying to formulate an answer that would suffice. —But it's something I love, and I'm trying to be the best at it.

The model nodded in understanding, allowing her hand to roam to the muscles of his arm.

—Absolutely! We are very alike in that aspect, you know?— She commented, giving a slight squeeze to his biceps. It was getting on Izuku's nerves. —It wouldn't be too far-fetched to be together as a couple.— He heard her say with a wink, the audience having mixed reactions to her blatant flirting.

—Don't you think we'd make a picture-perfect power couple?

Midoriya felt disgust towards the hostess, feeling overwhelmed by her constant indecency. "Talk about basking in reflected glory," he thought, wishing he could get away from her.

—Haha, well, I appreciate your interest, but I'm afraid I'm not available.— He answered with an unfaltering grin; even if it hadn't been long since he had first debuted as a pro-hero, he'd learnt a thing or two about managing his looks while facing the public eye.

The model pouted, pressing the matter even more.

— Just think of the headlines! We could be an 'it' couple.— She added to her desperate attempt to convince him. —Besides, wouldn't you prefer to change your old partner for a brand new model? You'd be the envy of your colleagues.

The public awkwardly laughed at the hostess' behavior. It was funny the first time, they'd guessed, but after a while, it just felt uncomfortable– Even they could sense the uneasiness in Izuku through his charismatic facade.

—How could I do that to them?— Midoriya answered, shaking his head. —I love my partner; they are the best. I wouldn't trade them for anything in the world.

A loud wave of clapping and cheering soared after his answer, moved by the vulnerability and sweetness behind those words. Izuku swore he'd heard a man scream "I love you" at him.

—Hey, baby, if you are watching the show like you promised, wait for me for dinner.— Izuku said to one of the cameras, referring to you as he took his leave from the scene.

For a few weeks, the whole interview fiasco had spread on every social media platform, but every single post had one thing in common: they all agreed that Izuku was loyal to you.

[vixcynn]

・✶ ｡ﾟ WHEN YOU WAKE — ran haitani

contains: ran x y/n, abuse, toxic relationships, cheating, angsty, mild swearing, 1.1k wc

Ran was a lot of things. Sweet, charismatic, funny, and fine as hell. But one thing he also is, is a complete asshole.

He used to be the boyfriend of your dreams, the type of guy you'd imagine yourself with watching Disney movies as a little girl. The type of guy you daydreamed yourself to end up with in high school. So you tried to give him excuses time and time again for his less than desirable behavior further down your relationship. Date nights consistently got rain checked and eventually became a once in a blue moon type of thing. Affectionate words slowly became nothing more than lustful comments leaving you to wonder if it was you or your body that his love resided with. But it was clear from the way he would come home quickly irritated at your desire to be acknowledged in some way and his late nights out that had nothing to do with work that your relationship with Ran wasn't anywhere near what it used to be, and you hated that.

Things used to be great with Ran. On a particularly good day you would have him all to yourself. Weekends when you woke up beside him, cooked breakfast and talked about whatever was on either of your minds before getting cuddled up on the couch to binge watch a show you'd been begging him to watch with you. By the time the evening came around he'd tell you to get dressed and he'd take you to a new exclusive restaurant he discovered when working. You guys would enjoy yourselves together before returning home, barely able to keep your hands off each other and it stayed that way until the two were too worn out to move a muscle. After a while though, Ran constantly claimed to be "too tired" to do anything and yet you'd wake up in the middle of the night after a nightmare to an empty bed and no sign of Ran even being inside the penthouse.

Part of the problem might've been his job and the stressors that came with it. You knew who Ran was working with after a while of seeing each other, and you can't say it didn't throw you off. His position as a top executive basically confirmed Ran had blood on his hands and it fucking terrified you for a while. Even with his reassurance of keeping you safe, the idea of someone out for revenge breaking into your home and doing God knows what with either of you kept you up for hours on end and even started to give you night terrors on a constant basis. Shit, even the though of the things he has done made you a bit weary. But to be fair, there was some perks with his job. It helped Ran accumulate his wealth and had no qualms with spending some on you. He had more than enough money to buy whatever your heart desired and although it didn't do much to ease your anxieties with his work, it definitely had an effect on your relationship. The gifts were nice at first even with you not being a materialistic person, but when diamond earrings and new hand bags were given in exchange for much needed conversations and explanations it got old pretty quick.

Ran wasn't keen on making your presence known either. You never visited his place of work and didn't know any of his coworkers but by chance happened to run into them at the club with some of your homegirls. That's when you met Rindou Haitani for the first time, the Rindou Haitani who had know idea his big brother even had a girlfriend. His coworkers even joked about thinking you were just some whore for hire to your face and the way Ran made no move to defend you and laughed along with them fucking stung. You honestly did feel like a whore for hire with Ran. The state of your relationship just felt like him giving you expensive gifts in exchange for you cooking cleaning and fucking.

You felt so incredibly alone in your relationship with Ran. You were losing friends and your relationship was strained with the ones you had left. He made you feel angry and insecure and these days you cried more often than not, the two of you were truly terrible together. Ran would come smelling like some heifers perfume, makeup on his white dress shirt and hell sometimes even hickeys. You'd get mad and confront him and an argument would ensue which almost always ended with you launching things around the penthouse, slaps and punches being thrown Rans way and you crashing at a friends place for the night. Although he wasn't quick to anger Ran had been quick to return a few of your hits and it more often than you'd like to admit ended up with you laid out on the floor body sore and eyes filled with tears.

He denied any allegations of infidelity, just blaming some drunk girl in the club getting too handsy with him but you both knew it was a blatant lie, a bad one at that. He has little habits he does when he lies. Like, how he'll shove his hands in his pockets or avoiding direct eye contact for too long. It's like he didn't truly care if you knew or not and that's what really got you worked up. "If he really wanted to be with another woman then he would've left already, right?" You thought. Maybe he was just bored of what you two had? You started wearing more tight and revealing clothing. Hair and nails always done in ways he preferred and you were always quick so satiate his needs. And for a short while it worked, until it didn't of course.

Ran was fucking impossible to keep entertained. More often then not you lied awake in bed hugging a pillow to your chest just thinking. About the cheating, the lying, everything. You could feel yourself go crazy with your relationship like this. It was exhausting having to essentially play a character to the man who was once the love of your life but neither one of you could bring yourselves to break things off. So, you thought "what could be the harm in doing the things he does?" I mean, if Ran didn't want to keep it in his pants hell why should you?

So the following night of waking up alone, you decided to get a ride to the club with one of your friends. Sitting at the bar you felt a twinge of guilt in your stomach knowing your intentions for the night, but bits and pieces of the last few months crossed your mind and you started asking yourself, what there was to feel guilty for?

not proofread its 6am idk why tf im writing but i lowkey fw this i might make a part 2

© VIXCYNN. — please don’t plagiarize my work. all rights reserved.

[satancopilotsmytardis]

Number 7 (you can take it)

and it’s to big

Pairing: Shigadabi

Rating: E

Contents: Loss of virginity, size kink, Tomura Shigaraki has a Massive Dick, anal fingering, anal sex

Somehow, and Dabi is completely oblivious to why, the rest of the League seem to have gotten it in their heads that he fucks. It's not something that comes up often, but when sexual topics do come up, he's always included in them in a way that lightly implies that they think he gets around. Toga definitely, for some reason, thinks that when he's out trying to recruit, he's actually off getting laid. Magne, when she was around, drunkenly whispered to Compress that she was sure his 'dick game' was impeccable. He has no idea where that came from, because for ages the only thing he ever even talked about with any of them was work. Does not think he gave them any indication that he gets around, because he doesn't.

Dabi was in a coma throughout half of puberty, not that they know that, and when he woke up he had to deal with the fact that his body was not just not his anymore because of the skin grafts that he was now covered with, but also because he'd changed so much while he was asleep, and he was still changing. He didn't feel like his body was his own until he'd hit twenty, and even then, it's not like people were lining up to fuck the homeless guy who could barely keep his skin on. And he wasn't looking for that either. He'd had one or two drunken makeouts on the rare occasions he had enough money to waste on getting drunk and there was someone with stunningly low standards or a scar fetish, but they'd never gone further than some light petting. Always recoiled from anything else. It just... it never felt good the way that everyone else talks about stuff like that. And he has other things to worry about than getting fucked. If he immolates as a virgin, then that's no skin off his nose. 

He ignores what the others say. He doesn't know if that reinforces their beliefs or what. They already know that he's intensely private. No one actively tries to bring it up with him. Really does not like it that as soon as he tells them after taking over the MLA that the recruit he was working on was Hawks, that Compress snorts slightly and Toga immediately gives him a knowing leer. Abruptly decides that he's going to make Hawks fucking crawl back into his good graces. He'll give the hero his attention in a few months. For now, the PLF has enough spies already in place that they can make up the difference. He's not going around trying to do his job by following his dick, and he really wishes that they would stop thinking he was. 

A bigger problem that emerges after the PLF rebranding, is that he kind of wants to now that Shigaraki has grown the hell up. Has gone from a scrawny, gangly, ill-tempered man-child, to a tactical, effective, weirdly charismatic leader with more muscle than Dabi knows what to do with and pretty long hair that somehow makes him look so much softer and more approachable even with his new bulk. Shigaraki, to his great despair, is hot now. He's not the only one who's thinking it. Duster is getting hit on all the time by their simpering grunts. He's pretty sure even Re-Destro has tried, though he doesn't think Shig went to bed with him. But he has taken a few others. Shigaraki, to his and the rest of the League's surprise, seems to be the actual member of their group that gets around. He's experienced, attentive, and huge apparently, and the handful of people who he has gone to bed with all seem ready to sing his praises. Dabi's not sure how true all of that is though. Can't be certain because of that handful, a couple have made it clear they thought going to bed with him would raise their rank or get them an assignment they want. Something that Duster had been thoroughly unimpressed with, and had promptly ensured they would not be working in close proximity to him again. Pretty sure that would be an HR thing if they weren't a villainous organization, but whatever. 

What that means for him is that even if he were willing to humiliate himself by maybe acting on the weird crush he's started to develop on his boss, he won't go through with it. He absolutely does not want Shig to think he's trying to get special treatment or some other shit like that. So he has a crush, he wonders if Duster is good in bed, and he goes about his work and pretends it's not a problem. 

Dabi thinks that he's doing a really good job with all of that. Especially since he and Shig have been working one-on-one more often as Duster comes and goes for treatments with the doc. Long hours spent in Shig's office, sitting together on his couch, going over papers, proposals, reports, strategizing. Work shit. That's all it is. They've been doing this for months, he doesn't get why Duster getting into his space now makes his stomach swoop and his skin feel a little hotter than usual. Manages to ignore it for two months into the changeover to the PLF. Two months. He had thought that maybe this weird attraction would go away after that, but if anything it's only gotten more intense. It's getting distracting at this point. Dabi just didn't realize that it was so obvious too. But apparently Duster knew the whole time. 

It goes from the two of them, well after midnight, looking at reports in the soft, quiet cocoon of Shigaraki's office, to Dabi reaching for the papers Shig offers him. But Duster doesn't let go of them. Keeps holding onto them, and when Dabi fully turns his attention to him, he finds red eyes on him filled with something that he doesn't know how to place, but that makes his whole body go a little hotter and puts that stupid crush at the forefront of his mind. His breath catches in the back of his throat as Shig leans in deliberately, pausing when Dabi goes stiff as he realizes that he's leaning in to kiss him. 

Shigaraki pulls away before closing the distance. "Sorry, I thought--" 

And Dabi, brain barely working, manages, "Not looking to get a promotion, Duster." Mentally cheers when he sounds completely normal. "Or a demotion given how you go through the grunts." But that might have been a step too far. He sees a flicker of hurt flit through those pretty eyes and immediately regrets it. Especially since Dabi wants to kiss Shigaraki. He doesn't think he's ever wanted to kiss someone as much as he does Duster. 

"...You're already my second-in-command, Dabi. And I wouldn't--" Stops, because he has, but Dabi really feels like shit about the comment. Cause as far as he could tell, he only sent away the ones who tried to use sleeping with him as a manipulation tactic. "I'm sorry, that was inappropriate, it won't happen again." And Dabi feels like a pit has opened up in his stomach. He wants it to happen. Just stuck his foot in his mouth the instant it started too. Now he's never going to get a chance for it again--

He moves this time, much faster than Shig had. Moves in a little desperately and presses their lips together. It's not quite right, he knows that immediately. It feels off-balance and a little wrong, Duster's mouth still half open from speaking, and he goes rigid the way Dabi had. Fuck. He's ruined this twice over.

Then Shigaraki shifts. He wraps a hand carefully around the back of Dabi's neck, makes him tilt his head, moves his own a bit and oh. Their lips slot together just right. This is... this is better. When Dabi doesn't flinch, when he doesn't pull away this time, Shigaraki kisses him deeper. Dabi has hazy memories of opening his mouth for another too wet tongue that tasted like stale beer, and he didn't love that. But he opens anyway. Duster licks into his mouth, but it's deliberate and slow. His tongue strokes over places he didn't know could feel like this, and he is careful and gentle when he brushes against Dabi's. He tries to mimic the movements. He's always been good at learning through observation, and that skill seems to come in handy here because Shigaraki doesn't pull away repulsed. Instead the hand on the back of his neck tightens slightly and he's kissing him a little harder. Brings his teeth into play when he catches Dabi's lower lip between them and nips lightly before his tongue darts back out to chase away the sting. Dabi follows along breathlessly, his skin creeping hotter and hotter to reflect the molten puddle that his guts have turned into. 

When Duster pulls away, just far enough to speak, Dabi nearly whines. His whole body is tingling and he wants more of that sensation. "Dabi--" 

"Don't stop." And he sounds as breathless as he feels. "Didn't mean it, j-just surprised me. I want to." He admits, trying to seem more seductive than desperate. Must work because Duster kisses him again, somehow makes it even hotter than before. He gets his other arm around his waist, and before Dabi knows it, he's being moved. Backed up against the armrest of the couch and Shigaraki is kneeling between his legs, making Dabi's back bow over the rest, tilting his head back like from this angle, he'll be able to lick his soul out of his body. Shifts his hand to his thigh instead and squeezes lightly, and that pressure there, overlapping a seam that Duster can't see, but must be able to feel beneath his clothes, makes Dabi let out a shaky moan. He feels heat rise to his cheeks. He doesn't think that this should feel so good that it's working that kind of sound out of him, but he's never had a kiss feel good like this either. 

Hesitantly, he reaches back for Shig, lets himself finally touch that long pretty hair and finds out that it is as soft as it looks. Swallows his nerves and starts his other hand over Duster's collar bone and works down across the hard muscled planes of his chest. Thinks he might have done something wrong when that has the other man breaking their kiss, but he's not reprimanded. Instead, Duster's lips and teeth skirt along his jaw, down to his neck, and they are licking and biting, settling over his pulsepoint and worrying at the skin. Dabi always thought that it would be uncomfortable, unpleasant, to have someone use their partner's neck as a chew toy. But now-- he'd let Shigaraki bite straight through to his spine to keep it feeling like this. A whine slips through his throat, his legs tightening instinctively around Duster's thighs, and bringing them closer. Has their pelvises nearly flushed, and before Dabi can be embarrassed, before he can shift away, Shigaraki is using the hand on his thigh to hold him right there, and he rolls his hips against him. 

Dabi thinks that he's lucky that he's not spilling smoke as he gets hotter. Things start to go faster and he's swept up in it, just trying to not embarrass himself and show that this is far beyond anything he's ever done with anyone else. Never felt the need. Never felt good like it does as Duster makes him shrug out of his coat so he can rack up his shirt and lick at the piercings going through his nipples. Makes his face burn red as he feels himself getting hard with someone else for the first time. When he feels Duster getting hard too and--

"How do you even walk?" He croaks incredulously as he feels just how big his cock is as he rocks their hips together again. There's no way, with how big he feels against him, that Shigaraki hasn't heard that a million times before and he just chuckles against his skin before he's murmuring, 

"Can I touch you, baby?" And that nearly takes Dabi out. He whimpers pathetically, his dick twitching and throbbing with need at just being called that. Can't manage to find his voice, just nods weakly. He's so out of his depths, but everything feels so good. He doesn't want to stop. He doesn't want Duster to ever stop looking at him like he wants to eat him alive. Dabi is pretty sure he'd let him. He doesn't know if he would even notice if Shig settled five fingers against him until his eyes crumbled away to dust. 

Shig's hands and mouth move over his body. He undones his belt with one hand which is so fucking hot that Dabi is afraid he's going to cream himself before Duster even gets a hand around him. Then he's got the much more pressing fear that he's going to cum immediately as his fingers wrap around his cock. Oh fuck. He's never had someone else's hand here-- not in this context, and when Shigaraki feels his piercings he stiffens. Oh. Is that bad--?

"Let me see you?" 

Lifts his hips for him as he peels his leather pants down his thighs before he's back between them, drinking in the sight of his body as Dabi tries not to immolate himself from how exposed he feels. 

"Fuck, you're gorgeous, firefly." Never been called that before and it makes Dabi's cock drip. 

"Sh-Shigaraki--" Lips against his again, devouring away any other coherent thoughts he might have tried to get out. Gives them up as he feels Duster shifting over him for a second before there's a soft tearing sound. Then his hand is back around his cock and it's wet and slick with lube. He strokes him a few times, teasing his thumb along his ladder, circling his head, sending his nerves screaming with pleasure that feels so much starker than anything he's ever been able to give himself. "Duster--" 

"Say my name, baby." 

"Tomura," Desperate, hips fucking up weakly into the grip. He's so, so close. Too close, too fast, he's sure. But he's never had someone touching him like this. He curls his fingers into his palm, putting a sharp pressure on his staples to try and walk himself back from the edge. His body doesn't know what to do with that sensation. The pain sings across his nerves and mingles with his pleasure, making it feel better, but that twinge also wakes up the part of his brain always worried about injuries that does help to force him a few steps back from the edge. 

"That's it, sweetheart. Do you want more?" 

"Please, Sh--Tomura," Begging before he's even fully processed the words. Whining when that takes Tomura's hand away from his cock. But not gone. stroking his balls, behind them-- Dabi sucks in a sharper breath and forces his body to stay relaxed as wet fingers rub against his hole. Nerves twist in his gut. But just because he's never done this before, doesn't mean he's completely oblivious to how this works. He needs to be wet, to be stretched so that Tomura can press his cock inside. That's the 'more'. He can... he can handle this. He tries to focus on how hot he still is, on how his other hand is teasing a nipple, his mouth licking along the seam running across his collarbone. How he's able to slip his hands under Tomura's shirt and touch his skin too. Distracting. Keeping the sensations screaming across his nerves good rather than terrifying or uncomfortable as his fingers circle him until he's pressing one inside. 

The stretch is a little unpleasant, but it doesn't hurt. It's just weird to have something moving inside of him, to feel him spreading the lube inside of him and making him wet in an unfamiliar way. A flicker of disappointment goes through him. Is this going to feel as lackluster as the makeouts that he's had before? He tries not to focus on that. Tries to find the other things that make it good, like Tomura's mouth going to his ear to murmur, 

"Fuck, baby boy, you're so tight." Works the one finger inside, and then there's another prodding at him. Dabi forces himself to relax as that one breeches his body and starts to move too. He doesn't know if he likes this. Maybe he can just ask Tomura to stroke him again, pretty sure he knows what to do with that at least and could mimic it for him--

The muscles in his thighs jump and tighten as Tomura's fingers crook up and rub against... something. He's not sure what, but it makes his nerves all feel confused for a second and he doesn't know if he liked it. Before he has a chance to decide, Tomura is catching him in another kiss as he settles his fingers there, rubbing in soft circles that gradually increase in pressure. And that changes the way it feels to have something inside of him. It makes it start to feel okay, and then good, building to perfect as Dabi gives a breathless moan as he starts to wonder why anyone would want anything else when it feels this good to have something inside. Almost better than when Tomura was stroking him. Oh-- It would feel so, so good to have both at the same time. 

The fingers ease off and Dabi whines, rocking back down to get more, tightening his thighs around Shig's hips to try and draw him in closer. "Please," 

"Want more already, firefly?" And there's a touch of amusement in his voice, but Dabi doesn't care. He'd humiliate himself a million times over to just get a little more. 

"Please," he begs again. Tomura leans in and kisses the words out of his mouth, a hand leaving him as his fingers fuck into him over and over. Only pulls back when he needs to, when he's bringing the foil of a condom to his lips to tear it open and Dabi is ready to set himself on fire as he actually gets a look at the other man's cock. Absolutely huge. It's rude how big he is. Dabi has only ever seen cocks like that in a very specific genre of porn, and he absolutely cannot believe he's been hiding that under skinny jeans. Tomura pulls his fingers out of him and distracts Dabi momentarily as he whines at the loss. It felt so good--

Tomura rolls the condom over himself and then settles back between Dabi's legs, leaning down to kiss him again. And Dabi feels the slick head of his cock nudge against his hole. If he looked huge, that's nothing compared to how he feels as he brushes against him. He can't help how his whole body tenses up. Feels him start to press closer. 

"Relax, baby boy." Duster murmurs, pressing kisses along his jaw as his hands shift to his ass, spreading him open and tilting his hips up a little more. 

There's no way. "T-too big--" there's no way that he's going to fit inside of him. Tomura breathes another soft laugh against his skin and gives him another kiss. 

"You can take it, firefly. I'll go slow." And that's all well and good but 'slow' is not going to stop the completely incomprehensible physics problem that's going on here. He's about to insist when Duster rolls his hips a little harder, and he feels his hole stretch a little more. He lets out a loud keen as his head pushes inside of him. 

Dabi is pretty sure that his brain cracks as he feels something so big and solid pushing against him. Can feel his pulse thrumming loudly through his veins, the way the muscles around his hole are twitching and fluttering. Never been stretched like this before and he doesn't know if they want to hurt or not. Thinks he might be drowning as Shigaraki keeps stroking his skin and moves so slowly, feeding more and more of his monstrous cock inside of him. Pushes more of his dick inside, and every inch makes Dabi's brain feel like it's leaking out of his ears. He's making so many little noises. Sucker-punched gasps, whines, whimpers, and... as he pushes in a little deeper, as that pressure stretches him open, it makes that spot from before tingle and hum with pleasure again. He doesn't think Duster is even fully inside before Dabi is nearly sobbing as he moans loudly and his balls draw tight. He cums all over his stomach, making his muscles go even tighter and that feels so good. Better than any orgasm he's ever had before, as the sensation suffuses his entire pelvis from the head of his cock to deep inside of him where Tomura's is making a home for itself. 

When the pleasure stops surging through him, Dabi nearly melts against the couch, vaguely mortified because he definitely came too soon. But Duster isn't looking at him like he's going to make fun of him. Instead he's catching him in another devouring kiss and sinking deeper inside of him, bottoming out now that his muscles have approximately the consistency of jello. And it still feels good. Sends fresh pulses of pleasure along his nerves. 

"Fuck, baby, didn't take you for such a size queen," Rolls his hips and Dabi keens again. "You ready for more, sweetheart?" 

More? He doesn't think he'll survive it. But he finds himself nodding weakly, tangling his hands back into Tomura's hair and making him give another one of those hot, perfect kisses. Tomura still goes slowly, drawing his hips back just a bit before giving Dabi the first thrust. But it still feels like it's going to shatter his whole world apart. He's going to tear into pieces, not because of his ruined seams, but because there's no possible way something could feel so good inside without ripping him apart. 

He's going to burn holes in Tomura's shirt. He can't help it. He's going to, so hot, but he needs something to hold onto as their pace builds and builds. His cock is hard again, dripping messily all over his stomach, his previous spend is mingling with the sweat on their skin. He can't stop the moans coming out of his throat, can't focus on anything but chasing the unceasing rhythm of their pleasure. It's good. It's amazing. He never wants it to stop. 

But it has to. Because that ecstasy builds and builds until it's taking Dabi over the edge again with another loud cry. His muscles go tight and Tomura groans against his lips too and he presses in deep before his hips still as well. Dabi is dazed as he lays against the couch, his whole brain has absolutely leaked out his ears. His muscles might be about to follow the exodus with how relaxed and perfect he feels. Tomura moves first, pressing another gentle kiss to his lips before he's coaxing his legs from around his hips. He pulls out then and Dabi feels so empty. Likes that a lot less, but it's not like he can stay on Duster's dick forever, even if that does sound particularly appealing. Shig ties off the condom and tosses it in the trash and rights his clothes a bit, then reaches for the side table and grabs a handful of tissues. Leans back in to kiss him again as he starts to clean up the cum smeared all over his stomach. Dabi sighs contentedly, mouth moving without the assistance of his brain that's soaking into the couch cushions. 

"That's what it feels like? Should've done this sooner." God he is tired. It was already late when they'd been working. He has no idea how late it is now, but he wants to pass out. He's not looking forward to trying to stand. He has a sneaking suspicion that his legs are gonna wobble like a baby deer. Confused when Duster tenses against him. He blinks and tries to focus. 

"Dabi..." tone is different too. It makes nerves start to build in his gut. Is something wrong? "Please tell me that I didn't take your virginity on my office couch." 

Oh. He feels his face flush, can't meet Shigaraki's eyes, shame souring his gut. "...Does it matter?" He liked it, but maybe that's just because he's never done this before. Maybe to someone like Shigaraki it wasn't worth it. Maybe it was, "Was it that bad?" Fuck. He wants out of here, right now. The pleasant echoes are gone and he wants to be alone. He never wants to be in the same room with Duster again--

A hand on his cheek, forcing him to look up. Something softer and kinder in that look than he was expecting as Shig presses another soft kiss to his lips. "That's not it, firefly. You were perfect. Did you like it?" 

His throat feels too thick. All he can do is barely manage a little nod. 

"Then it doesn't matter. As long as you liked it, as long as you knew we could stop?" And there's a touch of worry coming back into his voice then. 

Oh. "I knew." Never had any doubt, but mainly because it had never even occurred to him to ask. He hadn't wanted to stop. 

"Then it doesn't really matter, Dabi. I only wish I'd known because I would have checked in more often." He gives a self-disparaging little laugh. "I would have probably insisted on taking you to bed, too. You're going to be so sore tomorrow." Another kiss against his cheek as he murmurs the words like an apology. 

Dabi swallows away the sour thing that is trying to spoil how good this was. He threads his hands back into Tomura's hair and pulls him into another kiss. This time he licks along the seam of his lips, into his mouth, trying to stoke the cooling embers of his arousal. Only pulls back just far enough to breathe, "Could take me to bed now?" 

Tomura's lips curve into a smile against his. "What did I just say about being sore?" 

"Worth it," he murmurs back without hesitation. It earns him another kiss, and Duster righting their clothes enough that they won't cause any extra scandal as he corrals Dabi back to his bedroom. The next day Dabi is beyond sore. He can't even stand without wincing and he's completely useless all day. He's also discovered that he is loud in bed. Oh well, Tomura doesn’t seem to mind and keeps doting on him all day. And at least now when the others are gossiping and assuming things about his sexual escapades, they actually have something real to go off of.

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[racefortheironthrone]

Why do you think Renly despises Brienne?

Are you asking why I think that or why he despises Brienne?

To answer the first version, it's right there in the text:

The younger man started for the door. But there he turned back. "Renly thought she was absurd. A woman dressed in man's mail, pretending to be a knight." "If he'd ever seen her in pink satin and Myrish lace, he would not have complained." "I asked him why he kept her close, if he thought her so grotesque. He said that all his other knights wanted things of him, castles or honors or riches, but all that Brienne wanted was to die for him." (ASOS, Jaime VIII)

Renly made use of Brienne because she came on the cheap, but he didn't respect her and you can see him in ACOK toying with her emotions like a cat with a mouse, because he was observant enough to realize that she was in love with him and cruel enough not to let her down easy.

But as to the second version of the question...here I think the difficulty comes in the difference between show Renly and book Renly. Show Renly dislikes Robert's macho culture of warfare, tournaments, and hunting; he's a recognizably modern gay man who leans a bit more fem than butch.

Book Renly has no problems performing traditional Westerosi masculinity: he's a "young Robert" before the booze and feasting covered his maiden's-fantasy-muscles with fat, he's a prominent tourney knight (although Stannis notes that he's better at performing the role of the tourney knight than actually winning the tourneys), he's charismatic but unintellectual ("Lord Renly always said that books were for maesters."). In modern parlance, we'd call him a "masc for masc" gay guy.

So it's not surprising that that kind of man would believe in Westerosi gender norms, because except for the fact that he sleeps with men (which isn't generally considered a problem as long as one is discreet and manages to father an heir), he's a very conventional Westerosi nobleman.