#like and what's fun is whether or not he wants to

[piastriprincess]

fell  in  love  at  the  orange  show  speedway ⸻  oscar  piastri  x  reader .

featuring  oscar  piastri  ,  driver!reader  ,  she  fell  first  he  fell  harder  . word  count  2k author’s  note  wow  wow  wow  we’re  finally  here  !  this  is  the  culmination  of  my  birthday  build - a - fic  event  .  thank  you  so  much  again  for  all  the  love  on  the  event  ,  i  was  so  happy  that  everyone  was  interested  !!  it  still  blows  my  mind  that  so  many  of  you  are  excited  about  my  work  and  i  am  so  so  grateful  .  i  had  so  much  fun  going  on  this  journey  with  yall  and  i  really  really  hope  you  love  the  result  !  depending  on  when  i  hit  my  next  follower  count  milestone  another  event  may  be  coming  very  soon  lol  …  as  always  PLEASE  come  tell  me  what  you  think  and  lmk  if  you  want  more  of  this  reader  and  osc  <3  title  is  from  orange  show  speedway  by  lizzy  mcalpine  !

The email shines up at you like a spotlight, the kind that always makes you wince and look away.

F1 Rising Stars promotional photoshoot. Thursday, 12 PM, at the paddock. Hair & makeup will be provided; race attire required. And just below that, in the participants list: Oscar Piastri is attending.

You’ve read it so many times the words have begun to blur together, except for his name, which has remained annoyingly clear in your mind every time you close your eyes. You didn’t know it was possible to have a crush on the shape of someone’s name in your phone, but you suppose when it comes to your feelings for Oscar, you should stop being so surprised. 

The worst part is, it didn’t take much. It started last year, when you were new to the grid, the first woman driver in fifty years. A heavy legacy to carry on your shoulders, and an even worse one to carry alone. You were never much for the spotlight anyway, but when you got to F1 it felt like every eye was on you: not just to watch your performance, but to pass judgment about every single woman in motorsport if you put a foot wrong. The other drivers were polite but distant, like their reps had forced them to memorize the HR handbook before they were allowed to talk to you. Except Oscar, who walked you to the media pen when you got lost with a friendly smile, who gave you a fist bump and an “impressive drive” when you dragged the Racing Bulls tractor to Q3 in your first ever quali. That was it — since then, you’ve been disgustingly down bad, wearing your heart on your sleeve for him like it’s the team’s newest sponsor. 

Everyone can see it. Isack clocked it within five minutes of becoming your teammate. There’s a running bet in your garage about whether you’ll ever say more than six words to him at a time without blushing. Through it all, Oscar’s remained his lovely, friendly self. You don’t know if he knows, and you definitely don’t want to find out. You’re not sure what would be more humiliating: him being completely oblivious, or him knowing and politely pretending not to.

“Hey,” your performance coach says gently as she hands you a water bottle, evidently getting tired of you fidgeting with your phone for the better part of ten minutes during what is supposed to be a training session. “Don’t overthink it. It’s just a photoshoot.”

Just a photoshoot. Alone. With Oscar Piastri. The boy who makes you forget how to string sentences together when he smiles at you during driver briefings, all bunny teeth and big brown eyes. The boy you’ve been harboring the world’s most embarrassing crush on for months. With a camera shoved in your face, documenting your every move. 

“Right,” you sigh, shoving your phone into your bag and taking a long swig from the bottle like it will cool your flushed cheeks. “Just a photoshoot.”

You’re early on Thursday, of course. You’re always early when you’re nervous, and over the past few days the anxious buzz in your stomach has transformed into full-on nauseous butterflies. You’re nearly hyperventilating by the time you get to hair and makeup, picturing photos with your hair teased, siren makeup, and suit unzipped in the sultry way you know in your bones you could absolutely never pull off. But thankfully, they let you wear your hair the same way you always do, just smoothing a few flyaways and dabbing a bit of highlighter over your cheeks. “Natural beauty,” the stylist calls it with a proud smile. “Just like you.”

You’ve never been good at accepting compliments, and today is no exception, mumbling a thank you and ducking your head so they can’t see the blush on your cheeks. But you do look pretty, you think — at least, you look like you, just… a more confident version. 

The confidence goes out the window the minute you step onto the set. You’d thought your punctuality might buy you a bit of time, but Oscar’s already there, leaning against the prop car like a teen idol pin-up and talking to the photographer about camera angles, or lighting, or something equally important you should probably be paying attention to. You’re not listening. Instead, you’re cataloguing the way his race suit stretches over his broad shoulders, the way his hair falls in the perfect swoop over his forehead. Drinking in the details of his face so carefully that you forget to look where you’re walking, promptly trip over a lighting cord, and nearly go sprawling to the ground. 

Oscar turns at the noise, smiling at you in a way that makes your chest go tight. “Quite an entrance,” he says, and there’s a laugh in his voice. It’s not unkind, just amused, but your face feels hot enough that someone should probably pull a fire alarm. “You ready to be rising stars?”

You take a deep breath and straighten up, manage what you hope sounds like a normal laugh in return. “A-As ready as I’ll ever be, I think.”

The photographer introduces herself. She’s almost aggressively cheerful, treats you and Oscar both like old friends. It doesn’t put you at ease, exactly, but it soothes some of the anxiety in your stomach. “How about we start with some individual shots, get you both warmed up,” she says kindly, gesturing toward the backdrop. 

Your solo session is… fine. You’re not comfortable, exactly, but you know how to smile on command, how to look confident even when your palms are sweating and your fireproofs feel tight around your neck. Oscar, of course, looks completely calm in front of the cameras when it’s his turn, like he’s done it a thousand times (he probably has — you can hardly forget the Vogue photoshoot you pored over a few months ago). You can’t help but steal glances at him as he laughs with the photographer, at ease in this world in a way you’ve never quite mastered. 

“Let’s get some shots together,” the photographer calls, ushering you back to the car to stand next to Oscar. The first few poses are easy enough — standing side by side, crossing your arms, holding out your helmets to the camera. It’s awkward, though. Your chest feels tight, and you’re hyperaware of your body, of Oscar’s closeness. Every time his shoulder brushes against yours, your heart flutters completely unprofessionally against your ribs.

“Are you okay? You’re standing like you’re being held hostage,” Oscar mutters out of the corner of his mouth as the shutter clicks.

The dry humor takes you so by surprise that you forget to be nervous, giggling lightly. “Stop. I’m trying to be photogenic, Oscar.”

“Maybe just relax a little,” he says softly, eyes bright. “You don’t have to try so hard.”

The sincerity in his voice is evident, and now your heart is doing something indescribably stupid in your chest. You don’t say another word, but he keeps making those dry little observations about the poses, the overzealous assistant with the reflector, the way the wind keeps sweeping at his hair, and despite the camera flashing in your face it somehow makes it a little easier to breathe. 

“Let’s do something a little less formal,” the photographer says. “Oscar, can you sit on the back wheel there? Perfect. And you, darling,” she says, turning to you, “sit next to him, but angle towards him slightly. Like you’re having a conversation.”

You settle beside him, taking slow, deep breaths. You can smell his cologne from here, something clean and comforting that makes it very hard for you to think straight. 

“You really are nervous,” Oscar says quietly, in a voice reserved just for you, as the photographer adjusts her camera. 

You exhale slightly. “Terrified,” you say before you can stop yourself. 

He turns to look at you properly, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “Never would’ve guessed, honestly. You’re usually so… composed.” 

“They have me well trained,” you say dryly, and he laughs like he wasn’t expecting it — wasn’t expecting you. 

“Well, they did well,” he replies, shrugging his shoulders. “You’re pretty brilliant at it.”

Your cheeks flush, fingers curling tight around the edge of your sleeve. But you don’t look away. “Thanks,” you say, and mean it. “But I don’t know if that’s true. I don’t think the spotlight’s really for me. I’ve been here a year and I still always feel a bit out of place.” You wish you could take back the words as soon as you say them. You don’t know why you’re being so honest. Something about the way he’s looking at you, maybe. Like in this photoshoot with what feels like a million people roaming around, you’re the only person he sees. 

“You’re not out of place,” he says quickly. “Not to me.” Then his mouth snaps shut, and he blinks those big brown eyes at you like he hadn’t even expected the words to come out of his mouth. 

You don’t know what to say in response. It’s nicer than you could have imagined, something you wouldn’t have even dared to hope for in the secret moments when you close your eyes at night and picture what it might be like to have Oscar’s lips against yours. 

“Whatever you’re talking about, keep it up!” the photographer calls. “The chemistry is beautiful.”

Oscar flushes, eyes darting to the ground like he's only just realized what he said. You glance down too, pretending to smooth a wrinkle in your sleeve, the edges of your mouth betraying you with the start of a smile. Your hands feel too warm. Everything does.

You don’t look at him, not yet. You’re afraid that if you do, it’ll be written all over your face.

The sun is low in the sky by the time you’re finished, the photographer loudly declaring you two the easiest couple she’s ever worked with. You can’t meet Oscar’s eyes after you hear the word couple, settling for watching him rub at the back of his neck nervously out of the corner of your gaze. The two of you split up after that, heading back to the trailers. You change out of your race suit, and start packing up your things.

As you start walking back down the track towards the garages, you’re expecting that to be the end of it. Until you hear Oscar calling your name from somewhere behind you. 

For a moment, you’re expecting him to be holding something you forgot — your gloves, or a spare helmet, or something. But when you turn to face him, he’s empty-handed, standing a little awkwardly with one toe turned inward, the late afternoon light making his skin glow. 

“Hey,” he says, and it’s almost shy, like he’s gone over it in his mind a couple times the way you do when you’re trying really hard to sound nonchalant. “D’you wanna walk back together?”

“Sure,” you say softly, falling into step beside him. The sunset makes the paddock look like something magical, all golden and glittering. Your shadows stretch long across the asphalt, so close together they look like they might fold into one being. 

Neither of you say much, but it’s not uncomfortable. Just quiet. Easy. He walks you all the way to the Racing Bulls garage, even though you pass McLaren on the way there. 

“Thanks for walking with me,” you say somewhat reluctantly when you arrive. You’re not in any hurry to leave, but surprisingly it doesn’t seem like Oscar is, either. He’s dragging his toe against the gravel like it’ll keep him tethered to the spot. 

“Yeah, of course,” he says, and you can hear the hesitation in his voice. Like he’s on the edge of doing something he’s not quite sure of. You wait for just a moment, heart in your throat, but he doesn’t move. And then, just as you sigh and turn to go, he speaks.

“You know, I meant what I said earlier. You didn’t even have to try, and it was hard not to look at you.”

You’re only frozen for a moment before you whirl around, but it’s enough. He’s already walking away, but you can see even in the setting sun that he’s pink up to his ears. 

You smile to yourself, pulse thrumming wildly in your ears. All of a sudden, you don’t feel so out of place anymore. 

[robbysreaders]

In love with your jack series can we have a hint of what might of happened to cause them to break up ?

This literally made me so sad i need to follow up with a fluffier moment tonight but it was fun to write, thank you for asking!!!!!

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader  word count: 800ish notes: prequel of ex!reader and babydaddy!jack also yes i did steal another scene from ER so SUE ME

It was never one big thing. It was the slow build — compounding fractures on both sides that never quite healed.

Jack wasn’t the one to suggest space. You were. He would’ve let it spiral into a blowout or let his guilt fester into something ugly. But you knew you both deserved better than that.

You’d been dating for six months when you realized you were late. He was on a tangent about work, barely coming up for air.

“These budget cuts are bullshit. We don’t have enough nurses upstairs, the boarders are piling up, and it makes everything ten times harder—”

“Jack,” you whisper, “How early can you get a pregnancy result from a blood test?”

“Seven days. Did I tell you what Robby said Gloria said?”

“Several times.”

He blinked. “Wait. Did you just say… pregnancy? You think you're pregnant? But—we’ve been really careful.”

“I know.”

“Did you miss your period?”

“Three days.”

“Okay. Okay. That could be stress. We’ll figure it out.”

It wasn’t stress.

A month later, you moved in.

One night, as you were getting ready for bed, Jack leaned in the doorway, “Will you marry me?”

You sat on the edge of the bed, towel-wrapped and exhausted. “No, Jack. We haven’t even known each other a year.”

“I’d marry you tomorrow,” he said softly. “Any day. I want to make this work. I love you. I love him.” His hand settled on your belly like a promise.

“I know you do. But I don’t need grand declarations. I need the little things.”

And Jack... Jack has never been good at the little things.

Sure, he never missed a doctor’s appointment. But he also ran to the hospital on his days off, stress trailing behind him like smoke. He brought work home and snapped, even when he didn’t mean to.

He was on rotation when your water broke. Of course, he wasn’t answering his phone. You called an Uber to get to the hospital alone.

He saw your texts and rushed to L&D just in time. Everything turned out okay. Except it didn’t feel okay. It felt like the beginning of an ending.

Jack was a devoted father. An incredible one, even. But he was a distracted partner. And you couldn’t blame him, not entirely. Postpartum knocked you sideways. You didn’t feel like yourself anymore. And the truth was, you both were just going through the motions — two tired adults playing house around a beautiful, babbling baby.

Beau was just over a year when it truly cracked.

You were walking through the park, leaves crunching underfoot, Beau kicking his legs in the stroller.

“Jack,” you said carefully, “are you happy?”

He didn’t hesitate. “I’m good. I’m good.”

“I think you should talk to someone. Therapy’s helped me more than I expected—”

“I said I’m good,” he cut in. “I’m just tired. The baby. Work. It’ll get better.”

You stopped walking. “Jack. I don’t think this will work if we keep going like this. I think I need a break. I’m going to take Beau to my parents’ for a week.”

He blinked. “I can’t really take time off that short notice—”

“I wasn’t inviting you,” you said.

--

Back at the house, you packed. Enough for you and Beau for a week. Jack held him while pacing the room, in and out like he couldn’t decide whether to stay or bolt.

Finally, you said, “Jack. Just say what you want to say.”

He stopped. Face flat, eyes hollow. Something at the edge of his lips — then he straightened.

“Yeah, um... just let me know what I can do to help.”

The next morning, you left.

Jack called off work for the first time in his career. Claimed he caught Beau’s flu. Robby knew better — especially when he showed up at Jack’s and saw your car gone, the house quiet, Jack hungover on the couch.

It didn’t take long for Robby to coax it out.

“This doesn’t have to be the end,” Robby said, flipping a beer cap off with ease. “She’s giving you space. That’s a gift. Don’t waste it.”

“She’s sick of the big declarations,” Jack mumbled. “Sick of me being all show and no change.”

“As she should be. You want her back, you rebuild the foundation. You follow her lead. Think about what she’s asked for. Start there.”

The next morning, Jack called.

He asked how you and Beau were doing. Asked if your parents hated him now.

“They could never hate you,” you said quietly. “I wouldn’t let them.”

“So, when you get back… maybe we talk? I need to have Beau in my life, and I’ll take whatever part of you I’m allowed. But you’re unhappy, and I can’t be the reason why. I’ll take your lead. If you want lawyers, I’ll pay for both of us to get them. Whatever you need.”

You were silent for a moment, heart cracking a little.

“Yeah, Jack. Let’s talk when I’m back.”

[sturniololuvz]

“who the hell are you?”

meanmatt! x partygirl!reader — part 1

2,

⸻

You didn’t even want to go to this party.

But your friends begged. Promised it’d be fun. Said he wouldn’t be there. And even if he was, you’d never notice him anyway.

Except now you’re here, the music’s too loud, the floor’s sticky, and some guy just spilled half a beer on your shoes. You’re annoyed, overstimulated, and completely sober — the worst combination possible.

So you do what you always do: fake a smile, throw back something fruity and dangerous, and find a quiet corner to claim as your own. Tonight it’s the back porch — dimly lit, mostly empty, with a half-dead string of fairy lights barely hanging on.

You sit on the rickety bench and let out a slow exhale, pulling your hoodie tighter around your shoulders. It’s peaceful for maybe three minutes.

Then:

“What the hell are you doing?”

You glance up.

He’s standing there with a plastic cup and a permanent scowl — tall, broad, and dressed like he didn’t try (which, annoyingly, works for him). You’ve never officially met, but you recognize him. Matt Sturniolo. One of the hosts, apparently. Notorious for hating everyone, especially girls like you — loud, sparkly, and “too much.”

You blink slowly. “Sitting?”

“That’s my spot.”

You laugh. “Are you serious?”

Matt doesn’t smile. “Dead serious.”

“You’ve got the whole house and backyard full of drunk people,” you say. “And you’re pressed about this bench?”

“It’s mine.”

You scoff. “Didn’t see your name on it.”

Matt glares. “Don’t care. Move.”

You raise a brow. “Make me.”

He stares at you like he’s deciding whether it’s worth dragging you off the bench or just setting the whole party on fire and starting over.

“Why are you even here?” he mutters, running a hand over his face like your presence is giving him a migraine.

“I was invited.”

“By who? Satan?”

You blink. “Damn. That’s the energy we’re on tonight?”

“I don’t like people who come to these things just to cause problems.”

“I don’t like people who act like the world revolves around their stupid bench.”

Matt glares again, and you glare right back.

It’s a full ten seconds of quiet, hostile eye contact before he mutters, “Whatever,” and sits down on the other side of the bench, as far from you as possible.

You smirk. Victory.

Kind of.

⸻

Five minutes pass. Then ten. You both sit in tense silence, the only sound the thump of bass from inside and the occasional shout of someone getting too drunk.

Finally, you break it.

“You always this charming, or is it just me?”

Matt doesn’t look at you. “Just you.”

You hum. “Lucky me.”

Another silence.

You sip your drink. “You don’t like me.”

“I don’t even know you,” he snaps.

“Didn’t stop you from being a dick.”

He turns to face you now, jaw tight. “You walk into someone else’s house, throw your attitude around, and expect people to kiss the ground you glittered on?”

You blink. “Wow. You really hate fun, huh?”

Matt shrugs. “Fun doesn’t usually involve fake smiles, tequila breath, and girls taking selfies in my bathroom.”

“You sound fun at parties.”

“I’m not.”

You laugh again, even though your stomach twists. He’s mean — like, unnecessarily mean — but you’ve dealt with worse. Guys who pretended to like you. Guys who pretended to listen. Matt? He doesn’t pretend.

And that pisses you off more than anything.

“You must be such a hit with the ladies,” you say, voice sugar-sweet. “Do they all fall at your feet after you call them annoying and chase them off benches?”

He leans back, finally sipping his drink. “Most of them don’t talk back.”

“Maybe they’re smart.”

“Maybe you’re not.”

You grin. “You’re just mad I’m not scared of you.”

“I’m not trying to scare you.”

“Then what are you trying to do?”

Another beat of silence. Matt doesn’t answer.

You both sit with it — the tension, the unspoken, the push-pull of two people who are either about to kiss or throw each other off the porch.

You swallow hard. “You know, you don’t actually know me. So maybe get off your high horse before you break something.”

Matt’s eyes flicker toward you. “You come off like someone who wants attention. You dress loud. You talk louder. You walk in like it’s your world and everyone’s just lucky to exist in it.”

“And you hate that?”

“I think it’s fake.”

You go quiet. That one stings — not because it’s new, but because it’s familiar.

Matt watches your expression shift. Regret flickers across his face for a half-second before he masks it with his usual scowl.

You stand up. “You don’t know me,” you repeat, quieter this time.

He doesn’t say anything.

You walk away.

⸻

You don’t expect to see him again that night, and you don’t want to.

But two hours later, you’re in the kitchen, sipping something someone shoved in your hand, when you feel someone watching you. You turn. It’s Matt. Across the room. Arms crossed, unreadable expression, eyes locked on you.

He doesn’t look away.

You roll your eyes and head outside.

You sit on the front step this time. Different porch. Same night.

You let the cool air hit your skin. It’s too much — the noise, the heat, the way Matt made you feel like every layer of yourself was see-through and stupid. You hate that he got to you. You hate that he was right about some of it.

You’re still trying to catch your breath when the door creaks open again.

Matt.

Of course.

He sits down a few feet away, but not too far. Enough to give you space, but not let you disappear.

“Didn’t expect to see you again,” you mutter.

“I live here.”

“Tragic.”

Another pause. You don’t look at him. He doesn’t look away.

Finally, he says, “I was kind of an asshole earlier.”

You scoff. “Kind of?”

Matt exhales. “I just— I don’t like parties. I don’t like pretending.”

“I wasn’t pretending.”

“I thought you were.”

“Well, you thought wrong.”

Silence again. Softer this time.

“I still think you’re a lot,” he adds, like he can’t help himself.

You smile bitterly. “I am.”

“It’s not always a bad thing.”

You glance over. He’s already looking at you. Not glaring. Just… looking.

You sigh, pulling your knees to your chest. “I don’t do fake either, Matt. This is just me.”

He nods slowly. “I noticed.”

Another beat.

“You still hate me?” you ask, half-joking.

He doesn’t smile. “Don’t know you yet.”

“Still sounds like a yes.”

Matt shrugs. “You make things complicated.”

You grin. “You make things boring.”

He looks away, but his mouth twitches — the smallest hint of a smirk.

You lean back against the railing, finally starting to relax again.

Maybe you still don’t like him.

But he’s not pretending.

And neither are you.

⸻

Did yall like it!!???

tag list : @sturniolo-szn2 @fadedstvrn @tezzzzzzzz @stayingstromboli @ivysturnss @sturniolofreakk @ihateemetoo @sturniolo-tease @sturniololuv3r @sturnsclam @nxra-cxm @csturniolo43 @mattspillowprincess @sturniolo-fann @izzylovesmatt

[babiicatt]

nsfw! dark!remmick & religious!f!reader

content! p in v, extremely dubious consent, fucking til passing out, blood loss, biting, stalking, fucking in a church.

“naw, don’t try none of that,” his drawling voice attempted to coax you into relaxing for the unknownth time as your smaller body lets out another violent thrash, a body that was littered in pale yellow-violet lovebites.

“oh- oh god, please mister, let me go,” you cry thick tears as he nips and bites again and again at your skin, spit and blood sliding and sticking on your neck. “i am your god,” words final, refusing to give you room to think on the subject as he pushes his front into your back, trapping you between him and the cobbled wall of the church.

“now, usually i don’t feel… drawn, to pretty little things such as yourself,” you feel his larger, calloused hand come up to grope your jaw so that your hazy head was no longer bowed, “but so help me, i just know that you’re going to be the most perfect companion. wouldn’t you like that sweetheart? to hang with me for the rest of forever?”

it was never a question as he made you cry more as he started to bunch up your skirts. “please…” soft babbling comes past your parted lips, big eyes glossy as you feel his nails scratch at your thighs. “please what?” his voice sweet and mocking as his whole hand went to push up against your clothed cunt, making you forget whatever plea you had in mind.

“oh, here you were, just waiting alone in this big ol’ church,” punctuated with the ripping sound of your panties, “its like you were waiting on me. don’t worry, baby, i’ve got you.” your head goes woozy and slumps against the wall, the loss of blood making your knees buckle.

“now, don’t go passing out on me darlin’, not before the fun begins,” remmick’s chuckle swimming in the emptiness of the church at night, somehow drowning out the sound of his belt unbuckling, making it such a surprise when you felt his cock rub up and down on your slit.

“what…” a breathy moan drags from you mouth and an even longer one as he bottoms out, shushing you like your a newborn babe making too much fuss. “all this mess, just f’me sweetheart?” he coos as he admires the way your slick drips down his cock. “yeah, y’know,” he starts to ramble as his hips slowly push himself in and out of you, “i always saw you down on your knees, prayin’ on sundays. such a sweet little church mouse, i thought, that maybe when i had you, i’d have your mouth first, but what’s the point of ruining that pretty singing voice of yours, huh? and whats the point of denying myself from what i want most.”

even in your delirious, blood-deprived state, your body manages to react to him as his hips slap against yours. “aww, gon’ cum already, huh? well, that’s alright baby, don’t you worry, i’ll get my fix whether your awake or not.” his dick mean as he pushes you over the edge, your eyes rolling and everything fading to a delicious black.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Can I get an Erik Campbell x Fem!Reader where they’re coworkers and the sexual tension is there and one night after work they decide to get drinks and basically end up drunk and fucking 🥸 idk how else to put that lightly I jus wanna ravage that man

The attraction of alcohol

Erik Campbell x fem!reader

warning : +18, smut, pinv, drunk sex, alcohol consumption, mutual feelings, sexual tension, kissing, body worship

Summary : How long had this been going on between them? A question she had stopped asking herself, too often there seemed to be a spark between them, something just waiting to explode. After an eternal back and forth and such an attraction, Erik decided to invite his coworker out for a few drinks and well, with a lowered threshold, one thing finally leads to another...drunken sex in a bar.

info : The sexual attraction in a piercing/tattoo studio is simply irresistible. I would also like to be Erik's co-author and now have fun reading dear anon and thanks to everyone for the support.

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

It was the same as always, they both arrived at the studio at about the same time for the evening shift so that their ungrateful boss could get home quicker.

As always, she was there a few minutes early and only opened the store when she heard the familiar knock and “Oh pretty lady, let me in!” from Erik, who was standing outside in the cool evening with two coffees that he always got in return for her getting up early.

And every damn time she felt the joy well up inside her that Erik was finally there, that she hurried to the door to open it for the dark-haired man and answered his, “Come in, handsome man,” his wink making her smile as they prepared the studio together for the guests who had booked an appointment...or at least the ones who came at all.

There were usually only a handful who came in the evenings anyway, so they had a lot of time together, which was probably the start of it all between them.

The pleasantries, jokes and glances were perhaps just mutual niceness, but at the latest when he held her once, his hands on her hips holding her in place when she would otherwise have almost tripped over the chair leg.

The fright in both of them, small but enough to give free rein to any feelings between them as their eyes met and both seemed to realize that there was something between them.

Erik's eyes were on her more and more often, at first just too chastely holding back his comments, but since the tension between them had risen there was nothing more to see.

Whenever she wore a top or T-shirt with a cut-out, he stared, when she bent over he stared and when she lifted something he stared.

But did she do anything about it?

No

Because the truth was, she did it extra, ever since she had seen him she had somehow fallen for him and could see that he was staring. That Erik seemed to want her the way she wanted him was a dream come true.

Erik seemed to do it just as extra, whether it was calling her by every nickname there was, always putting his hand on her body gently and too briefly for her to return it, to the one evening when he was lying on one of the benches with his shirt off and taking a nap according to him.

It was an eternal back and forth between them, but today when her gaze went to Erik, who was checking the cash register, she realized he was up to something, “What is it?” she asked, disinfecting the table.

The dark-haired man seemed to have seen her question coming as he gave her an innocent grin and replied, “What's going on?” and pretended not to know anything, as if he hadn't planned anything.

Yet when she saw him stuff a few extra banknotes into his wallet, she knew he was up to something, “I don't know, you tell me...do you want to take me out?” she dared to ask the question, hoping her wish would come true.

Although they had been here and there for a coffee, she had also been to his birthday party with his family, but she had never gotten a real 'date' or a real invitation from him.

When she was right he put his hands up, “Well my clever employee I thought we could have a few drinks” he revealed and she didn't hide her own pleasure.

When she gave him a stormy hug, pressing her breasts against him, but whether this was just a coincidence or something extra, Erik could decide for himself.

As the last few minutes passed in the store and no more customers came in, the two decided to put the plan into action and close up for the day and head to the bar.

She let Erik do the choosing, he had lived here longer than she had, he knew every street, neighbors, names and events that had happened, she had only moved here five years ago and still seemed to be 'new'.

At least that's what many of the older residents thought, but his family, the Campbells, liked her, which was mutual.

She liked his little family including his father's family which consisted of his cousin and cousin, they were all nice people, people she got along with and if Erik's mother was anything to go by, her son seemed to have found the perfect woman for life.

At least that's what Brenda had whispered to her in a slightly drunk state, whereupon she had sought a little distance, because it was true that she had hoped to get together with Erik...but what isn't can still be.

The bar that Erik had brought out was a small but lively place, a little rustic with lots of wood and a little metal, old-established but not too old that there was no life here.

The place was busy, a warmth surrounded her as the door closed behind her and Erik's exuberant manner told her it had just the right atmosphere.

The smell of alcohol, wood and leather lingered in the air like the bar's own scent, rustic and yet not too musty, “Pleasant here” she said as she looked to Erik who nodded in agreement.

He turned to the bartender who after a few moments handed his customer two beers and directed Erik to a corner in the store, “A kind of regular place, usually with the family always here” he explained when he saw her slightly questioning look.

There were still a few seats available, including standing ones, two seats right by the bar and the benches leading outside, but Erik chose a seat in the corner, a little to himself, a little secluded as far as was possible in a store like this.

“A nice place, you have everything in view, certainly good for the shows,” she said, looking back at the small stage, which was empty that evening.

Not two sips of the somewhat bitter beer later, Erik told her about the performances and poetry slam evenings that were always held here once or twice a month.

“Well, and believe it or not, your dear Erik has already given something of his best,” he said proudly and suddenly moved a little closer, leaning his shoulder against hers as he said more calmly, “There” and pointed to the wall with framed pictures.

To her surprise, she saw among the countless black-egg photos a relatively recent one that must have been only a few years old, in the middle of which was Erik with slightly fewer piercings, longer hair and a happy smile as he held his broken guitar up to the camera, “You're a metalhead sweetie,” she commented, seeing his slight embarrassment.

She knew Erik listened to metal but the fact that he had once played here himself was impressive, “Well, a little pop star,” he said casually and they both took another sip of the alcohol, a sip that was more than just another in the time that followed.

After a beer it became one more, then she insisted on a little dance which Erik only agreed to if they had a shot, well said and done and one became two, one dance turned into another shot and it seemed with each one a little more the two got closer and closer.

As if the whole atmosphere was changing, what was initially almost a dance around each other had now become a slowly calm couple's dance in which their gazes never left each other, “You know Erik...it's a wonderful evening,” she said quietly as the room seemed to turn slightly in the corner of her eye with each turn.

But Erik also needed a moment, his hand gently stroking her cheek, “Yes, it is...just as beautiful as you are,” he replied, and the compliment, probably due to the alcohol, made her embarrassed.

The whole moment was so pleasant, so warm and loving and Erik's touch was affectionate with an almost certain demand...a demand that she returned in exactly the same way.

Every touch with every turn, every look and every movement was something between cheering her on and igniting her.

An ignition that happened when she held Erik's hand on her cheek, when their eyes met and the “Fuck you're so beautiful” came from Erik's lips and he finally engaged her in a long-awaited and overdue kiss.

A kiss that ignited the fire, a kiss that finally brought out what they wanted between them, the whole room changed, the bar became secondary and they were both just present.

Clinging to Erik as if there was no stopping her, she let him lead her, his hands so much stronger on her than before, as if his inhibitions had disappeared with the kiss.

“Don't-not here come with me” he murmured as if everyone could hear them, he took her hand and led her through the crowd past the bar up the old wooden stairs.

Only now did she notice the sign with the bed and in her foggy mind it made sense that they went to the upper floor where there were probably a few rooms for guests who stayed the night...or wanted to sweeten their night.

Smiling at Erik, who had taken a key from the key box, he opened the room and looked around one last time before they both hurried inside, barely closing the door and clinging to each other again.

Once again tangled in a kiss, they both tried to get the clothes off their bodies, laughing a little awkwardly, the heavy jackets fell to the floor, the shoes came off with a thud and they both wriggled and jumped out of their pants, comparing themselves as rabbits, before practically falling onto the bed.

“So cute” Erik said to her and she only replied “And so drunk”which only made them both laugh even harder as he kissed her again and she tried to relax while his hands slid under her shirt.

Every feeling she experienced was so much more intense, his hands, which she had only ever felt briefly on her body, so much longer.

His closeness so much warmer, so much more intense, Erik's gaze so much more expressive, a gaze full of love, warmth, affection and excitement.

Every time he saw more of her, he seemed to fall even more in love, every “You're so beautiful” interspersed with kisses and caresses. It was as if he had been waiting for this, as if all this attraction between them was the path to this moment, the bed, the room, it just seemed perfect for them both in this state.

The music from downstairs and the people almost nothing more than a dull, barely audible sound between the kisses, caresses and breathless sweet words that left both their lips.

For every kiss, every time he looked at her like that and she traced his tattoos in return, leaving kisses on them and giggling when she heard his slight sigh, it seemed like she was getting to know him all over again.

As if they had only just met, as if the alcohol was giving them a second chnace, as if they had both given each other the best drug there could be.

As if lust and love were what they had needed all this time.

She would never have thought that she could see so much love in his gaze, and at the same time she would feel so much pleasure whenever she touched his tattoos and piercings.

Two new and yet familiar people, indebted to alcohol, getting to know each other in a 'new' way and not letting go of each other until her “Erik I...I want you please” came almost breathlessly over her lips, it also seemed to awaken something in Erik.

His gaze, slightly dark due to the little light, was like hers, addicted, hungry for more, but above all wanting each other.

Her hand on his sleeve, his response to her words, gave them both the last as he let go for just a moment to shift his position, his hands roaming over her bare thigh.

The underwear of both read the last to the other clothes and she saw Erik's almost slight embarrassment as she smirked at her condition, though more at the fact that his cock was pierced too, “A natural reaction,” he mumbled and they both felt like teenagers in sex class at school.

But the kiss she engaged him in once more, his hands lightly spreading her legs and stroking her hair, she mumbled to him, “A lovely reaction,” before lying back on the bed.

The bed was softer, so much warmer and the room so much more pleasant but all the benefits of alcohol as Erik's grin infected hers once more when his hand went to hers, he held her, gave her the support and the last closeness she wanted as much as he did.

The excited noise spread through the room, louder than the muffled sounds of the establishment below them. The feeling was more intense than ever before, more intense than ever before due to the alcohol.

Erik felt her so much more around him and the sweet, almost seductive, painful excitement that ran through him when he felt her inside him. It was something completely different, and neither of them could have imagined it would be so good, not when they kissed again, nor when Erik began to move.

As they reveled in each other's sounds, with every moan and every grunt, the closeness between them melted into more.

The alcohol did the rest, bringing a feeling of spinning and movement where there was none, her clinging to Erik seemed to spur him on, his sweet grunted breathless words and kisses so much more than just that.

The climax was so much more than just Erik pressing himself against her, his hands clawing at her hips while hers clung to his hair, there was a closeness and connection they had never experienced before.

It seemed as if they had both finally gotten what they wanted, both of them finally overcoming their inhibitions with the help of a little alcohol.

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

@nearest-x-dearest , @captainthomasrobbie , @monkeydoll5 , @zombiepoe , @yearsbecomingcool , @starry-eyed-wild-child , @porterroths , @amandalove1355 , @mythicalcowboyatheart , @rhaenyrathecruell , @aashy723 , @luluscoff1n , @fapqueen , @sadslasher13 , @everdxen-mellark , @whoresinatrenchcoat , @dont-touch-my-knives

[pannman]

What's on your mind

Alastor x telepathic reader

Tw: dark thoughts, mentions of violence, depressed thoughts, angst, overstimulation

You knew it was a bit risky to show up to a new place hoping for salvation. But in Hell you were given a secret gift... it was more like a curse. You heard people's thoughts. Whether you wanted to or not. And being surrounded by all the worst kinds of people and hearing the horrible and nasty things that plagued their minds had turned you antisocial. You rarely exited your apartment.

The plants were your only friends. But one eviction notice from your pervy landlord and you were out on the streets again. He had tripled your rent almost overnight after you rejected him. You trailed through the busy street hearing all the the unholy thoughts of others and you began to get overstimulated. The voices of a thousand sinners filled your head with their dark thoughts and you covered your ears in instinct even though you knew it would do no good

*I want to kill that bastard with his own car*

*I'll slip something skimpy on and while he's cock drunk I'll steal his wallet and then slice his throat*

*I hate myself. I cannot keep doing this. I'm a monster. I deserve to be here. I need to find some drugs. I can't deal with this sober. Fuck my life! I wish death was really the end*

*Steal. Steal. Steal. I want that. I need that! I'll just wait until that guy leaves his store and I'll break the window and take it. I'll stab anyone who gets in my way. I must have it! Steal! STEAL!*

Suddenly you were brought out of your emotional spiral by the tv in the window next to you. "And there you have it. The new and improved Hazbin Hotel is now officially open for business! The princess of hell is now again accepting patrons for her little pet project she calls redemption. I don't know about any of you. But I think she's wasting her fucking time. But she did save hell and her precious daddy gave us a lot of money so here you go. Check out the Hazbin Hotel and check in to start your journey to the gates of Heaven today! Is that good enough? What do you mean the cameras are still on?"

Even though you weren't 100% sure you believed it was possible, the idea of getting out of hell was far too tempting. And you needed somewhere to stay anyway. You rang the doorbell expecting the princess of hell to answer only to see the door opened by a tall well dressed but creepy looking gentleman. You recognized him quickly. He was an overlord named Alastor or also known as the Radio Demon. You didn't know he was going to be there but you tried to pretend like you weren't in shock

"Hello, my name is y/n. I'm here to-" suddenly Alastor swept you away and guided you inside with a hand on your lower back. "Of course my dear! I'm Alastor. Pleasure to be meeting you quite a pleasure! Do come in" His thoughts peirced into your brain with a sharp pain and a sound of static

*yet another fool seeking redemption. Or perhaps a sinner with some ulterior motive. I'm sure they won't last long. But it'll be such fun playing with them*

You were unsettled by his thoughts and proceeded to grow more uncomfortable with his touch. You were beginning to change your mind when the hostess of the hotel, the princess herself finally showed. "Oh my gosh! Are you here to join the hotel?" She looked so excited that she looked as if she'd explode any minute

*I hope Alastor doesn't scare this one away as well. He can be so intimidating. I just wanna help them but they never stick around.*

Realizing the princess had genuine intentions unlike anyone you've encountered here, you felt more inclined to stay. The tension in your shoulders began to relax. "Yeah, I'd like to give it a try at least" You answered. "That's great! I'm Charlie! Of course you've met Alastor..."

Once again you were mentally attacked by Alastors thoughts for some reason. You've never felt actual pain from your telepathy before

*Another sucker here to try and fail like the others. This will be fun to watch*

Charlie seemed to notice your distress. "Are you ok?" She asked. You rubbed your temples and tried to drown out the pain. "Yeah, I... I just get headaches sometimes. It's nothing to worry about" you lied.

Charlie introduced you to the rest of the hotel who seemed much less enthusiastic about your arrival. It was very clear they weren't too confident in you sticking around. Their thoughts gave away their true situation. People must have been coming and going ever since they reopened. But still, it was a place to stay. For free. And at least one nice person was there. You liked Charlie. It was a breath of fresh air to hear thoughts that 1. Weren't horrible and 2. Matched the energy and vibe of the person. She was kind and real. That made you believe it couldn't be all bad

But then Alastor of all people offered to show you to your room. You glanced a look of worry at Charlie who was completely distracted and oblivious while talking away to her girlfriend about how excited she was about a new sinner entering the hotel

He chatted away with you the entire way. "So tell me, what makes you so interested in this place? I am rather curious"

*What are their true motivations?*

You responded. "I lost my apartment and I was at a low place. I saw an advertisement on TV and figured what else have I got to loose" you weren't exactly lying. Just leaving out the fact that you can read minds or more that they read themselves to you without your consent. "Oh trust me you still have plenty. You've got your soul and your life. Those things have at least SOME value. Either way, there is no place quite as beautiful and desperate as rock bottom. Yes?"

*I wonder if they can get any lower?*

You were beginning to become better at hiding the migraines Alastor's thoughts were giving you but you were growing exhausted from fighting it. It was like being around him drained you. You grew more tired by the minute. "Yeah I guess so..."

"You must've had a long day. I imagine it's been overwhelming for you. But do not worry. Our beds are quite comfy" he reassured you.

*Comfier than a coffin of course*

You laughed...

"What is so funny?" He asked tilting his head in curiosity as the two of you stopped at your room door. "Uhh. Nothing I just remembered something funny" you lied. "Oh do tell!" He replied. Shit...

"it was really dumb you wouldn't like it" you tried to lie your way out of this. "Oh and you think you know me so well already?" He responded

*I don't know what's up with this sinner but they are definitely hiding something*

Oh no... quick think of something funny. "So I saw this... guy and he... fell out of a window... into... a coffin! And... he fell asleep in it... I don't know why, I just thought it was funny" You felt your heart racing in you chest. Alastor stared at you with scrutiny before smiling wide. "You're right that is quite dumb. But I suppose everyone's humor is different. Anyway, here is your room. Please let me know if there's any way I could make your stay more comfortable." He bought it?

"Yeah... I'll keep that in mind. Thank you" you began to close the door. "One more thing..." He said as you stopped. "Yes?" His thoughts peirced your mind louder than ever before as if he was speaking to you on purpose. The static now making his voice sound straight up demonic. You clutched your head barely being able to withstand the pain

*How long have you been able to read my mind?*

[purinfelix]

i look better in the dark - n. riki⋆.˚ ♱

summary: every night he chooses you, over the cold silence he's known for centuries - and every time he does, he knows it'll be harder to let you go ───────── vampire!ni-ki x human!reader || just vampire immortality angst, soft in places and sad in others || w/c: 970

a/n: as cute and fun as fluff is to write ... angst feels like the easiest thing for me to work on like i literally wrote this in one sitting after seeing niki talk in the recent behind the scenes about "why it's good to have a vampire bf" LOL ... anyways hope my niki readers like this one cus ive lowk felt my obsession for him growing lately so expect lots more <333 + extra shoutout to everyone on my taglists!! love u all

Niki has a decision to make.

Usually, he's good at that - his whole life, he's been swift, decisive, the complete opposite of an overthinker. Shopping is simple for him because as soon as he tries something on, he's able to decide whether he wants it. Waiters love that he never deliberates on what to order, and he's eaten the same ice cream flavour for as long as he can remember. He knows what he likes, and he's incredibly quick at weighing up options, even when it comes to making decisions that have larger stakes in life.

But now, he struggles.

Struggles every time he wakes up before you, and watches through half-lidded eyes as you bury yourself into him, clinging to the warmth that you've convinced yourself he has, even in your sleep. Struggles when you look at him with those round eyes, asking him to help you grab something from a taller shelf or to hold your bag for you. Struggles whenever you talk to him about your futures together, your plans for an anniversary, for your wedding, and what your children's names will be like.

It's a struggle that he's never had to deal with before, one that makes his heart ache unbearably and makes it almost impossible for him to keep up with your enthusiasm, as endearing as he finds it.

He struggles to decide whether to give in to you.

Or more so, whether to give in to this silly little thing he's let himself fall into, to which you seem to be his partner in crime. Not because there's any question about the way he feels about you, no, there hasn't been a doubt since the moment he laid eyes on you that you were something special to him. Rather, it's this very fact that makes him hesitate, because he's worried about the consequences that may come if he does.

You don't make it any easier either, by being so adorably and blissfully ignorant. You never question why he prefers going out on dinner dates over meeting in the daytime, or why he eats so little when you do. You weren't phased by the fact that there wasn't a single mirror in his apartment, just bare walls and dim lighting, as if reflections were something he'd long stopped expecting. The things you do notice - how deathly cold his hands are all the time, or how unnaturally sharp some of his teeth are, you brush off as nothing but personal traits, sometimes even finding them cute.

He knows he shouldn't have let it get this far, knows he should've looked away when you caught his eye. Should've pulled away the first time you kissed him like you meant it. The first time you looked at him like he was your whole future, knowing that you would only be a tiny fraction of his.

But you were warm, and sweet, and so, so kind to him. And he was lonely, and desperate, and couldn't remember the last time, if ever, his heart had felt this way.

So he let you in, just a little, figuring he had the control to know when to push you back out.

But now you're everywhere. In his bed, in his clothes, in almost every waking thought. You're in his fridge, stocking snacks for him that he never eats, in his phone, you're in his arms, buried into his chest - and it physically hurts him seeing how unguarded you've let yourself become around him.

He's considered telling you, of course, but the millions of possibilities that play out in his head, like flowers blooming on the stretching branches of some wretched tree, stop him each time - each one more unbearable than the last.

In one, you flinch away from his freezing touch, eyes welling with tears. In another, you stare at him with terror, like he's a monster, ready to run away.

But in the most terrifying one, the one that keeps him up to the early hours of the morning, you stay. You look at him with those same soft eyes and whisper with a sweet smile about how you accept him, and beg him to make you like him. To put the same curse on you that he's shouldered in isolated silence for centuries.

And what terrifies him the most is that he doesn't know if he'll be strong enough to say no, not to that, not to you.

It would be so easy to give in, to let you follow him into the dark and believe that, for just a second, living with you forever would be the right thing to do - that maybe this curse would be bearable if it was with you. Because he's seen empires fall, cities turn to dust - and none of it ever felt as fragile as your hand in his, or the way you silently brush his hair out of his eyes.

But he knows better, being alive for this long has helped him see that. He knows the silence, the endless hunger, the insatiable desire that lurks within him - and he knows you well enough to know you don't deserve to have to put up with that, to belong in that darkness.

You belong in the sunlight, with the other things that grow and bloom and bring smiles to people's faces. And yet, he stays. Another night, another seamlessly conjured excuse, another kiss he shouldn't take but knows is far from the last.

He has a decision to make, but every night he spends beside you, he loses a little more of his strength to make it. So he lets himself have this, just this, your soft breathing against his chest, your fingers curled tightly into his shirt.

A fleeting, fragile thing that he has no right to hold, but holds anyways.

taglist for niki fics! - @miniw0nz @microwvdstrawb3rri3s @charsworld96 @jenjnk @nocturnebite @nodoubtily

[bladeupnred]

Just Don't Lie to Me ~ n.s

Summary: Noah’s girlfriend gets hit on at a bar while he’s off to the bathroom. Possessive Noah feels like reminding her of her place once they get home.

Warnings: possessive-ish Noah, dom!Noah!!!, oral (m receiving), fingering (f receiving), orgasm denial, unprotected sex (p in v), creampie, mention of threesome, general rough sex (let me know if i’m forgetting anything)

Word Count: 3.6k

Author’s note: Hello, this is my first “post” on my new page! Feedback and thoughts are encouraged as I have not published anything in a very, very long time. As always, this is a fictional work about real people. This is entirely made up and for fun only!

Smut below. Minors DNI.

You were leaned over by the front door of your apartment, shuffling off your platform boots. 

“Listen, I have to say it one more time. She was flirting with you and I don’t believe for a second that you were unaware of it.” Noah said, arms crossed leaning against the kitchen island wearing a playful smirk.

“I swear, I would’ve known if she was flirting and she was definitely just being a drunk girl spewing compliments while she waiting on her drink.” 

Although, you had really hoped she was flirting. Even though you shouldn’t have.

And honestly, it definitely had felt like she was flirting, hard.

*Earlier that night*

You were at one of your usual dive bar spots, waiting on Noah to get back from the bathroom. Feeling a little awkward and self-conscious about being alone for the interim, you kept pretending to check a message on your phone and stir your watered down drink.

“You know, if I had brought you here, there’s just no way I would leave you alone.” 

You looked to your left, and whether it was the alcohol catching up or the woman beside you, your head started to feel fuzzy. She had glossy, wavy, black hair to her hips, strong brown eyes decorated in winged black liner that bored into yours, and a radiating confidence about her. She smiled at you like she wanted to devour you and for a second, you thought about letting her.

“Hah, well that’s very cute but my boyfriend will be back in a second,” you slurped the last drop of your drink, sliding it to the other side of the bar.

“Well can’t I at least keep you company in the meantime? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind a pretty girl taking care of his pretty girl while he left her alone. Plus, it looks like you need a drink.”

You hated yourself but you couldn’t help but feel flushed at this point. You’d always been attracted to everyone and were comfortable with attention from women. But this was wrong. You were ashamed that you were even entertaining her, but she was so captivating you couldn’t help but want to keep her around for as long as you could. 

As if she could sense the heat, she reached to tuck one of your ginger locks behind your ear so she could see you. It felt like you could melt at any second.

Shaking yourself out of your pathetic fantasy, you stepped away. “Listen, I really am flattered and you’re stunning and I’m sure a great person, but I really am waiting on my boyfriend to get back.”

She snickered and shrugged her shoulders. “Okay, heard loud and clear. I hope I wasn’t too pushy.” You shook your head at her as she started to turn to walk away. “But seriously, he better worship you like the goddess you are.”

You looked back down at the bar, similar to earlier but feeling antsy for an entirely different reason this time. You were feeling so many things: lust, guilt, shame. 

You sat there for another minute or two, lost in your thoughts until you jumped at that familiar hand on your back.

“What was that all about?” Noah leaned into your ear, the same ear that that mystery vixen had just touched a moment ago.

“Nothing. She was just making small talk while she waited on her drink.”

“She didn’t leave with a drink in her hand. She was flirting with you.” He smirked.

You felt like you got caught, even though you knew he was being playful. Feeling like lying to mask your shame, you spoke up. “No she was not. She walked up complimenting my back tattoo and wanted to know more about it because she’d been wanting to get hers done soon.

What a stupid, stupid lie. He’s gonna know you’re lying.

He huffed, “I’m sure she did compliment you, just looked like she was interested in more that tattoo artist recommendations.”

Oh God, how much had he seen? Of course he hadn’t been in the bathroom that entire time.

“C’mon babe you don’t have to be embarrassed to admit it if she was. I’m secure enough to know she can’t take you from me.” He put his hand under your chin and looked at you in a very possessive, but affirming way, 

“While I appreciate that, she wasn’t flirting with me, seriously. Look, can we just drop it? I’m ready for sweats and the couch.”

Noah smiled, pulling cash from his wallet, not wanting to bother waiting around for a copy of the tab, “Of course. Let’s get out of here.” He leaned over to kiss your forehead, grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the bar to wait outside for a ride-share home.

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

“Baby, I saw the way she touched your hair, like the way I would touch your hair,” He raised his eyebrows, arms still crossed but stepping out closer to you now. “It’s okay that she was, I would too if I saw you alone, but why did you lie?”

Your guilt was eating you alive at this point. You and Noah had always allowed each other openness and transparency in all aspects in your relationship, and he knew that you had a history of primarily dating women romantically and sexually before meeting him.

“I’m sorry, but I just didn’t want to say anything about it because it kind of threw me off guard I guess.” You were starting to come around to the full truth but still feeling upset, crossing your arms now looking at your tights. 

He put one hand behind your neck, urging you to look up at him, and cupped his other hand on your upper arm.

“I don’t like when you lie to me, you know that. You can tell me anything, especially where it concerns your emotions.” He began to look at you with a more stern look in his eyes.

Sighing, you felt like you had disappointed him, which is what you had wanted to avoid altogether by avoiding the conversation. You rubbed your eyes for a second, then glanced back up, “What do you mean my emotions? It was a stranger giving me empty compliments.”

Noah took his hands off you, making you internally wince. “Angel, I don’t appreciate you pretending to be innocent in this. It’s obvious that you liked it. You won’t make eye contact with me and your skin is on fire.” He looks like he’s past the point of being patient, but you just can’t bring yourself to speak up.

“Just tell me what she said that got you so damn flustered baby.”

You grew hotter. Noah could call you any pet name in the book and it would make your skin heat up. You turned around, starting to walk past the living room toward the hall.

“She said that if she was with me that I would never be alone at a bar or something.” 

You kept walking to the bedroom, suddenly needing to change into more breathable clothing. You knew he was following you closely behind.

He laughed, he actually laughed at you. “And that’s what got you so hot and bothered?”

“Well it wasn’t just that, it- it was everything. She just came up to me, came on very strong, and kind of threw me for a loop. I guess I just haven’t been approached like that in a very long time and I’m sorry I reacted like that.” You sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, half expecting Noah to turn back around and walk out. Instead, he crouched down in front of you, resting one hand on his thigh and one hand on yours.

“Hey, I don’t want you to be ashamed for feeling anything that you feel. But I do need you to be honest with me if there’s anything on your mind. I don’t mind you having a fantasy, but don’t embarrass me by trying to keep it a secret from me, yes?” You knew he was right, and you felt even sillier now for trying to lie to him about anything in the first place.

“Yes,” you nodded at him. 

“Uh uh, yes what?” He began to tower back over you, his power looming around you, making you melt.

“Yes sir. I’ll never lie to you again. I was ashamed that I was flattered and I should have just been honest about it.” Tension was really starting to build up in you. You rubbed your thighs together, dying to relieve something. He moved to put one hand on your knee and then smiled down at you.

“Good girl. Now see, was that so hard to tell me?”

You shook your head and he pouted his lips and shook his too, mocking you.

“Now I would say that you and I have a very healthy relationship, wouldn’t you? But when you violate my trust by lying to me, it puts that health in jeopardy, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes, I do.” You knew what was next to soon come.

“You’re so sweet, my good girl. You know what I have to do now right?” He takes both of your wrists, pulling you to stand up. Then he moves his right hand to cup your face, holding you in place.

“I have to punish you for tonight. For lying to me, for embarrassing me. You understand that, don’t you?”

“I do. I know I should be punished and I want you to punish me for what I did. I need you to take away all of the guilt and shame I have left. Please.”

You couldn’t believe you were being so vulnerable in this setting, even with Noah. You two had always had a very natural dominant/submissive relationship, first sexually and then in everyday life. But this time was weirdly more intimate, making you feel closer to him.

“Okay pup. You know what to do, take everything off.” He took his hands off of you, taking a step back and even putting his hands in his front pockets. God you loved when he wanted to take full control. He looked so sexy, jaw tensed, muscles bulged, hair rustled in his face.

You started sliding your top up over your ribs. The backless, black fitted top that had aided in your lies. You kept your eyes locked on him…God, he looked so fucking good like this. He looked back at you with blown pupils, his hands moving from his pockets to adjust his strained cock then meet at his front. There was something so carnal about that move and you couldn’t help but moan under your breath as you started to unzip and slide down your miniskirt. You knew when he finally put his hands on you he was going to destroy you, but you were becoming too impatient for touch to even care.

“Turn around.” As you turned, you felt his hand on your upper back, pushing you down onto the edge of the bed, urging you to catch yourself on your elbows. You looked back over your shoulders, his eyes burning holes through your back.

“Now turn over, let me see you.”

You complied immediately. You looked up at him doe-eyed, knees pulled up in some effort to hide from him. All of a sudden you were embarrassed, remembering you have forgotten about one little thing.

He smiled, flashing that wicked look. If he didn’t touch you soon, you were gonna fucking explode.

You were on your back, propped up on your elbows, just taking all of him in. In one swift move, his shirt was thrown over his head and onto the pile alongside your clothes. 

“Legs down. I said let me see you.”

Fuck. You slowly lowered your legs and let your feet rest on the wooden frame at the end of the bed.

“Spread them.”

Again, you obliged, instantly getting hot at the sight in front of you.

He unfolded his arms, reaching for both of your knees, looking right at your core.

“Flirting with someone at the bar, okay. That’s one thing. Not wearing any fucking panties in front of everyone and knowing how I feel about that. You’ve been a bad little pup tonight.” He starts to trail his right hand up your thigh, then his left hand. You knew the moment he got close enough he would feel how wet you were. Getting turned on because he was disappointed in you? How pathetic. 

“Promise I’ll get you more of these, yeah?” He had his hands on either side of the seam connecting the tights, hovering dangerously close to your folds. Being teased was worse punishment compared to whatever else he had planned.

“What did you just say?”

Oh fuck. Did you just say that out loud? He cocked an eyebrow at you, then suddenly ripped the tights apart. The cool air grazed your now exposed core, causing you to hiss just enough for him to hear it. 

“If teasing you is punishment, then why are you so fucking wet?” His fingers were dancing along your center now, lightly grazing your folds ever so often. “Is it because of me? Or are you thinking about her?”

What? You shook your head at him. “No don’t be ridiculous. It’s just… embarrassing sometimes.”

He tilted his head, urging you to keep talking, his fingers now daring to slide up and down your folds.

“You just- you just make me feel too good—Oh God.” You were cut off by an involuntary moan, caused by him slamming two fingers into you. As blissful as you felt, you couldn’t help but feel guilty for tonight.

“Can I?” You sat up as straight as you could manage and nodded to his belt.

“Mhm.” He smiled, smiled, down at you. “Thank you for asking, good girl.” You were so close to the edge, and just like that, he pulled his fingers out, bringing them up close to his mouth. Even though a part of you knew you had that coming, your jaw still dropped completely open.

“Don’t look at me like that, you know you aren’t getting to cum tonight. Go ahead and take it out.” He took those fingers into his mouth, moaning around them.

You got to work, unbuckling his belt, then unbuttoning his pants. You paused to look up at him, and you could have lost your mind at the sight. 

He was looking down at you, hands now behind his back, signaling he wasn’t going to help you with anything. But he also looked at you with admiration, like he was proud of you. Not breaking eye contact, you unzipped his pants, then pulled them down to above his knees. Like muscle memory, you went straight for the waistband of his boxers, pulling down with no hesitation. His cock sprung free, and you looked away only to take it in for a moment.

He was gorgeous, cock flush against his stomach, angry and red. You took full control, pushing him back far enough so that you could get off the bed and onto your knees on the floor. In the next moment you had one hand on him and your mouth on his head. You immediately started moving both together up and down on his hard length, and you could tell he was already worked up. Glancing up through your eyelashes at him, you hollowed your cheeks. knowing this would pull more moans from him. If you were being honest, you were trying to pull out all the stops early on in hopes he would fuck you. You knew you wouldn’t be able to cum but fuck did you need some relief. The way he was so domineering yet also falling apart into you was enough to make you explode at any second.

“Fuck baby, if you keep that up—fuck.” He grabs your shoulders and pulls himself out and lifts you up onto the bed.

“Stomach, now.” You took the order before he even finished speaking, smiling to yourself thinking about what would come next. As if sensing your mischief, he yanks a fistful of your back back, enough to see your face clearly. 

“I’m gonna use you and show you how much you belong to me. I’m gonna fill you up and the second that you even think about cumming, you tell me. Yes?”

“Yes.” He pulled your hair harder. “Yes sir, use me, please.”

He released your hair and brought the same hand down, hard across your left cheek, then grabbed it before placing his other hand on your right cheek. He slowly spread them apart, the cool air hitting your core once again. You felt him spit on your center—like you even needed it—but fuck did you love when he did that. You had a feeling he was gonna be sloppy and filthy and the thought alone almost brought you to your climax. In one swift motion, he spread his spit along your slit and rammed his cock in to the hilt. You moaned into the pillow beneath you, until he pulled in from underneath you, tossing it off the bed.

“Unh uh. Let me hear you.” So you did.

With every thrust you were moaning and babbling, so cock drunk you couldn’t string a full sentence together.

“Getting closer pup. Help Sir out.”

You knew the second you clenched yourself around him he would collapse. Still crying and moaning you squeezed around him, earning a hiss from his throat, making you giggle underneath him. 

He started moving faster, placing one hand on your ass and the other on the back of your head, pressing you further into the mattress. 

“Mmm. Gonna fill you up now.” You tried nodding in acknowledgment, telling him you were ready.

He started to fill you, pumping his cum deeper into you as he released. “Good girl, you take it so well for me.”

He stopped moving, staying inside of you for just a while longer. He came down to kiss the top of your head, pressing himself entirely on you.

You two laid like that for a minute until you broke the silence. “I really am sorry about earlier, you know?”

“I know. Just don’t lie to me, okay?” 

“I promise.”

“Okay, well let’s get cleaned up. I’ll run us a bath.” You groaned as he pulled out of you and got up, stopping to place a kiss on your hand before walking into the bathroom. 

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

This had to be one of your favorite places in the world. Your back to Noah’s chest with your head in the crook of his neck. You were fading in and out of it, a combination of bliss and exhaustion. You had long since washed each other off, and now you were just enjoying each other’s warmth.

“Hey baby?” His question was soft in your ear.

“Hmm?” You may have had your eyes closed and remained curled up, but he had your full attention. 

“I did get her number for your earlier, the one who flirted with you.”

Your eyes fluttered open and you shot up, turning to face him. “You what? No you didn’t?”

He looked down, nodding. “Yeah, I did. When I saw her walk off from you I walked over to introduce myself, and one thing led to another.” 

“What? What do you mean one thing led to another? How did you even do that without me noticing?” You felt so confused, not betrayed or mad, but puzzled his by actions.

“Well it’s no secret that there was something there—I saw the conversation from basically the beginning. And we’ve discussed the possibility of you bringing someone in. Forgive me but you aren’t exactly forward, so I went over to her.” 

You felt slightly defensive, but also insanely aroused again. “What did you say to her?”

“I introduced myself and told her I saw her talking to my girlfriend, she was immediately apologetic, then I was pretty up front about thinking that you might like to see her sometime if she was into it. She did seem a little caught off guard, but gave me her number anyway and said she’d love to hear from you if you ever wanted to get to know one another.” 

You couldn’t help but feel conflicted. You had been honest in the past that you wanted to bring another woman in from time to time and Noah would do just about anything to keep you satisfied. You also felt guilty, like in some way he was orchestrating your infidelity or something.

“Hey,” he grabbed both sides of your face, forcing you to focus in on him. “I can see your brain going 100 different directions. Don’t do that. I merely didn’t want you to lose out on a possible connection with someone so I interjected. I also don’t want you thinking I’ll be upset in any way. I’m here to be whatever you need me to be. There is no pressure to reach out at all if you don’t want to. After all, you are the one with all of the power.”

You nodded into his hands, he was right. “Well…. you are right I never would have done that on my own, and I did kind of like her, so thank you. I just can’t help but feel… gross? I know we’ve talked about bringing someone else in, whether it’s for us both or just me but I just don’t know how I feel about it.”

“Like I said, no pressure.” He brings you closer in to him, giving you a light kiss on the forehead. “Just think about it before you shut it out.”

For some reason, that last push of reassurance gave you butterflies in your stomach. “Okay, I will. Thank you, I love you.”

He leaned in impossibly close, his lips ghosting over yours, “You have no idea.”

[softsuo]

when they're in love with a rival

⊱ it feels quite humbling when a long-time rival is going easy on you—little do you know it's because they're in love with you ; suo, kaji

⊱ request: "I want to request a scenario where Suo and Kaji (separately) fall in love with someone of a rival gang. So they have to fight each other, but really they are going easy on them"

⊱ w.c: 0.9k (total); 0.4k (average)

⊱ genre: fluff-ish, enemies to lovers but also not?

⊱ warnings: mild depictions of violence

⊱ a/n: not too sure if this is the style you wanted, but i did have lots of fun writing it so thank you for requesting it <3 is it proofread though? not at all

kaji ren

it pisses you off. in fact, you feel humiliated.

it’s anything but the first time you cross paths and exchange fists with kaji—you’re familiar with his moves just fine at this point.

what you’re not familiar with is how beat up he looks under your returning knuckles. sure, it’s not like you’re weak, but neither is he, so there’s something with you having a dramatic upper hand in this that simply doesn’t sit right with you.

is he not taking you seriously? is he having a bad day? has he become weaker? not a chance, so why is he taking more of your hits and landing less of his own? you hate it, you don’t want to win like this, especially not when your group had picked the fight first and especially not in front of them. it looks too easy. it is too easy.

the next time you grab his collar, it feels more like a personal grudge rather than that of a rivaling team. he finds himself pushed backwards, back pressed against the building’s cement wall and god you look so ready to down right strangle him. “i know you’re not a wimp so stop acting like one,” you speak through gritted teeth, “what the fuck is going on?!”

kaji raises his hand and you think he’s finally going to do something—anything—so it surprises you when he merely ruffles his hair in what looks like frustration. it exposes his forehead, dripped in a perfect stripe of red after a fresh wound you’d caused. he groans, although unsure whether it’s at you or himself, “hell if i know.”

“are you messi—”

from his group, your group, you don’t know, but someone bumps into you from behind. they’re gone just as fast, but you wind up inches away from a collision; you gasp in surprise, so does he, and you think you must be tripping because he quickly turns his head to the side, the color of his skin growing closer to that of his bleeding.

“how the hell am i supposed to hit you like this?” you just barely hear him bitterly mutter.

“... what the fuck are you talking about? i’m not even holding you back, your hands are literally open, can you at least try to punch me or something?”

while you continue talking and complaining, kaji is sure he’s going to combust from how painfully clueless you are.

suo hayato

it’s like suo isn’t even trying. he normally plays himself into victory. now he’s just defending himself.

he still wears the same, smug smile as every time you’ve been doomed to meet, but it’s truly like he doesn’t care about winning. as much of a fight you often tend to put up, you’d normally have at least a bruise or two by now, but you’re about as unscratched as he is; it’s getting you nowhere through the moment, and you’re starting to think you’ll end up throwing fists the rest of the night if this keeps up.

just as you attempt the nth punch of the evening, it winds up meaningless upon easily being caught in his hand—this time, you don’t bother retreating. you simply cannot be arsed to even try, frustration so real it makes you feel defeated, knuckles remaining flush against his palm. glaring past them, you’re met by the plum-red eyes crinkled by the corners, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“what are you doing?”

suo hums, although the clueless hint lacing it sounds as fake as it could possibly be, “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“why are you holding back?” you scoff. “why are you giving up?” “i’m not giving up—”

not a second later, his hand is latching around your own, you’re quickly pulled forwards, so close, too close, nearly standing chest to chest.

“but you’re not even trying anymore,” suo points out, quietly for only you to hear, but the taunting hint lacing his voice is loud and clear.

“you haven’t been trying at all!” “and you’re still not winning—isn’t giving you the best image, is it?”

you furrow your eyebrows, questioningly. you’re quick to regret as suo soon leans closer to your ear and frankly, he’s relishing the shiver you can’t hold back. “think about it. your friends can still fight because their strongest member hasn’t been knocked out yet, even though we clearly have the upper hand this time—so what do you think will happen if i suddenly take you down, right here and now?”

suo has a point and yet, behind the smug words, he’s praying you’ll finally give in. taking you down right here and now is the last thing he wants.

from somewhere in the back, you can make out one of your friends asking if you need back-up. before you can bring out any sort of answer, rushed steps are already closing in. in the corner of your eyes, suo is bracing his hand and unlike whatever the hell he’s been doing this entire time, you know perfectly well it’s not a stance he takes for the sake of defense.

he’s definitely holding back on you, and on you alone.

“you’re absolutely twisted, suo,” you mutter between grit teeth before hastily pulling yourself out of his hold. you know it comes as a bit of a surprise to the rest when you turn around and declare retreat for now, but you know it’s for the best at this very moment.

for a brief instance, you turn around to face him again, “you’re eating your words up next time.”

suo, in return, merely waves at you with that one stupid smile, “i’ll look forward to it!”

[mossy-bonez]

You my friend are on to something, I think in the episode where we are introduced to the bone turner it’s described like a sticker similar to what is found in most modern library books, which if it is the case then it would not be affected by the death note, but that is not as fun to play with.

If it is a stamp which is my favorite option(either that or a really intricate book plate made of leather with little metal corners for the aesthetic because as we all know Jurgen is a old money boi who wants to leave his legacy, so he would so be over the top about a book plate) he is definitely dead as you said, but that is if he doesn’t read the rules first. So I think what it comes down to is, does he read the rules first and then put the stamp in, or does he skip the rule reading and just stamp away on the pages? Given that the rules are on the cover and cover side of the first page I doubt he would miss them as he is going to stamp the cover, and would read them then, but assuming he does not and that he sees there is writing and goes to the next page without text to stamp it we must then question whether or not he is picturing his face because as we all know, for the death note to work you must write the persons name as you think about their face. I personally think that there is a solid 65% chance that if you look into this mother fuckers head that you will find, thoughts about the book he is currently studying, a random painting he saw as a child that he thinks might have been supernatural in some way but it definitely wasn’t, and a bust of himself. Does this bust of his head rotating in his brain count, maybe!

It would be very funny if Jurgen Leitner got his hands on the Death Note.

He'd stick his vanity bookplate on the inside cover and die immediately.

[the-drift-journal]

Physical touch

Summary: After he started dating you, his need for physical touch became more evident, even when he was talking to his friends at the boneyard. Warnings: Kissing, gentle love, JJ being a tad bit needy

JJ had been pretty cautious with being physically affectionate at the start of your relationship, but now he was rather clingy. Not the bad kind of clingy, more the possessive kind. He would always have a hold on you whether it was his finger hooked in your belt loop or bracelet or full on having his arms wrapped around you from behind while he talked to one of his friends.

Everyone had decided to go the boneyard for the night to hangout and have some fun after everything that had been going on lately. You were standing with a group of friends, Sarah and Kiara included.

JJ was standing pretty close to you, but he was talking to some of his other friends who he sometimes surfed with. Like normal, he had his pointer finger hooked onto the friendship bracelet on your wrist. He was listening intently, nodding along and laughing at jokes, but it wasn’t hard to notice his finger hooked into your bracelet, and every now and then, he would tug on it as if to try to get your attention.

After a few tugs, you looked over at him, taking a step in his direction. You didn’t know if he had done it on purpose or if it was a subconscious attempt to make sure you were still there. JJ smirked slightly when you looked at him, noticing how you had gotten closer. He had done it on purpose that time, just wanting to be annoying, and he just liked having you close to him.

“Need somethin’?” You asked him as you stood there, still facing your friends but leaning into him so he could hear you. He replied with a small shake of his head and that same smirk you knew all too well.

“Oh, I don’t need nothin’…” He tugged on the bracelet again for comedic purposes. “…just wanted to get your attention.”

“Didn’t know if you were doing it on purpose or not.” He smiled in response to your words. He knew he often did little things subconsciously, like fidgeting with your rings or hoodie strings. It was habit as this point.

“I just like knowing you’re right there.” You smiled at his explanation for the interruption.

“I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” He knew you weren’t going anywhere but he just liked having you within arm’s reach. JJ was a pretty tactile person, and he hadn’t realized until he started dating you how much he craved physical touch and affection.

“You suuuuuure?” You elongated the word with a soft smile on your lips as you rested your chin on his chest, still looking up at him. He kept his eyes on yours as his free hand went to your hip, his thumb tracing the small sliver of skin in between the hem of your shirt and your waistband.

“Yes, I’m suuuuure.” He replied with a fond smile as he bumped his forehead against yours. You smiled at him, pulling back just a little bit so you could move around.

“M’kay… gimme kiss.” He smirked at your words, momentarily glancing down at your lips before going back to your eyes.

“Demanding little thing, ain’t ya?” He teased softly before leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to your lips. Once he pulled back, he murmured a small ‘I love you’.

“I love you more. Go talk to your friends, we see each other all the time.” You pushed him backwards slightly, trying to get him to go hang out with the guys since they were only going to be at the boneyard for so long and you and JJ live in the same house with the rest of the pogues.

“You’ll just be over here if I need you, yeah?” He asked with a slight tilt of his head and a rather genuine tone, to which you pecked his lips again and nodded.

“Yes sir, I will.” His smirk grew at your joking words and sarcastic tone even though he knew you were well aware of what you were doing with that phrase.

“You gotta be careful with that…”

“With what? Saying-” He cut you off and shoved you back over to your friends, finally unhooking his finger from your bracelet.

“Shut up, you know what I mean.” He smiled as he went back to talking with his friends, you doing the same, knowing the other would still be there when you were both ready to go home for the night.

[flemursworld]

Tender Touchin’

Pairing: Joel miller (hbo) x reader

Summary: Joel has worked blue collar for pretty much his whole life, so you help with his back problems.

Warnings: Fluff, no smut, no outbreak, no Sarah, non specified age gap between Joel and reader, swearing and domestic.

WC: 900

Joel starting working at sixteen, helping his father on work sites, laying down concrete and such, listening to his asshole- dads asshole- colleagues talk about all the whores they’d been fucking. At nineteen he ended up getting a full time job working on building sites making houses and stores. Then by the time he was twenty six, he was a contractor. Overseeing building projects and managing sub contractors.

His whole career entailed manual labour and fucking hard manual labour at that. Years of back pain and scabbed hands and constant muscle fatigue. Always some muscle being pulled. Today was long and all he wanted to do was climb into bed with you, his girl.

You both lived in a cozy two bedroom in the country side, one Joel and Tommy pretty much made themselves. It was perfect, he made it perfect for you. He followed all your decor orders, made it exactly how you wanted it like something from a romance novel. It was home and you loved it. He came home at around ten, later than he was supposed to be back at. You had already eaten dinner and although you missed him, you appreciated that he had to do what he had to do to keep a roof over both your heads. So you wouldn’t have to work.

You were in bed by the time he came home, curled up in one of his T-shirts that swallowed you and a pair of comfy panties. He appeared in the doorway looking absolutely exhausted. “Hey honey.” He said with a sigh, walking over to your side of the bed to give you a kiss and then to his bedside drawers to pull out some pj pants to put on.

“Hey. Fun day at work huh?” You said with a giggle at his dishevelled appearance. You sat up in the bed and propped your head against the soft headboard, admiring the view of him slipping out of his work pants and into his plaid pj pants. Enjoying the way the muscles in his back rolled as he removed his shirt. He groaned in response and chuckled weakly. “Just need my girl right now.” He said, slipping into bed, letting out a wince when his back bent to lay down.

You frowned and moved closer to him, sitting back on your heels on the bed. “Your back still sore?” You queried.

“Hm. Gettin’ too damn old.” He grunted, hand moving to grip your thigh, other arm going behind his head.

“You just work too hard, that’s all it is.” You said, covering his hand on your thigh with your own. You felt bad. Bad that he was out there killing himself everyday at work just so you wouldn’t have to work. So you could both stay living in the house of your dreams. You sighed.

“Turn over on your belly.” You said suddenly, hopping out of bed and walking over to the set of different scented lotions on your vanity, picking out an unscented one for Joel’s sake, as much as you would like to lather him in strawberry scented bath and body works lotion.

A look of confusion crossed his face, hesitating before sitting up. “Wh-what?”

“I wanna give you a massage, it’ll make your back feel better baby.” You said with a giggle at his confusion before getting back into bed, sitting on your heels expectantly.

“You really don’t have to baby.” He said softly.”

“Oh my god, just lay on your back.” You said, tired of all his moaning.

He put his hands up in mock surrender, turning around to lay on his stomach. “Yes ma’am”

You giggled and straddled the back of his legs, squirting some lotion onto your hands and rubbing them together.

“Your not doin’ this to try to.. like..” He mumbled, sleepy voice muffled by the pillow.

“If you’re asking whether I’m trying to fuck you Joel, the answer is no. Can’t a girl just take care of her man? “You said with a chuckle, hands massaging the tight muscles of his lower back, moving slowly to the top of his back. He groaned at the feeling, muscles tensing slightly at the intensity.

“Don’t tense baby. Just relax.” You cooed, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to his shoulder. He relaxed the muscles in his back with a huff as you went back to work. Your hands expertly undid the knots in his back, working them out and pressing kisses to his back as you did.

“Feels so good.” He muttered sleepily, letting out a whine- like sound. You smiled softly and slowly slid off the back of his legs. You snuggled down into his side as he lay on his back again, this time not groaning when he turned over.

“Feeling better?” You asked, pushing a curl behind his ear.

“So much better.”

[aishangotome]

[Gilbert] I Love My Sworn Enemy Story Event Part 1

Thank you @otomehoneyybearr for providing the video/story!

♡———♡

If I were a detective, and he were a phantom thief––

The night in Obsidian—the country of military and minerals—is filled with the lively laughter of people freed from work.

If I could, I would have finished my bookstore duties and immersed myself in my favorite stories.

However, the other family business I run alongside the bookstore won't allow it.

I wove through the crowd and slipped into a dark alleyway.

(It should be alright now that I'm here...)

My gaze fell upon the crumpled object I'd been clutching tightly while staying alert to my surroundings. It was a calling card, sent to me, a detective, predicting a crime.

I'm coming to steal you tonight, so look forward to it.

Emma: .........How did it come to this?

The sender of the hastily written card was Obsidian's most notorious phantom thief, known as the Jet-Black Thief.

As a detective, I should be setting a trap and waiting to capture him, but––

????: Something bothering you? I'll listen if you want.

Emma: !?

A whispered voice fell from behind me, accompanied by a breath. I quickly jumped back, and there was a figure in the alley, where no one should have been.

Gilbert: Oh, you're pale. Poor thing, did someone bully you?

Gilbert: Don't worry. I'll kill anyone who bullies my prey.

I shake my head vigorously.

Gilbert: I see, good then. I wouldn't want to show you blood anyway.

Gilbert: By the way, can I take you away tonight?

I shake my head harder, vigorously.

Gilbert: Whether you like it or not, my decision leaves you with two choices: comply, or be forced to comply.

Gilbert: You are my treasure, so I'll display you in the best place.

The handle of his cane is pointed at me, and my chin is gently lifted. My mind is overflowing with the thought of I have to escape, yet when met with his blood-red eyes, my body freezes as if paralyzed.

(I used to be the one chasing, and Gilbert-sama was the one being chased.)

Emma: My treasure... When did that happen?

Gilbert: Hahaha, the treasure you were trying to protect is right here.

Emma: !?

Gilbert: How does it feel to have it taken by me, even though you were watching it right in front of you?

Emma: Give it back!

Gilbert: Alright.

Emma: ...Huh?

Gilbert: If you chase me and catch me, I'll obediently give it back.

Gilbert: Don't look away, just keep chasing only me, okay?

Emma: Ah, wait!

Emma: No way... He was just here, but he's gone.

Emma: Again... He got me!

...

(And just like that, it came to this...)

Emma: What about... other treasures?

Emma: The Jet-Black Phantom Thief was supposed to enjoy extorting money and valuables from corrupt nobles.

Gilbert: You're my current target. I have no interest in other treasures, not even a speck.

Gilbert: Oh, of course, as a phantom thief, I've just lost interest. I'm still diligently cleaning up rotten nobles in my main line of work, you know?

Emma: Your main line of work?

Gilbert: Do you want to know?

I shake my head vigorously, back and forth, back and forth.

(I feel like if I delve too deep, there'll be no turning back.)

Gilbert: Hahaha, how smart of you.

Emma: The way you just said that... Is being a phantom thief a side job?

Gilbert: Yes. If it's just entertainment, why not do something fun?

Emma: ...That entertainment is a crime.

Gilbert: That's why there are kindhearted detectives like you, right?

Gilbert: Come on, are you going to abandon your duties?

His cane presses harder into my skin, and I furrow my brows, feeling a shortness of breath.

(Of course not.)

(A great phantom thief is this close, so I have to catch him...)

A trickle of sweat runs down my cheek. For some reason, all I can picture is myself being caught before I can even catch him.

Emma: If you were to take me away...

Emma: What do you intend to do after that?

Gilbert: Of course, I'll cherish you.

Gilbert: I told you you're my treasure, didn't I? I'll adore you to no end every single day.

Gilbert-sama removes his cane from me and instead strokes my cheek with his cold fingertips. I accept it, suppressing a shiver, and Gilbert-sama continues to stroke my cheek in high spirits.

Emma: I'm not an object.

Gilbert: Don't you think it's pointless to preach morality to a villain?

Gilbert: The truth is, I want to lock you away right now, somewhere no one can see you, and admire you forever.

(I don't understand.)

(I don't have that much of a connection with Gilbert-sama.)

(The only thing I can think of is...)

(That time Gilbert-sama tried to kill someone.)

.

.

.

.

.

Part 2

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[darlingweareatragedy]

your move princess - part 2

Warnings: jealousy, possessiveness,obsessiveness , manipulation, power struggle, NON-CON, DUB-CON, drug use, alcohol use, roofie use, captivity,  forced marriage

Summary ~ Rafe Cameron has been a thorn in your side since freshman year...cocky, entitled, and impossible to ignore. You’ve always brushed off his flirting as nothing serious. But when your rivalry heats up, you start to see there’s more beneath that smirk … something darker, and far more dangerous than just a crush.

part 1

Political Philosophy used to be your favorite class.

It was the one space on campus where you could stretch your brain instead of your legs in four-inch heels. Where Socratic debate was encouraged, and you could argue debate your way to an A. It was your weekly sanctuary, sharp arguments, sharper outfits, and the very attractive TA who definitely clocked your well written essays and color-coded notes.

At least, it was your sanctuary.

Until Rafe Cameron decided to ruin it. Like he ruins everything.

He flopped down in the seat right next to yours with all the grace of a frat boy hung over and too much ego. His arm brushed yours casually as he leaned back, way too comfortable in your personal space.

“Princess,” he greeted, grinning like you’d missed him.

You didn’t look up from your MacBook. “Wrong seat.”

He leaned in a little, voice low and mocking. “No assigned seating. Remember? We’re in college now Princess, not Kook Academy.”

“I guess I just assumed you’d skip again,” you said, typing harder.

“What can I say? You’re inspiring.” He peered at your screen. “Big words and eye rolls. It’s like foreplay with you.”

You snapped your laptop shut and gave him a look sharp enough to cut through Plato’s Republic.

“You’re unbelievable.”

He smirked. “So I’ve heard.”

Across the room, Liv settled into her usual seat next to Topper, Rafe’s best friend and frat brother, which was the real reason you were suffering through this now. Liv and Topper were in that “casually hooking up” stage, which meant where Liv went, Topper and Rafe followed.

You’d begged her to just not mention class schedules. She’d done the opposite.

Traitor.

Professor Hayes strolled in, trailed by your favorite TA, Lucas, all hipster glasses and rolled-up sleeves and you tried to re-center your mind.

Focus.

This was your class.

“Today we’re discussing Hobbes and Locke,” Hayes began, scribbling on the whiteboard. “The nature of man, and whether society civilizes or corrupts.”

You raised your hand, already prepared to destroy whatever sophomore tried to claim Hobbes was “just misunderstood.”

Until you heard his voice.

“Seems like Hobbes had a point,” Rafe said casually, addressing the room like he hadn’t shown up thirty minutes late last week. “People suck. Give ‘em rules or they go feral.”

Hayes nodded. “You agree with Hobbes’ idea of a brutish natural state?”

Rafe shrugged. “I live in a frat house. So, yeah.”

A couple people laughed.

You did not.

“Actually,” you cut in, your voice sickly sweet, “Hobbes’ entire theory rests on the assumption that people are inherently selfish. But Locke argued that people are rational and capable of cooperation. So maybe it says more about your environment than human nature.”

Rafe raised a brow, clearly amused. “So, you’re saying your sorority is an example of civilized utopia?”

“My sorority runs better than half of Congress. So yes.”

The class chuckled again. You spied Lucas your TA giving an approving nod slightly in the corner of your eye. This was where you thrived.

But then he leaned in again, voice low just for you. “It’s cute how you get so worked up over this Princess.”

You turned toward him and snapped,“If I wanted distractions in class, I’d FaceTime my dog.”

He grinned wider. “He might be less fun to argue with.”

"Enough flirting”, Professor Hayes interrupted. You flushed in embarrassment , you didn't mean to be loud but Rafe just had a way of getting under your skin.

God, he was infuriating.

You looked to the front again, resisting the urge to snap a pencil in half. Every part of you wanted to pretend Rafe Cameron didn’t exist, but somehow, he was always there, trailing Liv and Topper, popping up in your lectures, and now? Infecting your one sacred class with smug one-liners and infuriating eye contact.

And the worst part?

You didn’t totally hate it.

Which was a problem.

Because you could handle cocky. You could handle hot. You could even handle dumb. But Rafe Cameron was all three and he was starting to look at you like you were a puzzle he wanted to figure out.

You were going to have to shut that down.

Fast.

But as class wrapped up and Rafe stood, stretching like he hadn’t spent the entire hour toying with your sanity, he looked down at you with a smile far too genuine.

“See you next time, Princess,” he said, and walked off with Topper like he hadn’t just declared war.

You didn’t answer.

You scoffed, glaring at his retreating back.

Because two could play this game.

And you weren’t losing to Rafe Cameron.

But beneath the banter, the real problem wasn’t what he said—it was the way he looked at you. Like you weren’t just a girl in his class. Like you were his next game.

And you’d seen enough broken hearts on your sorority’s living room couch to know exactly how that ended.

You’d dabbed away mascara-streaked tears, handed out tissues and revenge playlists. You knew what happened when girls fell for that smirk, those eyes. Rafe Cameron collected heartbreaks like trophies. So if he thought he could add you to his shelf?

He had another thing coming.

You were going to make him fall.

And when he did, you’d make him pay for every tear, every story, every “I thought he liked me” whispered through lip-glossed sobs.

You didn’t want his heart.

You wanted the win.

Which is why you absolutely didn’t care when he showed up during your office hours.

The Wednesday after class, you showed up to office hours early. Not because you needed help, you had Locke’s theories mapped out like Pinterest boards, but because Lucas, your very attractive, very smart TA, always had a way of making your interest in political theory feel like something rare and admirable.

Also, his sleeves were always rolled up in just the right way.

“Hey,” he greeted with a warm smile when you knocked on the doorframe. “You’re early.”

You smiled back, setting your annotated copy of Leviathan on the desk between you. “I figured I’d beat the crowd.”

He gestured to the chair across from him. “Always a pleasure. What’s on your mind?”

You slid into the seat with practiced poise, brushing invisible lint from your skirt. “Honestly? Just wanted to bounce some ideas about Locke’s social contract. And maybe… get your thoughts on how it ties into modern systems of consent.”

Luca blinked, then smiled like he was genuinely impressed. “You’ve got range. That’s a great angle. Let’s dig in.”

The two of you dove into a lively back-and-forth, your words quick, your thoughts sharper. He laughed at your commentary. You laughed at his dry, academic sarcasm. It was fun. And you couldn’t help but notice that his gaze lingered just a beat too long on your lip gloss when you smiled.

He smiled back, and you clocked the way his eyes dropped for a second too long to your lips, to your neckline, to the curve of your collarbone framed by your open pink cardigan.

It wasn’t inappropriate. Not exactly. Just... noticeable.

“You ever think about grad school?” he asked, voice a little quieter now.

You tilted your head. “Sometimes. Depends who’s writing the recommendation.”

He blinked, then laughed. “Well, if you ever need one—”

The door opened.

You didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

The air shifted.

Rafe’s voice followed. Too calm. Too casual.

“Wow,” Rafe said lazily, leaning against the doorframe like he had every right to be there. “Didn’t realize office hours doubled as date night.”

You froze, your expression neutral,

Lucas looked up. “Hey. Uh, you here for office hours?”

Rafe didn’t answer him.

He was staring at you.

You closed your notebook slowly. “What are you doing here, Rafe?”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Just came by to… support my fellow classmates. Or whatever.”

Lucas, still trying to play professor, offered: “We were just talking about Locke. Social contract theory.”

You stood, the chair scraping behind you. “You don’t even know what a social contract is.”

Rafe’s smirk didn’t falter. “Sure I do. You ask someone to hang out, they say yes, and boom—contract.”

Typical Rafe. Joking, deflecting.

Lucas gave a short, nervous exhale. “Not quite. But points for effort.”

At this Rafe's smirk faded, just enough for something colder to slip through the cracks.

His jaw clenched, eyes flicking from you to Lucas and back again.

“Cool,” he said. “Didn’t realize we were doing one-on-one tutoring now.”

The shift was subtle, but the energy in the room turned. Rafe wasn’t just teasing anymore, he was watching. Calculating. Possessive, even if he wouldn’t say it out loud.

You stood, voice clipped. “It’s not tutoring. It’s office hours. You know where people go to learn”.

Rafe tilted his head, lips twitching like he was trying not to laugh. “Oh, I’m learning plenty.”

But his eyes stayed on you, like he was trying to memorize the way you looked when someone else had your attention.

Like he didn’t plan on letting it happen again.

“Looked a little closer than that.”

Lucas cleared his throat, suddenly awkward. “Uh, we were just finishing up—”

“I bet,” Rafe said, flat.

Your stomach twisted. The heat coming off him wasn’t just arrogance, it was territorial. His eyes burned with it, dark and dangerous. Like he was seconds away from putting his fist through a wall just to prove a point.

“I should go,” you said to Lucas. “Thanks.”

You tried to walk past Rafe without touching him, but his hand came up, lightly, just two fingers brushing your wrist. Enough to make you stop.

“Walk you out,” he said, not a question.

You didn’t want to cause a scene. Not with Lucas watching.

So you nodded once and walked.

He waited until you were down the hall before speaking.

“What the fuck was that?”

You froze mid-step. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb.” He stepped in front of you. Too close. “You were flirting with him.”

You stared. “Are you actually serious right now?”

“He had his eyes all over you. You didn’t stop it.”

Your laugh was cold. “What, you policing where people look now?”

Rafe leaned in, jaw clenched. “You let him talk to you like he knows you. That’s not how this works.”

“This?” you echoed. “There is no ‘this,’ Cameron.”

He stared at you, something sharp and possessive breaking through the lazy grin. “You keep telling yourself that.”

You turned, heart pounding, but his voice followed:

“You can flirt with him all you want. Just remember, he doesn’t know you like I do.”

You spun. “You don’t know me at all.”

He didn’t blink. “I know you hate being underestimated. I know you don’t actually give a shit about half the guys you hang around with, you just like being the smartest person in the room.”

You swallowed hard.

He stepped closer.

“I know you work twice as hard for half the recognition. I know you’ve got every reading color-coded and memorized and still think you haven’t done enough.”

His voice dropped.

“And I know you think I’m just some rich asshole trying to ruin your life.”

You exhaled, slow and shaky. “You are a rich asshole trying to ruin my life.”

He smiled again, but this one was dangerous. “Nah. If I wanted to ruin you... I’d already have done it.”

You didn’t speak.

Couldn’t.

He stepped back, finally giving you room to breathe. But as he turned to walk away, he glanced over his shoulder.

Eyes dark. Mouth curled.

“Office hours, huh?” he muttered. “Cute.”

And then he was gone.

Outside the door, Liv waited, arms crossed, her usual playful smirk bright as ever. In her hand was a cup of matcha, the peace offering she’d promised after spilling your class schedule to Topper.

“Matcha for the queen of political philosophy,” she said cheerfully, holding it out like a peace treaty.

You accepted it with a strained smile, but your eyes drifted to a darker corner just beyond the building where Rafe still lingered, watching with that quiet intensity.

Liv sipped her drink, completely oblivious to the tension hanging between you and Rafe. “He crashed your office hours?”

You nodded slowly, feeling a strange chill creep over you despite the warm afternoon sun streaming through the windows.

“I don’t know what his deal is. It’s like every time I try to take something seriously, he swoops in like it’s some kind of joke. Like I’m the joke.” you vented to Liv.

Liv laughed, shaking her head. “You’re overthinking it. He’s just being his usual annoying self.”

But you knew better.

That smirk, that look, it wasn’t just teasing.

It was something darker. A quiet claim. The kind that made your skin prickle and your instincts go rigid, even as your lips curved into a practiced smile.

Still, you forced yourself to shake it off.

Because Rafe Cameron was not a factor. You had papers to write, a GPA to protect, and a very attractive TA who was definitely noticing you for your mind.

And Rafe?

He was just background noise.

Loud, distracting, dangerously magnetic background noise.

But background noise all the same....right?

[superbat-lmao]

Each of Bruce’s kids fluctuate between full throttle action and I’m-going-to-die-of-boredom inaction. The life of a vigilante ricochets between extreme stress and recuperation.

When he was new to parenting, Bruce had a difficult time adjusting to the cyclical nature of his children’s moods. How much attention they wanted, how to provide it, whether they wanted his input or just for him to listen. It took some getting used to.

Now, he’s a bit better at understanding what his kids need from him. The one that he looks forward to the most, since it’s relatively infrequent compared to all of the other ways his children interact with him, is when they seek him out to sit with him.

Bruce has learned from being called overbearing and invasive that his children don’t enjoy when he encroaches on their space. This has mostly culminated in him becoming a home-body. Rarely leaving the manor if not for work or on explicit invitation. He seldom finds himself in Dick’s apartment, Jason’s safe houses, or any other place his children are staying, unless it’s an emergency.

The converse of that, is that his own routines in his own space have become reliably predictable. A book he’d read early on when fostering Dick had said routines were crucial to establishing a sense of normality for children from chaotic situations. That they were reassuring. So Bruce had allowed himself to become a degree of predictable. Findable across the many rooms of the manor.

Rarely, in the cycles of downtime that all vigilantes used to recuperate, would his children seek him out in this routine.

The first time Dick had come looking for him, plopped down in a chair in his office, and proceeded to work next to him for six hours without saying anything, Bruce had been beside himself with worry. He’d been concerned. Dick was an outgoing and energetic young man, silences with him were few and far between. Or, more often, a sign that something was wrong.

The whole time, he considered broaching the topic, asking what was wrong, but he couldn’t figure out how to ask. Didn’t want to disrupt the quiet.

When Dick had completed what he’d been working on, he’d looked up at Bruce and smiled. Then he’d gotten up from the chair, side arm hugged Bruce, and left his office altogether.

It had left Bruce momentarily stunned.

He’s asked Alfred about it and was assured that sometimes children just needed a quiet place to work and don’t want to be alone. That Dick was fine and not somehow picking up all of Bruce’s worst, antisocial habits. He was glad.

By the time Jason had come around, Bruce was fairly acclimated to “parallel play” as Dinah had put it when discussing Oliver and Roy’s tendency to work on different projects without speaking but always in the same space. Jason was an avid reader and clearly seemed to prefer the library, but Bruce had learned to space out his ventures into his son’s space. To be a reliable presence, but not one that encroached on his privacy.

So it was a quiet novelty when Jason would brave the exorbitance of the manor to join him. Usually, he would read a novel on Bruce’s couch. Sometimes he had a puzzle books instead, sudoku or crosswords. Bruce enjoyed glancing up to see him deep in thought about some of the clues but never asking Bruce’s help in solving it. His boy enjoyed a challenge. And he knew Bruce to be unfairly good at crosswords. He said it took all the fun out of it if you didn’t have to think about the answer.

Tim, of course, was a frequent flyer in Bruce’s office. Invariably, both of them would be cooped up there discussing WE projects or personnel. This meant that if Tim needed to quietly sit next to Bruce for a few uninterrupted hours, it was often when Bruce was supposed to be on bed rest and had instead convinced Alfred to let him sit in the entertainment room. Tim liked one of the chairs the best, wedging himself into the armrest while scrolling on his phone.

Cassandra spent a lot of her time in silence, not needing the words to communicate what she meant. She had turned the concept of “quiet time” into nap time. She would curl into Jason’s favorite couch and drool on one of Alfred’s more comfortable pillows. Bruce liked the way her hair stuck up in the back after being pressed against the lumpy upholstery.

Stephanie was perhaps the rarest sight in the manor, aside from Jason. She had never lived there, even temporarily. The first time she had joined Bruce in silent company it had been with Tim. The two had squished together in the same chair and silently held their phones in each other’s faces periodically before going back to scrolling.

Now, she was more likely to join Cass for a nap in his office. But there had been one instance when most of his children’s hero teams had been occupied at the same time, that they had been in the manor together. She had wandered into his office with colored pencils and clear plastic sheeting, plopped down across from him, and began drawing all manor of colorful things. It hadn’t been a cohesive picture, but several small and distinct pieces. She’d helped herself to a pair of his scissors and cut them out, disposing of the excess plastic in his waste bin.

There must have been a puzzled look on his face because before she’d left she’d told him that she and Damian were making “shrinky dinks” and that Alfred had asked her to make a couple experimental ones to test the oven settings. Bruce had smiled and asked to see the completed creations. The next morning he’d found a small piece of plastic next to the Batcomputer. It was a cartoonish strawberry wearing a backwards baseball cap on a skateboard. One of the strawberry’s “hands” appeared to be doing the hand sign for Y, but Bruce guessed it was meant to represent the shaka symbol. He placed it on the inner door of the locker he used to store post-patrol clothes.

It took almost two full years for Damian to seek him out. The boy was intensely private, but even Bruce was eventually aware of the fact that his son liked to sketch. It had taken a long time for Damian to bring any of his art materials out of his room. Most of the rooms in the manor had multiple exits and were too open to be easily defensible, especially from the prying eyes of his brothers, so Bruce understood why it took so long for him to be comfortable using common spaces. Even less frequently, if it could be said to happen at all, did he show what he was working on. That being said, when Damian finally found his way towards seeing Bruce out, it was most often with a sketch pad.

At first he was sat as far away from Bruce as possible, but with each subsequent visit Damian slowly but surely inched his way closer, until he was sat across the desk from him, scrunched in a chair with the sketch pad resting on his knees. Bruce’s high point of these interactions was the time that Damian, still silent, passed his sketch pad across Bruce’s desk. A wordless request. The rougher lines hadn’t been completely erased or covered up, but smoother and more confident ones gave shape to something Bruce knew would become a masterpiece in its own right. It was Bruce’s desk. Neatly arranged and carefully mapped.

The part that stood out to him were the pictures. The only ornamental aspect of his desk were the pictures of his children, which Damian had captured in striking detail. Before he could begin to formulate a response, Damian’s hand reached across the desk and gently lifted the top sheet, gesturing for Bruce to look at the image below as well. It was the same, every detail a mirror of Bruce’s civilian desk, except for the fact that each of the photos of his children showed them in costume.

Their poses were identical and their uniforms meticulously drawn, the exception being that Jason had his helmet tucked under his arm so that his domino was visible. Bruce hadn’t been able to formulate words, looking between the two, which Damian had seemed to realize. Two weeks later, he had found both pictures inside his locker in the cave.

[connorsnothereeither]

Are there details or character quirks you wish you could have shown more as virgil/ulysses/cw?

Mmm that’s a fun question- :0

Virgil I think it would have been really fun to lean into his relationship with the crows and with the violin more? They were definitely more flavor text aspects, but the backstory of sort of now knowing if he was a crow or a raven avian as a child and sort of being adopted by both is something I found really cute? And with the violin, while it became a bit more of a bit with the crossbow angle, I really liked the vibe of Virgil’s emotional dependence on it almost. Like when he plays the violin he almost loses himself in it, and for just a moment he’s in his own little sheltered bubble of the music that he can take comfort in, whether that’s to help him think and process things, or to help him calm feelings of fear and anger.

For Ulysses I would have loved to explore more of his relationship with paralysis and the physical recovery from it? It’s something that’s very close to my experiences, and while the spinal damage and the loss of his tail was part of Ulysses character I think it took a bit of a back seat to a lot of other aspects because it was more a backstory thing, so the story wasn’t dealing with it immediately. But losing the use of your limbs, and having to over years re-train your muscles and re-strengthen your body, and the internal battle of knowing you’re never going to get back what you did have, even if you come close, is like… a journey that’s really personal and important to me? And I would have loved to explore it a little more in like, how Ulysses carried himself.

For CW, I could honestly talk for ages about things I wanted to do with and expand with him lmao- but I really loved the plans for CW’s relationship to non-traditional masculinity. On a surface level he’s a very traditionally or even toxically masculine character: he’s tall and beefy and all about being fast and strong and quippy, and doing these big displays of strength and manual labour, and the bravado of his crimes and pranks. But getting to the core of who he is and what brings him joy it’s all very nurturing, and interpersonal? He enjoys cooking and cleaning and gardening. Providing for people he cares about and making sure they’re comfortable and have places to stay and food to eat, and that they’re happy and taken care of. He would much rather grow flowers than cut down trees, but he’d sort of been shoved into that world where he needed to put on that big bravado act to survive. It was something very rooted in the original backstory I pitched for him that just never really saw the light of day, ultimately.