#multi-scan controls

[sw5w]

Summoning the Probe Droids

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 00:51:49

[themachinethatdoeseverything]

GUYS IN JAIL CELLS

[matcha3mochi]

PROTOCOL Pairing: Doctor Zayne x Nurse Reader

author note: love and deepspace is my addiction guys LOL anyways enjoy!!

wc: 3,865

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Akso Hospital looms in the heart of Linkon like a monument of glass, metal, and unrelenting precision. Multi-tiered, climate-controlled, and fully integrated with city-wide telemetry systems, it's known across the cosmos for housing the most advanced medical AI and the most exacting surgeons in the Union.

Inside its Observation Deck on Level 4, the air hums with quiet purpose. Disinfectant and filtered oxygen mix in sterile harmony. The floors are polished to a mirrored sheen, the walls pulse faintly with embedded biometrics, and translucent holoscreens scroll real-time vitals, arterial scans, and surgical priority tags in muted color-coded displays.

You’ve been on the floor since 0500. First to check vitals. First to inventory meds. First to get snapped at.

Doctor Zayne Li is already here—of course he is. The man practically lives in the operating theatres. Standing behind the panoramic glass that overlooks Surgery Bay Delta, he looks like something carved out of discipline and frost. His pristine long coat hangs perfectly from squared shoulders, gloves tucked with methodical precision, silver-framed glasses reflecting faint readouts from the transparent interface hovering before him.

He’s the hospital’s prized cardiovascular surgeon. The Zayne Li—graduated top of his class from Astral Medica, youngest surgeon ever certified for off-planet cardiac reconstruction, published more than any other specialist in the central systems under 35. There's even a rumor he once performed a dual-heart transplant in an emergency gravity failure. Probably true.

He’s a legend. A genius.

And an ass.

He’s never once smiled at you. Never once said thank you. With other staff, he’s distant but civil. With you, he’s something else entirely: cold, strict, and unrelentingly sharp. If you breathe wrong, he notices. If you hesitate, he corrects. If you do everything by protocol?

He still finds something to critique.

"Vitals on Bed 12 were late," he said this morning without even turning his head. No greeting. Just judgment, clean and surgical.

"They weren’t late. I had to reset the cuff."

"You should anticipate equipment failures. That’s part of the job."

And that was it. No acknowledgment of the three critical patients you’d managed in that hour. No recognition. No room for explanation. He turned away before you could blink, his coat slicing behind him like punctuation.

You don’t like him.

You don’t disrespect him—because you're a professional, and because he's earned his reputation a hundred times over. But you don’t like how he talks to you like you’re a glitch in the system. Like you’re a deviation he hasn’t figured out how to reprogram.

You’ve worked under strict doctors before. But Zayne is different. He doesn’t push to challenge you. He pushes to see if you’ll break.

And the worst part?

You haven’t.

Which only seems to piss him off more.

You watch him now from the break table near the edge of the deck, your synth-coffee going tepid between your hands. He’s reviewing scans on a projection screen—high-res, rotating 3D models of a degenerating bio-synthetic valve. His eyes, a pale hazel-green, flick across the data with sharp focus. His arms are folded behind his back, posture perfect, expression unreadable.

He hasn’t noticed you.

Correction: he has, and he’s pointedly ignoring you.

Typical.

You take another sip of coffee, more bitter than before. You could head back to inventory. You could restock surgical trays. But you don’t.

Because part of you refuses to give him the satisfaction of leaving first.

So you stay.

And so does he.

Two professionals. Two adversaries. One cold war fought in clipped words, clinical tension, and overlapping silence.

And the day hasn’t even started yet.

The surgical light beams down like a second sun, flooding the operating theatre in harsh, clinical brightness. It washes the color out of everything—blood, skin, even breath—until all that remains is precision.

Doctor Zayne Li stands at the head of the table, gloved hands elevated and scrubbed raw, sleeves of his sterile gown clinging tight around his forearms. His eyes flick up to the vitals screen, then down to the patient’s exposed chest.

“Vitals?” he asks.

You answer without hesitation. “Steady. HR 82, BP 96/63, oxygen at 99%, no irregularities.”

His silence is your only cue to proceed.

You hand him the scalpel, handle first, exactly as protocol demands. He doesn’t look at you when he takes it—but his fingers graze yours, cold through double-layered gloves, and the contact still sends a tiny jolt up your arm. Annoying.

He makes the incision without fanfare, clean and deliberate, the kind of cut that only comes from years of obsessive mastery. The kind that still makes your gut tighten to watch.

You monitor the instruments, anticipating without crowding him. You’ve been assisting in his surgeries for weeks now. You’ve learned when he prefers the microclamp versus the stabilizer. You’ve memorized the sequence of his suturing pattern. You know when to speak and when not to. Still, it’s never enough.

“Retractor,” he says flatly.

You’re already reaching.

“Not that one.”

Your hand freezes mid-motion.

His tone is ice. “Cardiac thoracic, not abdominal. Are you even awake?”

A hot flush rises behind your ears. He doesn’t yell—Zayne never yells—but his disappointment cuts deeper than a scalpel. You grit your teeth and correct the tray.

“Cardiac thoracic,” you repeat. “Understood.”

No response. Just the soft click of metal as he inserts the retractor into the sternotomy.

The rest of the operation is silence and beeping. You suction blood before he asks. He cauterizes without hesitation. The damaged aortic valve is removed, replaced with a synthetic graft designed for lunar-pressure tolerance. It’s delicate work—millimeter adjustments, microscopic thread. One wrong move could tear the tissue.

Zayne doesn’t shake. Doesn’t blink. He’s terrifyingly still, even as alarms spike and the patient's BP dips for three agonizing seconds.

“Clamp. Now,” he says.

You pass it instantly. He seals the nicked vessel, stabilizes the pressure, and the monitor quiets.

You exhale—but not too loudly. Not until the final suture is tied, the chest closed, and the drape removed. Then, and only then, does he speak again.

“Clean,” he says, already walking away. “Prepare a report for Post-Op within the hour.”

You stare at his retreating back, fists clenched at your sides. No thank you. No good work. Just a cold command and disappearing footsteps.

The Diagnostic Lab is silent, save for the low hum of scanners and the occasional pulse of a vitascan completing a loop. The walls are steel-paneled with matte black inlays, lit only by the soft glow of holographic interfaces. Ambient light drifts in from a side wall of glass, showing the icy curve of Europa in the distance, half-shadowed in space.

You stand alone at a curved diagnostics console, sleeves rolled just above your elbows, eyes locked on the 3D hologram spinning in front of you. The synthetic heart pulses slowly, arteries reconstructed with precise synthetic grafts. The valve—a platinum-carbon composite—is functioning perfectly. You check the scan tags, patient ID, op codes, and log the post-op outcome.

Everything’s clean. Correct.

Or so you thought.

You barely register the soft hiss of the door opening behind you until the room shifts. Not in volume, but in pressure—like gravity suddenly increased by one degree.

You don’t turn. You don’t have to.

Zayne.

“Line 12 in the file log,” he says, voice low, composed, and close. Too close.

You blink at the screen. “What about it?”

“You mislabeled the scan entry. That’s a formatting violation.”

Your heart rate ticks up. You straighten your spine.

“No,” you reply calmly, “I used trauma tags from pre-op logs. They cross-reference with the emergency surgical queue.”

His footsteps approach—measured, deliberate—and stop directly behind you. You sense the heat of his body before anything else. He’s not touching you, but he’s close enough that you feel him standing there, like a charged wire humming at your back.

“You adapted a tag system that’s not recognized by this wing’s software. If these were pushed to central review, they’d get flagged. Wasting time.” His tone is even. Too even.

Your hands rest on the edge of the console. You force your shoulders not to tense.

“I made a call based on the context. It was logical.”

“You’re not here to improvise logic,” he replies, stepping even closer.

You feel the air change as he raises his arm, reaching past you—his coat sleeve brushing the side of your bicep lightly, the barest whisper of contact. His hand moves with surgical confidence as he taps the air beside your own, opening the tag metadata on the scan you just logged. His fingers are long, gloved, deliberate in motion.

“This,” he says, highlighting a code block, “should have been labeled with an ICU procedural tag, not pre-op trauma shorthand.”

You turn your head slightly, and there he is. Close. Towering. His jaw is tight, clean-shaven except for the faintest trace of stubble catching the edge of the light. There’s a tiredness around his eyes—subtle, buried deep—but he doesn’t blink. Doesn’t waver. He’s so still it’s unnerving.

He doesn’t seem to notice—or care—how near he is.

You, however, are all too aware.

Your voice tightens. “Is there a reason you couldn’t point this out without standing over me like I’m in your way?”

Zayne doesn’t flinch. “If I stood ten feet back, you’d still argue with me.”

You bristle. “Because I know what I’m doing.”

“And yet,” he replies coolly, “I’m the one correcting your data.”

That sting digs deep. You pull in a breath, clenching your fists subtly against the side of the console. You want to yell. But you won’t. Because he wants control, and you won’t give him that too.

He lowers his hand slowly, retracting from the display, and finally—finally—steps back. Just enough to let you breathe again.

But the tension? It lingers like static.

“I’ll correct the tag,” you say flatly.

Zayne nods once, then turns to go.

But at the doorway, he stops.

Without looking back, he adds, “You're capable. That’s why I expect better.”

Then he walks out.

Leaving you in the cold hum of the diagnostic lab, your pulse racing, your thoughts a snarl of frustration and something else—unsettling and electric—curling low in your gut.

You don’t know what that something is.

But you’re starting to suspect it won’t go away quietly.

You sit three seats from the end of the long chrome conference table, back straight, shoulders tight, fingers wrapped just a little too hard around your datapad.

The Surgical Briefing Room is too bright. It always is. Cold light from the ceiling plates bounces off polished surfaces, glass walls, and the brushed steel of the central console. A hologram hovers in the center of the room, slowly spinning: the reconstructed heart from this morning’s procedure, arteries lit in pulsing red and cyan.

You can feel sweat prickling at the nape of your neck under your uniform collar. Your scrubs are crisp, your hair pinned back precisely, your notes immaculate—but none of that matters when Dr. Myles Hanron speaks.

You’ve only spoken to him a few times. He’s been at Bell for twenty years. Stern. Respected. Impossible to argue with. Today, he's reviewing the recent cardiovascular procedure—the one you assisted under Zayne’s lead.

And something is off. He’s frowning at the scan display.

Then he looks at you.

“Explain this inconsistency in the anticoagulation log.”

You glance up, already feeling the slow roll of nausea in your stomach.

Your voice comes out measured, but your throat is dry. “I followed the automated-calibrated dosage curve based on intra-op vitals and confirmed with the automated log.”

Hanron raises a brow, his tablet casting a soft reflection on the lenses of his glasses. “Then you followed it wrong.”

The words hit like a slap across your face.

You feel the blood drain from your cheeks. Something sharp twists in your stomach.

“I—” you begin, mouth parting. You shift slightly in your seat, fingers tightening on the datapad in your lap, legs crossed too stiffly. Your body wants to shrink, but you force yourself not to move.

“Don’t interrupt,” Hanron snaps, before you can finish.

A few heads turn in your direction. One of the interns frowns, glancing at you with wide eyes. You stare straight ahead, trying to keep your breathing even, your spine straight, your jaw from visibly clenching.

Hanron paces two steps in front of the display. “You logged a 0.3 ml deviation on a patient with a known history of arrhythmic episodes. Are you unfamiliar with the case history? Or did you just not check?”

“I did check,” you say, quieter, trying to keep your tone professional. Your hands are starting to sweat. “The scan flagged it within range. I wasn’t improvising—”

“Then how did this discrepancy occur?” he presses. “Or are you suggesting the system is at fault?”

You flinch, slightly. You open your mouth to say something—to explain the terminal sync issue you noticed during the last vitals run—but your voice catches.

You’re a nurse.

You’re new.

So you sit there, every instinct in your body screaming to speak, to defend yourself—but you swallow it down.

You stare down at your datapad, the screen now blurred from the way your vision’s tunneling. You clench your teeth until your jaw aches.

You can’t speak up. Not without making it worse.

“Let this be a reminder,” Hanron says, turning his back to you as he scrolls through another projection, “that there is no room for guesswork in surgical prep. Especially not from auxiliary staff who feel the need to act above their training.”

Auxiliary.

The word burns.

You feel heat crawl up your chest. Your hands are shaking slightly. You grip your knees under the table to hide it.

And then—

“I signed off on that dosage.”

Zayne’s voice cuts clean through the air like a cold wire.

You turn your head sharply toward the door. He’s standing in the entrance, posture military-straight, coat half-unbuttoned, gloves tucked into his belt. His presence shifts the atmosphere instantly.

His black hair is perfectly combed back, not a strand out of place, glinting faintly under the sterile overhead lights. His silver-framed glasses sit low on the bridge of his nose, catching a brief reflection from the room’s data panels, but not enough to hide the expression in his eyes.

Hazel-green. Pale and piercing

He’s not looking at you. His gaze is fixed past you, locked on Hanron with unflinching intensity—like the man has just committed a fundamental breach of logic.

There’s not a wrinkle in his coat. Not a single misaligned button or loose thread. Even the gloves at his belt look placed, not shoved there. Zayne is, as always, polished. Meticulous. Icy.

But today—his expression is different.

His jaw is set tighter than usual. The faint crease between his brows is deeper. He looks like a man on the verge of unsheathing a scalpel, not for surgery—but for precision retaliation.

And when he speaks, his voice is calm. Controlled.

His face is unreadable. Voice flat.

“If there’s a problem with it, you can take it up with me.”

The silence in the room is instant. Tense. Airless.

Hanron turns slowly. “Doctor Zayne, this isn’t about—”

“It is,” Zayne replies, tone even sharper. “You’re implying a clinical error in my procedure. If you’re accusing her, then you’re accusing me. So let’s be clear.”

You can barely process it. Your heart is thudding, ears buzzing from the sudden shift in tone, from the weight of Zayne’s voice cutting through the tension like a scalpel. You look at him — really look — and for once, he isn’t focused on numbers or reports.

He’s solely focused on Hanron. And he is furious — not loudly, but in the way his voice doesn’t rise, his jaw locks, and his words slice like ice.

Just furious—in that cold, calculated way of his.

“She followed my instruction under direct supervision,” he says, voice steady. “The variance was intentional. Based on patient history and real-time rhythm response.”

He pauses just long enough to let the words land.

“It was correct.”

Hanron doesn’t respond right away.

His lips press into a thin line, face unreadable, and he shifts back a step—visibly checking himself in the silence Zayne has carved into the room like a scalpel.

“We’ll review the surgical logs,” Hanron mutters at last, voice clipped, his authority retreating behind procedure.

Zayne nods once. “Please do.”

Then, without fanfare, without another word, he steps forward—not toward the exit, but toward the table.

You track him with your eyes, unable to help it.

The low hum of the room resumes, like the air had been holding its breath. No one speaks. A few nurses drop their eyes back to their datapads. Pages turn. Screens flicker.

But you’re frozen in place, shoulders still tight, hands clenched in your lap to keep them from visibly shaking.

Zayne rounds the end of the table, his boots clicking softly against the metal flooring. His long coat sways with his movements, falling neatly behind him as he pulls out the seat directly across from you.

And sits.

Not at the head of the table. Not in some corner seat to observe.

Directly across from you.

He adjusts his glasses with two fingers, expression cool again, almost as if nothing happened. As if he didn’t just dress down a senior doctor in front of the entire room on your behalf.

He doesn’t look at you.

He opens the file on his datapad, stylus poised, reviewing the surgical results like this is any other debrief.

But you’re still staring.

You study the slight tension in his shoulders, the stillness in his hands, the way his eyes don’t drift—not toward Hanron, not toward you—locked entirely on the data as if that can contain whatever just happened.

You should say something.

Thank you.

But the words get stuck in your throat.

Your pulse is still unsteady, confusion mixing with the low thrum of heat behind your ribs. He didn’t need to defend you. He never steps into conflict like that, especially not for others—especially not for you.

You glance away first, eyes back on your screen, unable to ignore the twist in your gut.

The room empties, but you stay.

The echo of voices fades out with the hiss of the sliding doors. Just a few minutes ago, the surgical debrief room was bright with tension—every overhead light too sharp, the air too thin, the hum of holopanels and datapads a constant static in your head.

Now, it’s quiet. Still.

You sit for a moment longer, fingers resting on your lap, knuckles tight, back straight even though your entire body wants to collapse inward. You’re still warm from the flush of embarrassment, your pulse still flickering behind your ears.

Dr. Hanron’s words sting less now, dulled by the cool aftershock of what Zayne did.

He defended you.

You hadn’t expected it. Not from him.

You replay it in your head—his voice cutting in, his posture like stone, his eyes locked on Hanron like a scalpel ready to slice. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t even look at you.

But you felt it.

You felt the impact of what it meant.

And now, as you sit in the empty conference room—white walls, chrome-edged table, sterile quiet—you’re left with one burning thought:

You have to say something.

You rise slowly, brushing your palms down your thighs to wipe off the sweat that lingers there. You hesitate at the doorway. Your reflection stares back at you in the glass panel—eyes still a little wide, jaw tight, posture just a bit too stiff.

He didn’t have to defend you, but he did.

And that matters.

You step into the hallway.

It’s long and narrow, glowing with soft white overhead lights and lined with clear glass panels that reflect fragments of your movement as you walk. The hum of the ventilation system buzzes low and steady—comforting in its monotony. The air smells of antiseptic and the faint trace of ozone from high-oxygen surgical wards.

You spot him ahead, already halfway down the corridor, walking with purpose—long coat swaying slightly with each step, back straight, shoulders squared. Always composed. Always fast.

You hesitate. Your boots slow down and your throat tightens.

You want to turn back, to let it go, to pretend it was just professional courtesy. Nothing more. Nothing personal.

But you can’t.

Not this time.

You quicken your pace.

“Doctor Zayne!”

The name catches in the air, too loud in the quiet hallway. You flinch, just a little—but he stops.

You break into a small jog to catch up, boots tapping sharply against the tile. Your breath catches as you reach him.

Zayne turns toward you, expression unreadable, brows slightly furrowed in that ever-present, analytical way of his. The glow of the ceiling lights reflects off his silver-framed glasses, casting sharp highlights along the edges of his jaw.

He doesn’t say anything. Just waits.

You stop a foot away, heart thudding. You don’t know what you expected—maybe something colder. Maybe for him to ignore you entirely.

You swallow hard, eyes flicking up to meet his.

“I just…” Your voice is quieter now. Careful. “I wanted to say thank you.”

He doesn’t respond immediately. His gaze is steady. Measured.

“I don’t tolerate incompetence,” he says calmly. “That includes false accusations.”

You blink, taken off guard by the directness. It’s not warm. Not even particularly kind. But coming from him, it’s almost intimate.

Still, you can’t help yourself. “That wasn’t really about incompetence.”

“No,” he admits. “It wasn’t.”

The hallway feels smaller now, quieter. He’s watching you in full. Not scanning you like a chart, not calculating — watching. Still. Focused.

You nod slowly, grounding yourself in the moment. “Still. I needed to say it. Thank you.”

You’re suddenly aware of everything—of the warmth in your cheeks, of the way your hands twist at your sides, of how tall he stands compared to you, even when he’s not trying to intimidate.

And he isn’t. Not now.

If anything, he looks… still.

Not soft. Never that. But something quieter. Less armored.

“You handled yourself better than most would have,” he says after a moment. “Even if I hadn’t said anything, you didn’t lose control.”

“I didn’t feel in control,” you admit, a breath of nervous laughter escaping. “I was two seconds from either crying or throwing my datapad.”

That earns you something surprising—just the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Almost a smile. But not quite.

“Neither would’ve been productive,” he says.

You roll your eyes slightly. “Thanks, Doctor Efficiency.”

His glasses catch the light again, but his expression doesn’t change.

You glance past him, down the corridor. “I should get back to my rotation.”

He nods once. “I’ll see you in the lab.”

You pause.

Then—because you don’t know what else to do—you offer a small, genuine smile.

“I’ll be there.”

As you turn to leave, you feel his eyes on your back.

[immortalmrwavell]

A Worthy Replacement - Part 1

(Original story posted December 14th 2022) This story has been significantly Updated!

Written for @bodyswappingandshit/@bodyswappingandshit-1

Glad to finally have the first part of this story back up! It’s one I know lots of you enjoyed back in the day. I thought about uploading all three parts of this story together in one post like I’ve been doing with other multi part stories from the past but honestly this story is just too massive. Especially now that I’m updating and extending it. So for that reason I’m keeping it separated into three parts. I’m even considering adding on a bonus epilogue that wasn’t part of the original! But with all that said, enjoy the story! ❤️

Read Part 2 Here! Read Part 3 Here! Read The Epilogue Here!

~~~

“No… fucking… way…” Was all Martin could say or think when he recognised the man who’d been working out across from him at the gym.

Recently Martin, a youthful 27 year old, had really been trying to get himself into shape. He’d been working out at home for some time now but after moving to a new town he decided it was finally time to get serious and sign up to one of the local gyms. The one he picked in the end was rather expensive but from what he could tell it was held in very high regard and had everything you’d ever need. More machines and equipment than Martin even knew existed, an amazing sauna, a large indoor swimming pool and more! That in mind he supposed spending the extra money on it would encourage him to go and make the most of it all.

Upon stepping into the gym on his first day as a member, Martin was of course greeted by the sight of hunks, jocks, meatheads and bodybuilders all getting deep into their routines. The aroma of manly sweat mixed with deodorant flooded his senses in a way that had him struggling to keep his dick under control. Getting a front row seat to all these men pumping their juicy muscles as big as humanly possible certainly didn’t help either. He was already having fantasies about worshipping some of these men. Kissing their biceps and massaging their thighs. Imagining how amazing it would feel to press his face between their meaty glutes. The thought alone was enough to make him drool.

Of course Martin tried to stay respectful and not stare, as difficult as that was, while instead opting to get on with his own routine. After all, if he wanted to be like all the hunks he adored, he needed to put in the work. With that things were going smoothly. He pushed through his exercises and was able to build up a good sweat in the process. However there was something that kept distracting him. Across the gym he couldn’t help but notice how a bunch of people had stopped to watch one particular dude as he worked out. Some were even going up and asking for pictures as he was resting while others had politely asked about workout and eating tips. He couldn’t see the man properly from where he was but he could tell the dude was big. Very big. Martin thought that perhaps he was an influencer or something.

Eventually his curiosity ended up getting the better of him. He finished his last set on the machine he was using before wandering his way over towards the man. If the guy was well known online, Martin wondered if it would be someone he recognised. That could be pretty exciting. He’d gotten there just as the man was doing some heavy bench pressing. He wasn’t able to get a good look at first but when the man put the barbell back and sat up, Martin’s eyes went wide with disbelief. No wonder people had been watching him this whole time. It was the Mr Olympia of classic physique! Chris fucking Bumstead!

From that point onwards Martin found it exceptionally hard to focus on his own workout. Always finding himself peeking over his shoulder to sneak glances at the renowned bodybuilding champion. He had to actively stop himself from trying to scan every inch of that titanic body as he watched beads of sweat drip down Chris’ massive frame, dampening the clothes he was wearing. Thoughts of running his tongue along Chris’ glistening muscles after a long session danced through Martin’s mind. Suddenly no other man in the gym existed. All he cared about was that pure adonis of a man. Suddenly Martin was thrown back to all the times he’d found himself laid in bed scrolling through Chris Bumstead’s Instagram while jerking his dick furiously. Now all those lustful feelings were bubbling to the surface ten fold! Martin had to try desperately to hide his painfully hard erection after that living sculpture of a man walked past him at one point, his scent wafting faintly through the air while invading Martin’s nostrils. A perfect blend of woodsy deodorant and fresh musk. Good god. Martin still couldn’t believe that perfect specimen of a man was only 2 years older than him!

Shortly after pulling off his tee to show off the sweat stained tank top underneath, Chris finished up his routine and headed off towards the locker room to change. Noticing this, Martin couldn’t help but stare from behind. Watching that wide muscled back barely contained by that tank. Eyes practically glued to the huge rounded muscle ass stretching the back of those shorts as Chris exited the main gym floor. Almost every part of Martin’s being was telling him to follow the bodybuilder in the hopes that he might get a glance at that glorious physique without a top on in person.

He didn’t wanna seem weird though like he was stalking the guy so he decided it’d be best to finish up another set of exercises first. Admittedly he sort of botched the form due to his excitement but thankfully nobody seemed to notice. With that however Martin swiped up his towel and water bottle before hurrying off the gym’s locker room as inconspicuously as possible.

Before long he found himself casually glancing down each of the aisles to see if he could find the one and only Mr Olympia he’d been drooling over. Unfortunately after checking most of the aisles, he started to believe that perhaps Chris had already finished getting changed and was long gone as there didn’t seem to be any sign of him. He must’ve slipped out somehow when Martin wasn’t looking. Just when he was about to give up, Martin noticed a pile of gym clothes sitting on one of the empty benches. He wasn’t sure why but for some he found himself oddly intrigued by the discarded clothes. Almost like it they were… calling to him? There was no way to explain the feeling. All he knew was that he had to get a closer look at those clothes.

He made his way down the aisle and towards the bench. It was only when he got closer though that he realised who they belonged to. That huge tank top, those massive shorts and the unmistakable giant sneakers next to them with gym socks stuffed inside. He couldn’t believe it! These were the very same gym clothes Chris has just been wearing! The gym bag next to them with the hunks name on it only confirmed what he already knew. Martin couldn’t believe it!

Did he go and take a shower? Or maybe for a swim in the gym’s pool? God just the thought of sneaking a peek at Chris’ naked body under a steaming shower or doing laps in the pool was enough to make Martin want to cream on the spot. But then something odd crossed his mind… Why would Chris leave his clothes out here in the open where anyone could grab them instead of putting them away safely in his locker??

———

A few minutes earlier…

Chris found himself stepping into a rather empty locker room with only a small handful of men getting changed or sitting around. Upon reaching his locker, he found the aisle it was located on was completely desolate. Or so he thought anyway.

He slotted the key in and twisted it before opening the locker and pulling out his hefty gym bag. He turned to place it down on the bench behind when he jumped in shock at the sight of a man who’d seemingly appeared out of nowhere. “Whoa!… Uhh sorry man I didn’t hear ya.” He said politely with a chuckle and that recognisable lisp of his. The strange man didn’t immediately say anything however, just staring and smiling as he ran his eyes up and down Chris’ body. “Ummm can I help you?… if you want a photo or an autograph or something I’d be happy to give you one…” As weirded out as he was now, the bodybuilder remained kind and polite as he shoved his t-shirt into the gym bag.

“Mr Olympia huh?… Incredible. You really are something. ” The man finally spoke in an almost unsettling yet buttery smooth tone. “And as a matter of fact you can help me.”

The more Chris examined him, the more this odd man didn’t look as though he belonged. He was a lean middle aged guy with perfectly styled salt and pepper hair. His face was framed by a well groomed beard that was a chestnut brown flecked with silver besides the hair on his chin that was a snowy white. The man was dressed in a gorgeous navy blue suit that seemed tailored to his body. The flawless jacket hugged a crisp pink shirt underneath that was decorated by a striped blue and indigo tie. A bracelet that matched his suit and shining silver watch adorned his left wrist. A pair of sunglasses hid a pair of dazzling eyes that no doubt matched the rest of his devilishly handsome visage. He was in good shape underneath that suit from what Chris could tell so he must've kept fit but… something about him was just off. You wouldn’t dress this immaculate just to get a workout.

By this point Chris was starting to get a bit creeped out by the whole situation but he kept his cool and played along. After all he was both a body builder and an influencer which meant he always had to put on his best face for the sake of reputation. “Okay? And how is that?” He responded carefully.

Just then the strange man beamed with a large grin. “Well I’m glad you asked! First things first, my name is Mr Wavell and I’ll be your friendly neighbour hood Warlock this fine day.” He claimed as he outstretched a hand towards the hunk in a respectable manner.

Chris was hesitant but he leant a hand to meet Wavell’s, a look of confusion plastered across his face. “Warlock?” He questioned while clasping the other man’s hand and giving it a firm shake. Part of his subconscious was telling him to just brush this guy off and get on with the day. He was clearly a bit of a nutter. Unfortunately he’d had the displeasure of dealing with his fair share of weirdos since becoming rather famous in the body building sphere. But like usual Chris’ kind hearted nature forced him to stay and hear what this strange Mr Wavell dude had to say.

“Oh don’t worry. You’ll understand soon enough big guy.” Wavell replied somewhat ominously as he let Chris’ hand go. “Honestly it’s not often that I experiment on men such as yourself.” He admitted, shamelessly gazing up and down Chris’ godly physique. “Famous men I mean. I play around with jocks, meatheads and bodybuilder’s all the time but never someone as prominent and well known as you. I can see why too. Your body is a true work of art. The very kind that should be carved into stone and worshiped for generations to come. And to have obtained such a physique without the use of any kind of magic is truly magnificent. I’ll have to be sure that whoever owns it next will keep it in peak condition.”

Chris narrowed his eyes in uncertainty. “W-what? What the hell are you talking about? Experiments? Owners? Magic? Look I’m sorry man I don’t know what this is about but it’s all starting to sound really freaking weird.” He chuckled awkwardly while taking a step back from the suited stranger. “I appreciate the… compliments? But I’ve got other things to do today so again if you want a picture or something we can do that but whatever you’re trying to buy or sell, I’m really not interested.” He’d finally reached his limit with all the strange stuff that Wavell was spewing.

Wavell sighed, a deep purple aura surrounding his body as he waved a hand towards the bodybuilder. “Oh you poor thing. Your compliance isn’t really a factor.”

Suddenly the mighty Chris Bumstead found that same purple energy coiling around his body in the blink of an eye and binding him in place like a muscular statue.Understandably Chris was freaking the fuck out. He tried with all his might to move even a single muscle but nothing responded. He was completely frozen in place.

“If it’s any consultation, I actually feel a little bad about this. I took a peek inside your mind and you’re actually a really sweet guy even when you’re not on camera. Most of the time I wouldn’t go out of my way to take from a guy as genuine and kind as you but…” Wavell reached out and placed his firmly against Chris’ enormous sculpted pecs and began to massage the thick muscle. “Mmmm… you’re just too damn gorgeous to resist. Don’t worry though. I’m sure you’ll grow to love what comes next in time. Everyone does eventually.”

Chris wanted to protest with all his might but not even his mouth was permitted to move by the strange energy binding him. It was impossible to scream for help, not that doing so would’ve made a difference. The only things he was able to move were his eyes that were darting around in a frantic manner.

“Well! Time for step two.” Wavell clasped his hands together with a smile. “But which piece will I store you in? Your tank top? Your socks maybe?” Wavell suggested as he inspected the gym wear Chris was wearing.

The body building champion had absolutely no clue what the hell this insane man was talking about and at this point he didn’t wanna know either. All he knew was that he needed to escape somehow. With that Chris scrunched his eyes shut and tried with every ounce of his strength to move one of his arms. A strained grunt rumbled from inside his throat as he fought against the purple energy but the most he could do was a slight bend in his elbow and a twitch of his fingers before he gave out. Despite how minimal the movement was though, Wavell seemed quite surprised.

“Impressive. That’s quite some willpower you’ve got there big man! Then again I suppose you’ve gotta have some serious mental and spiritual strength to maintain a body like that. I commend you but you might as well save your energy. You’re not going anywhere.” The warlock leaned in and kissed Chris on the cheek in an almost mocking fashion before whispering softly into his ear. “Besides, I’ve just figured out exactly what I’m gonna do with you.”

Without another second to spare Wavell crouched down only to grab the waist of Chris’ shorts and yank them down to his ankles, revealing the tight black boxer briefs underneath. “Ohhh wow…” Wavell muttered as he cupped the bodybuilder’s exceptional bulge. “It’s always the quiet and humble ones that are packing the most huh?” He teased while squeezing Chris’ package playfully. “Well I know for a fact that whoever ends up with this is gonna be a happy man.” With that Wavell stood up once again and looked the powerless man in the eyes. He could tell by the way Chris’ eyes were darting from side to side that he was trying his utmost to beg. Unfortunately for him no amount of begging was going to stop what was about to come next.

“Now. Are you ready?” The warlock asked with a growing smirk, one hand still firmly grasping the hunk’s hefty bulge. “I’ll take your silence as a yes.” And with that he sent a shock of magic that filled the fabric of Chris’ underwear, causing it to glow brightly. This in turn caused a rather intense wave of pleasure to ripple through Chris’ body originating from his boxers. His eyes couldn’t help but roll back as the wave of pleasure flowed over his entire frame before moving back towards his underwear again. And then it ripped out again. And again. It was like an ocean tide pulling back and forth. Flowing out across his body and then pulling back towards his now enchanted boxer briefs again. It was only after about 3 or so of these pulses that Chris began to feel himself getting… smaller? Almost as it was with each wave of magic that spread and pulled back into his underwear, part of his own body mass got pulled with it?!?!

The glorious muscular body of Chris Bumstead continued to shrink smaller and smaller as more of his being was converted into pure magical essence that became infused with his boxer briefs. It wasn’t long before he was even smaller than Wavell, a man he’d been towering over mere moments ago. He would’ve been terrified had it not been for the insurmountable euphoria that he was forcibly experiencing through it all. A euphoria so great in fact that he reached multiple orgasms! Jetting hefty load after load of cum that splattered and stained his underwear. It was so intense that he eventually faded from consciousness.

The very second Chris passed out there was a bright light that consumed what was left of his shrinking body and when it dissipated, the renowned body builder was nowhere to be seen. All that was left was his workout gear that fell to the floor in a sweaty heap, including the pair of freshly enchanted boxer briefs that now housed the sleeping soul of Chris Bumstead himself.

Mr Wavell leant down and scooped up the pile of clothes along with the socks and sneakers before placing them all on the nearby bench. Now there was just one final touch that had to be made. He waved a hand over the pile of clothes, placing another perception filter over the, that would make anyone who Wavell deemed unworthy of this gift unable to see or perceive the clothes. For example if by chance a roided out asshole happened upon them first, he would barely take any notice of them. Only those who were worthy of taking up the mantle of the kind and humble Mr Olympia would be able to see them. But with that Wavell decided his work here was done, turning himself invisible once again so he may sit back and simply enjoy the show. Opting to float up and sit atop the lockers and watch until someone received the present he’d left.

———

As Martin inched closer to the pile of sweaty gym clothes he’d stumbled across, that very same aroma he’d smelt back in the gym wafted over his nose. Yup those were Chris’ clothes alright. No doubt about it. He made sure to look left and right down the aisle to check that nobody was watching before sitting down on the bench beside the seemingly discarded clothes. It already felt as though his heart could explode with the anticipation alone. He just wanted to grab the tank top and press it flat against his face. But what if someone saw him? It was only his first day at this place and he didn’t wanna be labelled the gym weirdo who went around sniffing other dude’s clothes. But that smell… It was just so damn tempting. He checked around one last time before giving into his urges and swiping up the body builder’s tank top.

The next thing he knew Martin had a raging boner straining against his shorts as he held the damp tank top to his face. Unable to stop himself from deeply huffing and inhaling the strong musky scent of an alpha such as Chris Bumstead. Allowing it to overpower all of his senses and sink so deep that everything else faded away. Only him and the sweaty tank pressed against his nose existed in that moment. If there was a heaven, this is how he imagined it.

Slam!

The sound of a nearby locker closing tore Martin’s mind away from the haze with a sudden jolt. Luckily it seemed to have come from a different aisle. His face still went red however, praying that nobody had walked past and seen him. With a sigh he was about to set the tank top back down when something caught his eye. Inside the shorts was a pair of underwear that Chris must’ve been wearing. Already Martin’s mind was going a mile a minute imagining what the pouch of that gorgeous man’s underwear smelt like after a good workout. He just had to know! But he couldn’t risk anyone seeing him. A tank top was one thing but if he was caught sniffing another guy’s underwear in the locker room he’d be seen as a total perv and kicked out for sure.

Part of him thought of doing the right thing and leaving the clothes where they were but the urges of a horny gay man were a powerful thing which in this case Martin just couldn’t bring himself to ignore. So instead he settled on a plan. He scooped up Chris’ gear along with huge socks and sneakers the hunk had been wearing before dashing around the corner and locking himself in a private changing cubicle.

He knew what he was doing was wrong but he just couldn’t help himself! Before long the young and very horny gay man had stripped off his own clothes and begun jerking himself off furiously while digging his nose into the tank top once again. The smell was still so fresh. New sweat that’d only just poured from that Adonis’ body and absorbed into the fabric. It smelt fucking delicious and Martin wished he could savour it forever.

Soon after that his eyes settled on the huge size 13 sneakers. He grabbed one and yanked the white gym sock out from inside before burying his nose in it. It was incredibly damp with sweat and had an even stronger scent than the tank. But that only made it more intoxicating. After a good few minutes, Martin was only able to pull himself away from the sweaty sock to stuff his nose inside the massive sneaker it came from. And somehow that smell was even more pungent! No wonder. It was a heady mix of old sweat from previous workout mixed with the new fresher scent of today, forming an aroma so mind numbingly powerful that Martin could barely control himself. He had to let go of his cock for a moment just so he didn’t cum on the spot.

From there he must’ve spent god knows how long edging himself in that cubicle, trying not to cum or make too much noise. He switched feverishly between deeply inhaling the sneakers and rubbing the socks all over his face. Chris’ scent was so damn addictive. He found himself fantasising about Chris standing in the cubicle with him, imagining that it was actually the dreamy hunk himself who was holding the massive sneakers up to his face and forcing him to sniff it. The mere thought was enough to have him leaking a constant stream of precum.

It took a good long while but eventually Martin decided he’d had his fill of the sweaty socks and sneakers, for now anyway, and decided to get onto the main attraction he’d been saving until last. He glanced over at the shorts with a lustful grin. Without hesitation he dove his hand inside them and fished out the pair of black boxer briefs that were hidden inside. His pervy mind was already racing at the idea of sniffing both the front and back of them. But just as he was about to dig in he noticed something odd.

The pouch. It seemed damp. At first he thought it was just Chris’ ball sweat but it was more than that. It was… sticky? Curiously Martin checked the inside of the boxers and his eyes went wide. There was no way. That couldn’t be what he thought it was right? Pooled inside the pouch and partially absorbed into the fabric was an unmistakable sticky white substance. With his heart now beating out of his chest, Martin dipped a finger inside and scooped some up before sticking it in his mouth. There was no doubt about it.

It was cum.

Martin had just tasted Chris Bumstead’s cum! And it was delicious!!!

A million questions were racing through his mind right now. The biggest ones being: why the hell had that hunk of a man shot a load while at the gym? And even more importantly, why had he left his cum-filled underwear out for just anyone to find?! It didn’t make sense at all. When would Chris have even had time to do that? Not to mention Chris didn’t at all seem like the type to do something like that. Deep down a part of Martin’s brain was telling him this was fishy. Unfortunately that part of his brain was completely drowned out by the rest of his mind that horny beyond imagination right now.

“Oh well… If he’s that careless then I’m sure he won’t mind if I clean up his mess.” Martin muttered to himself while licking his lips.

He gently raised the boxers up to his face, grinning down at the soaked pouch before him. He was already starting to salivate at the sight. Martin always wanted to taste a bodybuilder's load and now he had the best of the best. Top of the line alpha male seed. And so, without another second of hesitation, Martin dove his tongue into the pool of fresh man milk and started licking away. He immediately found himself shivering with delight at the immaculate taste. Sure he’d tasted cum before but it was nothing like this! He could drink gallons of this stuff! Before long he was lapping it up like a feral animal! He had to make sure that he got every last drop of delicious stud cum. And just when you’d think it couldn’t get any better, the flavour was even further enhanced by the taste of Chris’ sweaty balls mixed in.

By the time he’d finished lapping it all up, Martin was a hot mess. He found himself sitting with the underwear draped over his face, sniffing and tasting the delicious groin sweat from it idly. With a belly full of Mr Olympia grade cum, all he could think to do now was wrapping Chris’ damp tank top around his ridiculously hard cock and jacking it until he burst. And that’s exactly what he did, pumping away as he lost himself completely in all the smells and sensations. Edging as much as humanly possible while trying to savour the moment as much as he could. It didn’t even feel real. He thought that at any moment he was gonna wake up back home in his bed after having the best wet dream of his life. And yet he didn’t. This was reality.

Martin was just about ready to shoot his load and glaze Chris’ tank top with it when he was stopped by the perfect idea that suddenly popped to mind.

Next thing you know he’s jumping up off the seat and smiling giddily as he glances at the cubicle mirror. There was just one last thing he had to try before he stuffed these clothes into his gym bag to take home and treasure forever. He had to wear them.

He didn’t waste any time. He began by snatching up the boxer briefs again before stepping into them and pulling them up over his ass. Admittedly they looked more like baggy boxers on him than fitted boxer briefs. They were mainly being held up by the waist band and the tent his dick was making in the front. The feeling of which sent shivers up his spine as the tip of his cock brushed against the dampness where Chris’ load had been. Then after taking a second to appreciate how amazing it felt to wear Chris Bumstead’s underwear, Martin swiftly moved on by grabbing the shorts next. He slid his legs inside and pulled them up before securing them in place by tying the drawstrings tightly. Once again something that would’ve been ordinary gym shorts for a hunk like Chris looked more like huge basketball shorts on Martin. That didn’t make it any less hot though. This was then followed by him slipping the tank top over his head in one smooth motion. It slipped off his shoulders once or twice but he eventually got it to stay in place. At last he was able to bask his upper body in the warm musky aroma of the tank top in the hopes that it would stick to him. After that, all that was left was footwear Chris had left behind.

The huge damp white socks were first. After giving them each one last quick sniff, Martin reached and pulled on each over-sized sock, drenching his feet in Chris Bumstead’s sweat. He couldn’t help rolling his eyes a little in ecstasy at the mere feeling. Once he’d had a chance to enjoy wiggling his toes inside the sweat stained socks, it was time at last for the sneakers. Getting to slip his average sized feet inside those enormous things felt like an orgasm in of itself. He tried his absolute best not to bust as he felt his socked feet suddenly being wrapped in the hot sweaty musk that was trapped inside those pungent sneakers.

And with that his naughty little cosplay was complete.

After all that Martin could only grin cheekily as he looked at himself in the full length mirror. Sure the size difference might’ve made him look like a kid swamped in his dad’s clothes, but he couldn’t deny that it was still hot as fuck. Especially knowing that he was wearing the exact same clothes Chris himself had been wearing less than an hour ago. The adrenaline pumping through his system right now had Martin on cloud nine as he committed every detail of this to memory.

“What’s up? My name’s Chris Bumstead.” He snickered at his reflection while trying his best to imitate Chris’ voice.. “I bet you’re wondering what my secret to looking like a muscle god is. Truth is I just get really horny while working out and bust a nut after my session. Totally helps the gains.” Martin continued half mockingly as he flexed one of his arms, imagining it was Chris showing his mouthwatering biceps. He continued to mutter all sorts of pervy things and imagine it was the real Chris saying them all the while listening to make sure nobody outside the cubicle overheard him. Little did he know that one person in particular had seen and heard everything.

Wavell had watched idly as Martin had crept over to the pile of clothes earlier and swept them up. It’d been a treat getting to see this horny young man goon for around half an hour over the famous bodybuilder’s scent. Honestly Wavell couldn’t blame him one bit. After all he’d given Chris’ clothes a quick sniff as well before leaving them to be claimed and that scent was divine. “Now that he’s wearing them it should start any second now…” Mr Wavell mumbled to himself as he watched Martin curiously. And as if on cue, the black boxer briefs began to emit a soft purple glow. “Yuuup… here we go.”

Martin didn’t seem to take any notice of the glow at first as it was concealed underneath the shorts. He only noticed something strange was going on when the magic glow became bright enough that its light began to seep out of his stolen shorts. “H-hey what!? What the h-hell?!” He was about to pull off the shorts in a panic to see what was going on down there but before he had the chance there was a shooting sensation that flooded his body like a lightning bolt, causing him to seize up a little. “Uuuuuoooaaahhh… What the… fuuuuuuuuck…” Martin groaned without much control. He felt an indescribable mix of pain and pleasure that sparked through every nerve and muscle in his being. His brain struggled to keep up with the sudden overstimulation and couldn’t decide whether it loved or hated the feeling.

He would’ve been more worried about this had it not been for the rising heat in his chest. He could barely comprehend the feeling. It was like… something was building itself up? Martin only realised what was truly happening when he glanced down at himself to see that his once unimpressive chest was now surging forwards with muscle in pulsing waves of growth. He could hardly believe his eyes as he watched himself grow a hefty pair of pecs that began to slowly fill out the front of the stolen tank top. As they expanded he could feel his torso stretching and broadening slightly to accompany his growing chest until they reached the size of massive watermelons! The shock of it all caused Martin to stumble a little before falling onto his hands and knees with the weight of his new meaty muscle tits weighing him down. They looked bizarrely out of place on his small frame but not for much longer…

“What t-the fuck… Is h-happening… to meeeee?!” He just about managed to grunt out while attempting to pull himself back up but to no avail. Not when his back suddenly decided to follow the same example as his chest. After his pecs, the rest of his growing torso upper body kicked into full gear with its fantastical growth. Ridges and contours of hard earned definition began etching themselves onto Martin’s back as it grew huge and wide with newfound muscle! His arms were forced to spread apart some more as his lats flared out like the wings of a true bodybuilder. Before Martin could even comprehend that however, his shoulders ballooned into monstrous cannonballs that only served to widen his upper body further. Even his traps bulged and expanded before his neck thickened into. Suddenly the sweaty tank top wasn’t hanging off him so loosely anymore…

His confused moans echoed not only through his little cubicle but across the entire locker room. And yet nobody seemed to take any notice. Not even as he let out a roar when his arms and hands started to grow. He watched as his fingers stretched longer, each digit thickening as callous’ began to form along his expanding palms. Marks to symbolise years of long hard dedication to the gym. Even more eye-catching however was the sight of Martin’s once average looking arms beginning to hulk out as veins snaked up his inflating forearms while his biceps and triceps swelled to sizes bigger than he ever could have dreamed of. Soon enough his biceps and triceps had bulked up to monstrous sizes with his forearms following suit. Even his hands weren’t safe as they thickened up.

Martin gritted his teeth as he felt what little fat he’d once had around his belly evaporate to make way for a thick and powerful set of abs that cobbled themselves onto his stomach, Martin was given a few seconds of momentary relief to catch his breath. “M-my body!? H-H-How!? I don’t… I…” He stumbled through his words in a panic, not knowing how the hell to even begin articulating his feelings right now. Especially as he glanced up into the mirror, still kneeling on all fours. His build looked like that of a human gorilla with the comical size difference between his gigantic upper body and relatively small lower body in comparison. In fact he doubted he could even stand properly as he was!

It didn’t take long for the transformative heat to return in full force. For as freaked out as he was right now, Martin didn’t know if he should be worried or relieved. Regardless, the intense sensation began to focus itself on his lower half. More specifically his ass first which didn’t waste any time blowing itself up with newfound mass. What was once a fairly average backside ballooned into a massive bubble butt carved from thick muscle that could harden into buns of steel with a single flex. He even let out a long and pleasurable moan as his asshole found itself tightening significantly. Suddenly the stolen shorts and briefs he was wearing looked far less baggy than before, now stretching over his thick bubble ass rather nicely.

Just then his eyes went wide with both fear and a little bit of underlying excitement after feeling where the warm sensation had shifted to next. “Oooh god oooh fuuuck…” he groaned nervously as it focused on none other than his cock and balls. Thankfully, just like the rest of his body, even they started to expand rapidly. His balls grew into a pair of huge cum-filled alpha male that only churned the most premium cum imaginable. Meanwhile his already hard cock engorged into a girthy ten inch anaconda, that didn’t just fill but stretched out the pouch of his stolen underwear perfectly! Feeling this Martin couldn’t help but allow a dumb grin to spread across his face. “Ughhhhfff… I’m huge huhuhuhuh…” He chuckled as the now much larger and obscene tent in his shorts bucked excitedly.

He’d become so distracted by the size of his new manhood and crown jewels that Martin almost didn’t notice his legs starting to get absolutely juiced. It started slow at first with his thighs and calves pulsing with a tiny bit of extra size and definition. It wasn’t long however before a strained growl escaped his clenched mouth as both legs began stretching out longer, bumping him up to a staggering 6’1. Something he’d soon find out when he was eventually able to stand up. But as soon as his legs finished elongating, his quads and hamstrings erupted with an explosion of bulging muscle mass causing another roar to escape his lips. In mere moments he’d been granted the thighs of the century but it wasn’t done there. Moments later Martin found himself cooing in pleasurable discomfort as his calves pumped up to the size of footballs while looking hard as diamond. Finally Martin’s body was starting to look proportionate again but there was one last part of his lower body that needed changing.

Finally his toes started to curl and wriggle inside the hot sneakers. Right now they still felt like clown shoes on him but not for much longer. Martin was just about able to stifle another moan as his feet started expanding, growing longer and meatier by the second. The free space inside Chris’ sneakers swiftly began to fill as even the sweaty white socks started to fit better around his enlarging feet. Growing upwards from size 9 to size 10 then 11 and even 12!? Only stopping when his feet finally fit snugly inside the enormous pungent size 13 sneakers! At last Martin had the exact kind of huge manly feet he’d secretly dreamt of either having or worshipping.

By this point Martin simply looked like a hulking bodybuilder version of himself but that would soon change. All of the distinct features across his body that made Martin unique began to fade only to be replaced with unique qualities of another man. Whether those features be blemishes, body hair, tattoos or even the tone of his skin! The only semblance of his old self left now was his head. Though, judging by the way his face was starting to heat up, that likely wouldn’t be the case for much longer.

It began with his neck bulging a little, his adam’s apple changing and altering his voice in a way that made it drop a couple octaves. That was the least concerning of the right now though as his facial features started to shift. His jaw began to widen as Martin’s once soft chin squared off with a sharp masculinity. His cheekbones rose up slightly, forming an angular structure in tandem with his jaw that was taut and defined. His brows thickened while his eyes took on a newfound mix of softness and intensity. The eyes of a kind beast. His nose broadened slightly as it tapered into a strong bridge. All the while his changing features made sure to reposition themselves as even his head reshaped slightly. As soon as they were all in place, thick stubble broke out across his larger jaw which swiftly grew into well groomed facial hair that framed his new handsome mug perfectly. Even his hair restyled in process while lightening in colour from black to a rich brown.

After all that his mind was spinning like crazy but the good news was that whatever had been spreading through him and changing his body had finally dissipated, leaving him on the floor sweaty and exhausted. He gave himself a moment to gather his strength before pulling himself up off the ground.

He was disoriented to say the least. His new body trembled slightly as he pushed himself up onto his massive new feet that filled out Chris’ large sneakers perfectly now. He stumbled for a moment as he found his balance with all this unfamiliar weight before looking down at his enormous hands. Needless to say he was still in shock over it all. Looking down at himself, Martin no longer saw the lean average build he was used to seeing everyday. Instead stared down in awe at the huge hulking form of a professional bodybuilder. Huge hefty pecs, colossal biceps, hulking thighs. All of which allowed him to perfectly fill out these massive gym clothes. The real shock came however when he finally glanced up to look in the mirror once more…

“Holy fuck!” He shouted with a stunned look on his face. Only it wasn’t his face anymore. Staring back at him was none other than the three time classic Mr Olympia himself! The very man Martin had countless saved pictures of for jerking over. The hunk who’d starred in more than one of his wet dreams over the last few years. There was no mistaking it. His hands shot up towards his new face, inspecting his features to be sure they were real before running his hands through his hair and beard. This sculpted body… This gorgeous face…

“I-I’m… I’m Chris fucking Bumstead!!” He announced, almost not believing his own words as they spilled out in a new unfamiliar voice.

Mr Wavell had witnessed the entire thing go down, invisible as usual. “Mmm… now that was hot.” He hummed to himself as he watched as the new hunk admired his reflection with glee and disbelief. “Maybe I should stick around for a while and see how this plays out.” He shrugged. It was always fun to watch how his subjects adjusted to their new lives and bodies.

[princessmaeee]

{ All For Us }

The title will maybe change cause at first it was supposed to be a one shot, But it will be a multi part things.

Im really obsess with Thanos ( T.O.P ✨) And I litteraly watched Squid game for him.I necer watched it before. But anyway, back to buisness, I let you a summary of the whole thing it gonna be. Also be award : English is not my first language so im sorry for the mistakes ☠️

Thanos x Pregnant reader, but it’s new.

Y/N accepted to be part of the gamr to get money for her futur family and lat every debts she had since she met Thanos two years ago. He cheated on her and learn just after they broke up that she was pregnant. Meeting him again in the game wasnt part of the plan. Will you be able to stay alone, survive and keep your little secret ? Or will you admit you need Thanos by your side.

Smut will come, but not for this part. I will tell you when ✨

TW: Mention of drug, Violance.

You was Awake by a music who gave you creepy chills. It wasn’t a literal creepy song, more like something you could hear in an attraction park or something, but you it gave you a bad feeling. The light in the room was to bright, it took you time to adapt.

Looking around you, you noticed a lot of bed, many people and all dress the same. They all had numbers on their back or on their chest. 

You take a look at your hoodie to know your own number ; 017.

Staying in your bed you try to remember what happened. A guy gave you a visit card after you played a game with him. But he also gave you money when you won. Lucky for you, you always were good at Djaki, so You won at your first try. 

Slowly your memory came back. You accepted to play games to earn a lot of money after finding out you were pregnant.

Biting your bottom lips, you put your hand on your stomach. It was still small inside you, but you will need money to raise the child, especially after all the debts your ex boyfriend let you. You was a saint in that story. After all,a part of your debts are caused by you addiction to drug and alcool. It all started two years ago when you met him. He changed you, probably for the worst, but you loved him so much. You lost everything cause of him, cause of your addiction. Your parents dont want to ear about you anymore and your friends didn’t want to hang out with you. You lost everything for a stupid dumb and addict wanna be rapper. 

Thinking about all of this brings tears to your eyes, but you quickly whipped it. You refuse to cry again cause of this stupid dude.

The big door opened and guards wearing a pink one piece entered the room, armed with guns. All the attention was on them at the minute they arrived. They explain the situation you was all in. Some of them had questions and it was all legit. No one had their phone on them or any other personal objects. In your case, you didn’t really care. No phone mean no social media, no text from your ex or anyone who could harass you to got their money. Your only concern is when you gonna be home, maybe you will find a dirty appartement cause some of them will have bursted in.

Your eyes got on the Tv when the guard start to show some people here, call their name and say how much in debts they are in. You wasn’t really interested until your ear his name ; Choi Su-Bong. 

Your eyes started to scan the room, looking for him. Anxiety rushed in your veins, heart pudding until you saw him. He was in the crowd with his usual purple hair. 

Your hands started to shake, your breath was quicker, heavier. Normally when you felt that way, you took a pill to calm you down, but you can’t anymore.

Nervously you started to bite your fingernails. You closed your eyes and took a deep breathe, trying to control the anxiety. You silently cursed any gods out here or whatever other dinities to had put your ex in the same game as you. What was the fucking chances ? 

But at the same time, you weren't really surprised. He has double or triple the money you have to repay.

After everyone had a little more trust in the guards, they asked everyone to come to sign a paper about the four rules of the game. Nervously you get in line with the others, far away from Thanos. When it was your turn, you read the rules carefully and sign it.

The next step was the picture before the first game. You placed yourself in front of the camera and gave a small smile when the lady said to smile. It was more an anxious smile than a real one. After the picture you was on your way to follow the other but turn your head when you eared thanos voices. He was with a big group of girl and some guys for a group photo. Of course, even here he was popular. Even here he had to play it cool. If only they all knew who he really was. The only nice thing you could said about him was how easy he can connect with people. Something you would like to have. You never was the shy type or the kind of girl who was afraid to say what’s on her mind, but you’ve been called rude more time than you can remember ; Until Thanos

Two Years ago

You come out of the University after another endless class. You just go your last exam result and it was not what you hopped for. You could already ear your mom yell at you and saying how much you disappoint her, after all the money herself and your dad put in your scholarship, how you should study more. You never really was good at school cause you never liked that. You parents expect you to become a lawyer but you don’t give a shit about that job or the laws. Your passion was somewhere else. You love music, drawing, painting. You are more of an artist person than the big brain kid. If you keep going to school it’s only because you know art doesn't pay enough. 

That Night, one of your friends wanted to go out to celebrate her birthday and you agreed to be there for at least some hours, cause you needed to go back home to study harder before the next exam. It’s in this crowded bar you met Thanos. He was there, on stage, performing, rapping, having the time of his life. You were at the Bar, waiting for your order and the one your friend did when you had eye contact. The lyrics of his song felt like he was talking about you. Your cheeks became hot from embarrassment. When the drinks were ready, you took it and go back at your place, giving a last look to the rapper.

You don’t remember much of that evening. Your friend invited you but she also invited other people you didn’t know and you never was good to interact with strangers, so you stayed quiet most of the time until the barmaid came to your table with a shot and a little note. You looked at her confused.

«-I’m sorry, I didn’t order this, you said. -It’s from Thanos, she reply with a smile before leaving.»

The little group looked at your, surprised.

«-You know Thanos ? -No ! Who’s this guy ? -The hot guy who was on stage most of the night ?! What’s the note about ?»

Your friend took the note, red it and smile at you.

«-Girl, believe me, take that shot and go see him. -What ? Are you insane ?! I’m not taking something a stranger offered me, what if he put drugs in it ? »

You take back the note and read it. It was an invitation to come see him in his V.I.P room. You rolled your eyes, take the shot in your hand before leading your way to this famous Thanos room. You quickly saw him sat at a table with pretty girl and some dude, playing cards. Without any hesitation you put the shot on the table and look at him, not giving a damn shit about all the other around who looked at you.

«-Hear me out Mister infinity stones, that was nice of you for the shot, but i’m not the type of girl you can buy with that. Especially since I don’t know what you could have put in it.»

A smile appear on his lips before he made a move with his hand to invite everyone to leave the table. When you was alone, he got more comfortable in his chair.

«-I just saw a Beautifull flower in the crowd and wanted to know more about you. I didn’t expect you to react like this, but It’s way more entertaining than the usual.-The usual ? You do this often ? Find a cute girl, invite her over with a drink. -Not often and not in this exact way.»

I got up and get closer to me.

«-Now you’re here I can do a proper introduction.

He slowly took my hand and kiss the top of it

«-Hi Seniorita, i’m thanos, nice to meet you.»

Back to the Present

When you arrived outside, or something who looked outside, the doors behind you closed and in the other part of the room, you noticed a weird, giant, doll and two guards. The voice of a lady started to explain the first game you gonna play ; Red light, Green Light. At least, this first game sound easy, making you smile, but it quickly fade away when a guy screams and find his way out of the crowd of player, saying the doll gonna kill us if she cought us moving during the red light moments. Many of them didn’t took him seriously, but even if it’s sounded crazy as fuck, you started to shake. Maybe the fact you didn’t took any sort of drugs since a long moment didn’t help, but it wasn’t just that.

The game started and the man in front of the other gave us direction. You gave a look at thanos who was with a pretty girl. You growl from annoyance. This guy didn’t lose his time. 

One lost but he found ten other ones.

So far the game goes well until the pretty girl close to your ex start to scream and moving. She seemed to want to chase away something. When she stop moving by herself, a fireshot was eard, making me froze for real. Three seconds later a lot of people start running in panic as the guy in front of you screamed to not moving or panic. It was more easy to say than do. You whole body asking you to run away, but at the same time you was to horrified by the corps who felt close to you, it wasn’t possible at all. When everyone who tried to ran away was on the flood, the game continued. You moved and froze at the red light, hiding Yourself behind taller people as suggested. You turned your head to see if thanos was still alive and it was sort of a relief when you noticed he was. You also noticed he pushed people on the ground. This guy was definitely fucked up. 

Luckily, you made your way to the end, safe. You sat on the floor, tired cause of the anxiety this deadly game caused you and that’s at this moment you eared his voice.

«-Y/N ?! Flower is that you ? Are you for real ?! »

Thanos quickly sat in front of you, smiling at you.

«-Get Lost Thanos. -Yeah, i’m happy to see you too, beautiful.»

You didn’t answered. What could you say ? To many things actually, but absolutely nothing at the same time.

«-Oh come One, are you still ignoring me ? -Did you not eared me ? Get.Lost.Motherfucker.»

You was still mad a him and sad and all the hormones was high in your body. The situation didn’t help. You felt you was about tu cry and got up to go somewhere else but Thanos stopped you by gripping gently your wrist.

«-Wait, Y/N. Please, let me explain myself … -I don’t need any explanation. I saw You. You Cheated on me. There’s nothing more to explain.»

You didn’t faced him. If you will, you will cry and you don’t want him to see you like this.

You was saved by the voices of the women who told everyone to return in the main Room. You took back your wrist and quickly follow the others to go back in the room with all the beds. It was definitely too much emotion for this first day and you started to regret your decision.

[ramp-it-up]

Peach, Part III

Part II | Part IV

Summary: Steven Grant Rogers is Bucky Barnes' best friend and business parter in crime. He has decided to get out of the life with Bucky because it's the right thing to do. And now he is in love. With you. A woman he lied to about a myriad of things. Now he just needs to convince you to forgive him. And spend the rest of your life with him.

Pairing: Art Dealer/Philanthopist (Mob Boss) Steve Rogers x Reader (Peach)

A/N: I love these two and there is so much to say. More parts to come.This fic is connected to the Bucky Barnes Knock You Down AU, and AFTER the events in the Bucky Barnes fic You've Got me Thinking. I'm so done for with Steve and Peach. The next part will be published next week! ☺️

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT. Read at your own risk. Angsty angst! Steve is called ‘Steve’ and ‘Grant’ at the beginning, because lies. Mutual pining, attempted masturbation, wild thoughts, threats with a knife, talk of a gun, dirty talk, voice kink, praise kink, did I say ANGST? Not Beta'd. All errors my own.

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-------

As soon as Steve and Bucky stepped into the house in Hilton Head, Frumoasă’s family welcomed them warmly. Steve felt something that he hadn’t felt in a long while as he watched Bucky and his girl reunite. It had only been a few days, but the emotion between them was palpable.

Steve was happy for his friend, that after years of playing around he finally found his one. His mind drifted to a certain someone in Georgia as his eyes scanned the room for the family’s reaction to this reunion.

When his eyes lighted on you, Steve did a double take, thinking that he was hallucinating.

There you were, beautiful as ever, staring at him like a deer in the headlights, your rapid breathing making your chest rise and fall under the form fitting dress you were wearing.

Steve’s heartbeat was out of control as his eyes traced your form, down to those sexy high heeled boots, and then back up again to that face, those lips, those eyes! 

You looked as if you had seen a ghost. After a few seconds, recognition filled them as you looked from Bucky and Frumoasa and then back to Steve.

Steve knew the moment you understood what he had done. He saw your eyes flash at him, almost felt your body tense and could only watch your flight into the kitchen. 

Against his normally strong sense of self preservation, he went after you.

—-

The instant your eyes met Grant Stevens' ocean blue gaze, you lost all focus. You flushed and became physically affected by his proximity. You watched in silence as he stepped into the room behind the attractive dark haired man that your cousin flew to embrace and closed the door behind him.

You were confused as to why he was here with this other man and what was going on.

As your family’s chatter increased, you realized that this must be Bucky Barnes, whom you’d heard so much about from your cousin. You were impressed that he came after her; you knew how bull headed she was. 

Almost as much as you were.

Then it hit you.

The man with him was not Grant Stevens, ordinary bartender, this was Steve Rogers, multi millionaire mobster and Bucky Barnes’ best friend. 

Your eyes took in the scene and then met Grant’s (no Steve’s) again and you shook yourself from your daze. The man you knew in Atlanta was the same, but different. 

His hair was different, cut quite a bit shorter, but still floofy on top, and he still had a beard, but it was tamed. He carried himself a little differently as well, as if he could buy and sell this entire house and everyone in it but didn’t want to, an air of confidence and expectation, directed toward you.

These subtle differences hit you right in the pussy, because damn, he looked good, he smelled good, and that big dick energy was enormous.

But then you realized how he’d lied to you and rage, disbelief, and betrayal flooded your body. You tried to regulate after realizing that your jaw was clenched and your hands were balled into fists.

Rather than deck this man in front of your family and draw attention to this fucked up situation, you retreated into the kitchen, hoping that Steve would have the good sense not to follow you. 

You went to the sink and gazed out of the window to the beach, attempting to be soothed by the vision of the tide retreating and returning until you heard the door open and close behind you.

Without turning around, you shook your head to clear it from the haze his rich, woodsy scent cast over you. 

And also to warn Steve Rogers.

“DO NOT come near me.”

—--

Steve’s heart was beating a mile a minute and he was sweating as he pursued you, but he couldn’t help himself. This thing between you and him was undeniable. 

At least to him.

And so he came around the sizable kitchen island to talk to you despite your warning.

His mouth was dry when he attempted to speak, but he had to try.

“Peach… I—“

You turned around, a Japanese steel carving knife in your hand.

Steve felt his eyes widen and he put his hands up and backed away until the counter behind him stopped his retreat. He knew he could easily take the knife from you and calm you down, but now was not the time for force. 

It was time to grovel.

“Peach, please…”

You advanced upon him, tip of the knife pointed at Steve’s throat. Your pulse quickened as you got nearer to him, only because you were going to kill him, you thought. 

Not because he was so damn fine. No.

Not because your nipples were tight and your pussy was pounding as you remembered his hands on you, inside you, and his hard body against you as his mouth invaded yours. 

You were so caught up that you could only stare at him as you threatened his life. 

You searched Steve’s handsome face for the hint of a smirk, which, to his credit, wasn’t there. Steve looked earnest, like a little boy even, so your eyes moved away from his face and down to the impossible broadness of his shoulders in the fine brown suede jacket over brown cashmere sweater, to his tailored brown slacks, skipping over the bulge there down to his big feet in brown suede boots.

The tone on tone was attractive and the hint of the chain of his St. Stephen’s medal, the same one he wore in Atlanta, was about to make you go feral.

This man affected you in the worst ways. 

How could you want to murder him, fuck him, and also just bury yourself in his chest? 

“Who the fuck are you?”

Steve dropped his head and stared down at the knife at his neck when you spoke

He deserved every cut you wanted to give him. 

“I’m so, so sorry, Peach.”

He looked back up at you and you gasped, the knife dropping a little. At the same time, while holding your gaze, Steve slowly moved his hands toward yours, which was trembling slightly now. You nodded a little as he reached for the knife and he took it gently out of your hand.

He moved toward you and you backed up as he reached beside you to put the knife down, rendering it available if you wanted to hurt him again.

You were impressed. 

But you didn’t trust him one bit.

“Back the fuck up, Grant. Or Steven. Or whatever the fuck you are calling yourself today.”

Steve created space and leaned against the opposite counter, looking more comfortable than your angry heart agreed with.

“I deserve your anger, Peach. But I can explain.”

At that, you straightened up and picked up the knife again.

“I’m not angry, Steven. I have no feelings for you whatsoever.”

Steve’s mouth fell open. He wasn’t expecting that. 

“If I ever felt anything for anyone, it may have been Grant Stevens, but he doesn’t exist.”

You examined the knife, but didn’t point it at him this time.

“Since he doesn’t exist, neither do my feelings or any chance I allow you to get close to me ever again.”

Your multicolored eyes stared into Steve’s and he shivered. 

“Now, this is obviously a big deal for my cousin out there, and for your friend. I’m not going to spoil this for her. But you.”

You indicated Steve with the knife.

“You, stay the fuck away from me. Pretend I don’t exist and I,” You smiled a little.

“Well, I don’t have to do that, do I?  Because not only did you lie to me, you ghosted me.”

Steve felt like the most despicable man on earth. 

“So, you’re dead to me, Grant Stevens.”

You moved around the island to go back to the dining room with the knife in your hand.

“There’s another entrance to the dining room through the hallway by the bathrooms. Use it. I do not want to be associated with lying sacks of shit.”

You straightened your spine and Steve couldn’t help but watch your beautiful body leave him in the dust.

It was then that he knew he was in love.

—--

At dinner Steve watched everything unfold with consternation, but also amusement and curiosity. Bucky and his girl were about to crawl under the table and fuck, even though her parents were grilling him, but his friend had it under control.

Steve wanted to know what you thought of all this and when he looked at you, he thought he caught you checking for him a couple of times, but you always seemed to be looking at something else. 

You were clearly still pissed at him. 

Which gave him hope.

Because regardless of what you said about being dead to you, there was still some strong emotions swirling around in that head of yours.

Which meant you were thinking about him. 

He had to get you alone to talk. But he didn’t know how.

When your aunt suggested he and Bucky stay over, he silently thanked the stars above.

Now he was getting somewhere.

—--

When your Aunt Karen opened her home to criminals and liars, you almost drove back to Atlanta. You sat there and stewed as this handsome asshole smirked across the table at you.

You should have used the knife.

This was going to be the longest four days of your life.

When Bucky and Steve left to retrieve their belongings from the hotel, you looked over to see your cousin staring at you. You thought she was too caught up in Bucky to notice anything.

You were wrong. She continued staring at you as she called out to her mother.

“Ma, Peach and I are going for a walk on the beach to work off dinner, we’ll be back soon.”

As soon as you were out of earshot, the interrogation began.

“What the fuck is up, bitch?”

You told her the entire story.

—-

“You gonna tell me what is going on now?”

Steve looked over at Bucky as they drove to the Surf Song Inn to get their luggage. He would be the only one to understand what he was going through.

“Remember when you said I didn’t really “get it” when you were talking about speeding up the timeline?

Bucky nodded, intrigued.

“Well, I do now. And the story starts in Atlanta….”

By the time Steve was done, Bucky’s mouth was hanging open.

“I noticed that she’s a looker; definitely related to my Frumoasa.”

They chuckled and Steve shook his head at his friend.

“Now that I know what’s going on, with the extension of the Atlanta deal, and the foundation outlay… You’ve got it fucking bad.”

Bucky laughed at his friend.

Steve groaned.

“Stop busting my balls, Buck. I need help.”

Bucky shook his head.

“I don’t know man. My girl and I certainly went through something like this, but she knew my real name, for fuck’s sake. And I never left her hanging to run off into the night forever. I want to fucking punch you for that shit.”

Bucky was serious. 

“I know. I’m such an idiot. But I panicked. I think I knew I was in love but I’d fucked up. In the back of my mind I was always going to go back once we got clean and tell her the truth but…”

“Fate won out?”

“Yeah.”

There was silence in the car as the sounds of the ocean surrounded them.

“She threatened to slit my throat when she saw me today. She had the carving knife in her hand.”

Bucky grinned at his friend who was gazing dreamily out of the window.

“I knew I liked her. My kind of girl. She’s perfect for you.”

“Punk. But how do I get her to realize that?”

“Persistence my friend. Persistence. And cunning.”

—--

By the time Steve and Bucky had returned, there was a plan, but almost as soon as he stepped into the house, your cousin grabbed him up. He followed her into the kitchen, afraid of another knife attack.

“Just what the fuck do you think you are doing, Steven Grant Rogers? You trying to run game on my cousin? We don’t play that, I will fuck you up!”

This time it wasn’t a knife, but your cousin’s finger pointed at him

“I love her.”

She froze, mouth open and finger in mid air.

“Well. Damn.”

She straightened up and leaned on the counter as Bucky came in.

“May I join the party?”

His girl glared at him and he put his hands up as he walked up on her and took her in his arms.

“I promise, I didn’t know a thing about it. I’ve been a little distracted lately.

He kissed her and her ire was gone. Steve wished it were that easy for him.

“So you’re in love but you fucked her over, and she wants nothing to do with you. Cool.”

Your cousin wasn’t scowling at him, but she wasn’t smiling either.

“Yeah, I’m fucked. But i’ve got a plan.”

Steve and Bucky looked at each other and grinned. Your cousin looked from one to the other. Then they told her the plan.

“Oh hell. My poor cousin. But you forgot one important thing…”

—--

The rest of the night was spent playing board games, watching football, and outrageous flirting between Bucky and your cousin. 

Oh, and you avoiding Steve Rogers at all costs. 

If he came into a room, you exited, if you heard his voice in another, you scowled. He was ruining your holiday. You were stressed beyond belief. But you had something for that.

You knew that your cousin was planning on meeting Bucky in the basement and being a freak, so that’s when you and your handy dandy little bullet vibrator would meet up.

You needed to relieve the tension Steve being in the house had placed on your pussy. You were afraid you would fold and fuck him.

All you needed was to cum and you could think straight.

When your cousin snuck out of the room, she thought you were asleep, but you were just hiding and waiting for her to leave. Just when you pulled the bullet from under your pillow, your door opened and your light came on. You sat up in bed when you saw it was Steve, prepared to cuss him out.

He quickly shut the door and leaned against it, a vision with his big, bare feet, plaid pajama pants and size smedium henley.

It was still a crime how good this man looked. 

And how much he affected you.

Steve saw you without makeup, that delectable mouth in a sexy O, and those eyes wide and got hard instantly. 

He was so ruined.

You watched Steve watching you and then watched him reach up and rub the back of his neck and damn, did his bicep look good as he unconsciously flexed. 

“I need to explain, Peach.”

“You don’t need to do a gotdamn thing but get the fuck out of my room.”

“Please…”

“Don’t give me that shit. That fake apology begging shit. You’re nothing but a liar, and a manipulator. Trying to fuck me under an alias. Pretending to be something you’re not.”

Steve grew exasperated and damn you if the sight of him potentially angry didn’t turn you on more. Did you actually want him to fight for you? 

You had a problem. A six foot, two inch problem.

“I didn’t fuck you, did I? I realized what I was doing was wrong and I stopped.”

You huffed and cocked your head.

“Yeah. You ran. Which was the easy way out. Instead of staying and apologizing and telling me the fucking truth. I don’t need your explanation now, asshole. You better be glad I don’t scream my ass off! Coming in here like you’re going to make me beg for you to put your little dick inside me and have your way with me in all the holes that you can.”

Steve raised his eyebrow, heart rate increasing. You wanted him.

“That's very oddly specific, Peach. Been thinking about me? Been fantasizing?”

His fervent whisper made you shiver.  

“And I think you’ve ascertained by now that it’s not little.”

He smirked as you glared at him. 

“You’re right, Peach. Now is not the time for explanations. Maybe we just need to finish what we started in Atlanta. Get the tension out so we can talk. Let me fuck you so hard that we both cum. Hard. So we can have a civil conversation.”

God, I need her to cum around my cock, those thighs wrapped around me, Steve thought. It was his only goal at the moment.

Your pussy sat up and took notice as you were silent, adjusting the pillow with the bullet under it so that he wouldn’t know what you were planning to do. He studied you as you sat up straighter in the bed.

You both knew that one fuck wouldn’t end the beef. In fact, you guessed correctly that you wouldn't be able to get enough.

“You want me to beg, Peach? To get on my knees for you and beg to give me just a few hours of your time to show you that I am completely and utterly yours, Y/N/LN.”

You stared at him as he nodded at you and started rubbing himself through his pajama pants like a heathen.

“But what would you let me come in here and do to you that would make you scream your ass off Peach, if I begged to your satisfaction?”

His eyes roamed your body, stopping at your rigid nipples through the thin material. 

Steve was thirsty now.

“Would you let me touch you?”

His baritone voice was destroying your pussy right now. She was practically humming and vibrating on nothing at the moment, and you wondered if you could come from words alone. 

Steve wondered the same thing.

So he tried it.

“Would you let me?” 

Waves of desire rolled off of him and you could feel it from across the room. He was itching to move close and touch you, but you needed to make the first move. 

So what he said to you was, “Would you let me get my dirty criminal hands all over you, Peach?” 

You tensed, not knowing if you wanted to strangle him or climb on his penis. But then you thought both, at the same time, and crossed your arms against your body instead.

“N-no!”

That damn eyebrow shot up and you looked away, not knowing if you had the strength to endure.

“I want to bite into you, Peach.”

You opened your mouth to breathe.

“Not hard. Just enough to see how soft your skin is. Just so you can feel it throughout your body…you are…fuck… you are so fine… I need to consume you.”

You were in the same room with the big bad wolf, and yet you didn’t want to escape.

“I wonder…”

He trailed off, and you turned your head and gained eye contact, curious and wound up tight. Your pussy was pounding now, and you knew he had to smell your scent. He was actually licking his chops. 

“Would you let me slide my tongue inside you and lick you clean?”

He watched his eyes dilate as your eyes shuttered and a sound came out from your throat. It was a whimper of need that you cut short by clearing your throat, but not before Steve’s eyes flicked down to your sleep shorts and your thighs rubbing against each other. He knew you had to be soaking wet. 

He licked his lips and nodded, agreeing with your lust.

“Yes. Want, no need, to rub my cock all over your beautiful body. Feed it to you inch by inch, until you take it down your throat.”

You closed your eyes to shut off the sight of him, but the images of what he was saying assaulted you. You were so close to giving in. 

“Will you, Peach? Let me rub this big dick all over that body?”

You opened your eyes and stared as Steve grabbed himself, holding it out for you. You were incredulous when you saw how thick and how long it was under his sleep pants. You licked your lips, suddenly very thirsty.

“Will you let me feed you this cock inch by fucking inch, till I’m down your throat?” 

Steve assessed you.

“I told you that you’d struggle to take it. But I bet you’d take it like the naughty little good girl you are. You’d gag on it for me.”

You wanted to crawl over to him on your knees and do as he said. But you were not going to fold. You took a deep breath, stood up slowly and walked over to him, his smile growing the nearer you approached.

You stopped just shy of touching him, his cock, his hands, those lips all there for the taking. You looked him dead in the eye.

“My aunt Karen keeps a shotgun by the bed. Get the fuck out of my room before I go get it and shoot your gotdamn balls off.”

The grin that Steve wore as he walked back to his room was blinding. You were the perfect woman for him. He just had to convince you.

He was still grinning when Bucky snuck back in the room from his rendezvous with his girl.

“I’m in.”

—--

The next morning you woke almost refreshed, having used your bullet successfully after Steve left the room. You got off in no time and renewed your strength. You even managed to tease your cousin who did the tiptoe of shame back to your shared bedroom before you fell asleep.

You came downstairs to the sight of your aunt and uncle on the way to coffee with Bucky and your cousin about to throw up.

It was obvious what was about to happen and you felt bad as she ran out to the beach to get some air. Maybe you were taking things out on her. As you watched her head toward the beach, you felt the hair on the back of your head rise.

You turned around to see Steve’s cerulean eyes appraising you. You suddenly felt self conscious about your sleep short set.

“Morning.”

“Hmmph.”

“I’ve been thinking about what you said last night, and you are correct. I’m sorry for continuing to pursuing you. What I did was wrong and there’s no future for us. We need to just cut ties. But there is one thing. The foundation.”

One of the things you’d realized was that the Rebirth Foundation that had bailed you out of debt and enabled you to quit stripping and start your dance school was the creation of Steve and Bucky. Your cousin told you it was a very real endeavor, but that Steve and Bucky did run it. 

“Yes. That’s unfortunate.”

“So. What do you want to do about that?”

Steve leaned back and damn, the power of grey sweats was not lost on you.

“What do you mean?”

“Well. I am the managing director of the foundation. If you keep the money, you’ll have to have contact with me; remember the stipulations?”

You grimaced as you recalled the terms of the endowment. A summit in New York, site visits. Shit. 

You crossed your arms and cocked your hip. Steve kept his eyes on your face. That threw you for a second. You cleared your throat.

“Are you trying to blackmail me, Rogers.”

Steve shook his head. 

“No. I knew you would think that. You are welcome to keep the money. I can just consider it a gift. I’ll pay the money back to the foundation out of my personal funds. Consider it a fine for my crimes.”

You looked down and chewed your lip. Then you looked back up at him, your head held high. 

“I’m not a coward, Mr. Rogers. I can fulfill my end of the bargain, even if you…” 

You stopped short.

“I can fulfill my end of the bargain.”

Steve looked at you for a long while, his blue eyes sad. Your heart clenched.

“Good. Your students deserve it. You should have a message in your inbox about the summit on December 15th. You don’t have to RSVP until next week because of the holiday."

Steve stood up and walked toward the kitchen door. 

“I’m gonna go see if your cousin is okay.”

You gaped as the man you thought you hated went to go care for your family. And if what you presumed was going to happen did happen, he was going to be like family for the rest of your life.

You were screwed.

——

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Read the Bucky fic Worth The Fall that comes immediately after this. Read Peach IV, the next part.

[thebunnednun]

Tempted to touch! Men of One piece x Fm! Reader (Multi Character fic) Part 2

Pairings: Zoro x Reader, Buggy x Reader, Law x Reader, Sanji x Reader, Sabo x Reader, Kidd x Reader, Corazon x Reader

Synopsis: Can someone write like a lil thing for Ace, Shanks, Mihawk, Crocodile and/or Smoker or any One Piece character (secretly) seeing their S/O being able to whine (dance) and having crazy waist control (being able to bounce their ass without movin anything else)? 🧍🏻‍♀️

A little something for @mororona who gave me the prompt.

Use these songs:

Tempted to Touch by Rupee Zoro, Buggy, Rosinante

Nina Sky - Move Ya Body Kidd, Sabo,

Aventura - La Novelita Sanji, Law, Sanji

Or use any song you want *Shrugs*

I'ma also tag @fanaticsnail I added two special someones for you!!~

In honor of me reaching 100 followers I have prepared many stories for you all. Thank you to everyone who supported me through my hiatus. <33 ╰(⸝⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝⸝)╯

On with the show!!~

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Zoro

The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the Thousand Sunny. The crew was scattered around the deck, enjoying a rare moment of peace.

Luffy and Usopp were engaged in a loud, animated conversation, while Nami and Robin sipped on drinks, sharing a quieter exchange. Sanji was in the kitchen, preparing a late-night snack for everyone, and Franky was tinkering with one of his inventions. Brook’s gentle strumming on his guitar added a serene backdrop to the scene.

Zoro, ever the loner, had retreated to a quiet corner of the deck. He leaned against the railing, one hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword, the other holding a half-empty bottle of sake. His eyes were closed, and he appeared to be resting, but in truth, he was always alert, always ready.

~ ♩♪♩♬   ♬♩♪ ~

As the night grew darker, a soft, rhythmic beat began to echo across the deck. Zoro opened one eye, scanning the area for the source of the sound. His gaze landed on you and Chopper, standing near the center of the deck, your eyes closed, lost in your own world. Brooks music seemed to flow through you, guiding your movements.

Zoro's interest piqued as he watched you start to move. You swayed your hips with a grace and fluidity that was mesmerizing. The rest of your body remained still, save for your waist, which moved with a hypnotic rhythm. It was a skillful dance, one that required incredible control and strength. You were whining,and you were doing it flawlessly.

You were completely unaware of your audience. The other crew members continued their activities, oblivious to your impromptu performance. Zoro, however, couldn’t take his eyes off you. There was something captivating about the way you moved, something almost primal. He felt a strange mix of emotions—pride, admiration, and an unfamiliar heat that stirred deep within him.

Zoro’s grip on his bottle tightened as you shifted your movements, your hips now bouncing in a way that defied logic. It was as if the rest of your body had frozen in time, leaving only your waist to express the rhythm of the music. He had seen many things in his travels, but this was new, this was different.

As the song reached its crescendo, you finished with a graceful spin, finally opening your eyes. Your gaze met Zoro’s, and you froze, realizing you had an audience.

"[Name]-chan, why did you stop?" The little reindeer whined, wanting to be spun in your arms again. However, he stopped seeing the flustered swordsman and you locked in a staring match.

A blush spread across your cheeks, but Zoro’s expression was unreadable. He took a swig from his bottle, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Didn’t know you could dance like that,” he said, his voice low and appreciative.

You laughed nervously, running a hand through your hair. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Moss-head.”

He smirked, pushing off the railing and walking towards you. “Guess I’ll have to stick around and find out, then.”

"Are you guys flirting?"

"NO!"

Chopper let out some little giggles as he tugged your hand into his smaller one and almost dragged you to Zoro. Shockingly, the moss-head put down his bottle and picked up Chopper, placing him on his shoulders before offering a hand to you.

"Would you dance with me?"

You looked quickly between him and his outstretched palm before nodding and grabbing on.

As Zoro closed the distance between you, you could see the intensity in his eyes. The night was far from over, and you had a feeling it would be one to remember.

Buggy

It was a late night in the Big Top, and Buggy found himself tossing and turning, unable to sleep. His mind swirled with the day’s frustrations and petty annoyances. Costumes not right, Alvida roasting him, Richie almost eating some of the audience members. He grumbled to himself, contemplating another sleepless night when the faint sound of music reached his ears. It was a soft, rhythmic melody, entirely out of place at this hour.

~ ♩♪♩♬   ♬♩♪ ~

Annoyed, Buggy sat up and stomped towards the source of the disturbance. "Who the hell is playing music at this time?" he muttered under his breath, ready to bellow at whoever it was to, "Shut that damn music off!"

As he approached the main performance area, he stopped short. There, under the dim spotlight of the Big Top, he saw you, his shyest performer. Your back was to him, and you seemed completely absorbed in your dance, unaware of his presence. 

The Big Top, usually bustling with noise and activity, was eerily silent save for the music. The moonlight filtered through the tent’s small windows, casting a gentle glow on your figure. You moved with an ethereal grace, your body swaying to the rhythm. Buggy’s eyes widened as he watched you, mesmerized.

You had always been reserved, avoiding the spotlight and keeping to yourself. But here, in the privacy of the night, you had shed your inhibitions, revealing a side of yourself that was both captivating and unexpected. Your eyes were closed, and a serene smile played on your lips as you moved to the rhythm of the music.

Your hips moved with a hypnotic precision, swaying and bouncing in a way that seemed almost impossible. The rest of your body remained still, a testament to your incredible control. It was a captivating sight, one Buggy couldn’t look away from. 

You, the performer who always shied away from the spotlight, the one who would cry if pressed to the stage, were now the embodiment of confidence and skill. The music wrapped around you, each note guiding your movements. Your moments were so sure, rippling like water while you were completely lost in the flow of your craft. 

Buggy watched you dance, each movement more enthralling than the last. The world outside the Big Top faded away, leaving only the music, your dance, and the spellbinding atmosphere

He leaned against the stands, his initial annoyance long forgotten. There was something enchanting about watching you like this, seeing you so free and unrestrained. It was a stark contrast to the quiet, shy person he knew you to be during the day. Buggy felt a strange warmth in his chest, a mix of admiration and a newfound affection.

As you continued, Buggy found himself captivated not just by your skill, but by the raw emotion you poured into each step. Your usually reserved demeanor was gone, replaced by a vibrant, enchanting presence. It was as if you had shed all your inhibitions, revealing a side of yourself that was hidden beneath layers of shyness and restraint.

The music continued, wrapping around you like a gentle embrace, guiding your every step. Buggy marveled at your skill and the way you seemed to place your heart into each movement. It was as if you were sharing a part of yourself that no one else had seen, a secret side that only the night and the music could coax out.

‘Beautiful,’

Buggy’s heart pounded as he observed you, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. He took a step back, careful not to make a sound. Buggy didn’t want to disturb this private moment, this secret display of your talent. The last thing he wanted was to break the spell you had unknowingly cast.

As the music slowly came to an end, you finished your dance with a final, graceful flourish. You stood there for a moment, breathing heavily but with a peaceful smile on your face, eyes closed. 

Buggy took another step back, he didn’t want you to know he had been watching, not yet.

With one last lingering glance at you, Buggy turned and walked away, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He knew he would never look at you the same way again. The shy little  performer he had thought he knew was gone, replaced by a captivating dancer with an irresistible charm.

That morning, Buggy carried the memory of your dance with him, a secret treasure he was happy to keep all to himself. It was a reminder that beneath the surface, there was always more to discover, and sometimes, the most beautiful things were found in the most unexpected places.

Law

It was late at night on the Polar Tang, and Law found himself unable to sleep. The day's events replayed in his mind, a mix of battles, research, and the endless responsibilities that came with being a captain. Frustrated, he rose from his bed, deciding to take a walk through the quiet corridors of his submarine.

~ ♩♪♩♬   ♬♩♪ ~

As he wandered, he heard a faint sound of a melody drifting through the halls. It was an unusual sound at this hour, and Law's first instinct was to put a stop to it. His crew needed rest, and so did he. With a sigh, he followed the melody, preparing to tell whoever it was to shut it off.

As he neared the source, Law's sharp eyes caught sight of a figure moving gracefully in the dimly lit common room. He stopped in his tracks, his irritation melting away as he realized who it was. You, the bubbly and ever-optimistic member of his crew, were dancing, completely lost in the flow of your movements.

The room was bathed in the soft glow of a few scattered lights, casting long shadows that danced along with you. The gentle sway of the submarine did little to disturb your rhythm. Your body moved with a fluidity that left Law momentarily speechless. Your hips swayed and bounced with an effortless control, your waist moving independently from the rest of your body. It was a mesmerizing sight, one that Law couldn't look away from.

You had always been the opposite of him—confident, lively, and full of an infectious energy that endeared you to everyone. You brought light to the crew, a stark contrast to Law's often serious demeanor. But here, in the privacy of the night, you had shed your usual exuberance, revealing a side of yourself that was just as captivating and unexpected.

Your eyes were closed, a serene smile playing on your lips as you moved to the rhythm of the music. Law found himself drawn in, watching the way you danced with a mix of grace and passion. Each movement was precise, yet filled with an emotional depth that spoke of a deep connection to the music. You seemed completely unaware of his presence, lost in a world of your own creation.

He leaned against the doorway, his initial annoyance long forgotten. There was something enchanting about watching you like this, seeing you so free and unrestrained. Law felt a strange warmth crawling up his neck into his face and ears.

Just then, the music paused as the record player needed to be restarted. You opened your eyes and saw Law just standing there, causing you to jump and scream out, 

"AHHH!"

Startled, Law quickly looked behind him and then back to you, his eyes wide. "[Name]-ya! What's wrong?!" 

Realizing that he had scared you, Law quickly crossed the floor to you, wrapping his arms around you in a comforting embrace. "Hey, it's okay," he murmured into your hair, holding you close. "M’Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you buried your face in his shoulder, trying to calm down. "It’s okay, you just startled me, Law-san," you mumbled, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. You took a deep breath, inhaling his familiar scent, a mixture of antiseptic and something uniquely him. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your ear was soothing, gradually easing your surprise.

Law chuckled softly, his breath warm against your hair. He gently ran a hand down your back in a comforting gesture, the warmth of his touch grounding you. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice gentle. "But I have to say, I really like your dancing. You should dance more often."

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, your cheeks still flushed. His usual stern expression had softened, and there was a genuine warmth in his eyes that made your heart flutter. "You really think so?" you asked, a shy smile tugging at your lips despite your usual confidence.

Law nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Yeah. I do."

Feeling a surge of affection for him, you grinned. "Well then, let's start now," you whispered with your own smile to match.

A warm smile spread across Law's face as he nodded. Without another word, he pulled you closer, and the two of you began to slow dance to the quiet hum of the Polar Tang. The world outside faded away, leaving only the gentle sway of your bodies and the comforting embrace you shared.

As you danced together in the dim light, a soft, contented silence settled over you both. The bubbly, sunshine-filled crew member and the stoic, grumpy captain, finding comfort and warmth in each other's arms, dancing to the silent music of the night.

SANJIIII

Late at night on the Thousand Sunny, Sanji found himself restless. Unable to sleep, he decided to check the kitchen, suspecting that the usual culprits—Luffy, Usopp, and Chopper—might be raiding the fridge again. With a lit cigarette in his mouth and a broom in hand, he made his way towards the kitchen, ready to shoo away the mischievous trio.

~ ♩♪♩♬   ♬♩♪♩~

As he approached, he heard faint noises and peeked through the kitchen window. To his surprise, it wasn't the usual suspects. Instead, it was you, wearing his chef's apron, making a little snack for yourself.

The apron hugged your figure in a way that made his heart flutter. You were preparing a simple sandwich and a glass of water, moving gracefully around the kitchen.

Sanji's eyes softened as he watched you dance while you put everything together, a little hip wiggle accompanying your movements. He adored that wiggle, especially when you ate something delicious. It was the very reason he always tried to create dishes that would make you dance with joy.

You were somewhat of a picky eater, often opting for something like soup or a sandwich while the rest of the crew ate their hearty meals. It broke his heart a bit, thinking he couldn't satisfy your appetite despite his efforts. Yet, he continued to create new dishes, hoping to find something that would suit your palate.

Quietly, Sanji slipped into the kitchen, watching as you finished cleaning and putting away the dishes—another thing he loved about you. Your consideration for his meticulously clean kitchen warmed his heart. You took a bite of your sandwich and did that delightful hip wiggle again, bringing a soft chuckle from Sanji as he admired you.

Suddenly, you accidentally dropped your water glass, and it shattered on the floor. You squatted down to pick up the pieces, but before you could touch any, you felt a warm presence behind you. 

"Hold on now, love. You could hurt yourself," a gentle voice murmured.

You gasped as the smell of nicotine found its way to your nose and turned to find Sanji’s strong arms lifting you up and seating you on the kitchen counter. Now faced towards Sanji, he smiled up at you with such fondness as he crouched down that it made you blush. He carefully swept up the glass pieces, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Sanji, how long have you been here?" you asked, feeling a mix of embarrassment and warmth.

"Long enough to see that wonderful dance of yours," he answered honestly, a teasing smile on his lips. "You shouldn't be embarrassed. It was quite the beautiful sight to behold."

You nibbled on your sandwich, your cheeks flushing. "I'm sorry, Sanji. I didn't mean to wake you."

He sighed, his expression softening. "Don’t be ridiculous, I was already awake. I'm sorry I can't make dishes that agree with your tummy." He threw out the broken glass and set the broom back down before returning to you and adjusting the rolled up cuffs of his shirt before resting his hands on the counter. 

‘Yummy,’

You shook your head, blushing. "It's not your fault! I actually include different parts of the dinner you make for us in my soup and sandwiches." You opened your sandwich to show him the seasoned meat he had made for dinner that night.

Sanji's heart soared at the sight. "Really? That makes me so happy, [Name]."

You bit your lip, looking down and playing with your fingers. "There's another reason why I don't eat in front of you, Sanji."

He tilted his head, curiosity piqued. "Why?"

You looked up, swinging your feet nervously. "I know acts of service are your love language, and I noticed you often just drink wine and eat a little bit while the crew has dinner.” You began to fidget with your fingers. “I would like it if you would sit with me during dinner and eat with me."

Sanji's cigarette slipped from his teeth, dropping to the floor. Quickly, he stomped it out, his mind raced before a smile spread across his face. He took your hands and pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles. "I'd love that, [Name]."

You smiled brightly and tugged him into a hug, catching him by surprise. He chuckled, wrapping his arms around you. The two of you held each other for a while, basking in the warmth of the moment.

Sanji gently picked you up off the counter and set you down on the now clean, glass-free floor. "May I ask you a favor?"

You hummed in curiosity, looking up at him. "Of course, Sanji."

He took your hand and led you to the center of the kitchen. "Dance with me?"

Your face lit up with joy as you beamed at him. "I'd love to."

You placed your hand in his, and the two of you began to dance softly. One of his hands rested on your waist while your other hand rested on his shoulder. Slowly, you got closer, your bodies moving in perfect harmony. Both of his arms encircled your middle, and your arms wrapped around his neck. You gazed into each other's eyes, foreheads touching as you closed your eyes, enjoying the bliss of being together.

In the quiet of the kitchen, with the soft hum of the ship in the background, you danced together, finding solace and happiness in each other's embrace.

SABO

Sabo had managed to slip away from the Straw Hats during the festival, deftly navigating through the colorful crowds and festive stalls. The air was alive with the aroma of exotic foods and the joyous sounds of laughter and music. He had one mission in mind—to find you, the shyest Straw Hat, the half sea creature who usually kept away from the lively festivities. 

Following the winding paths that led away from the main celebration, Sabo made his way to your usual meeting spot, a secluded cove hidden away from the bustling energy of the festival. The trees and berry bushes provide security from prying eyes. 

~ ♩♪♩♬   ♬♩♪♩~

As he approached, the distant strains of music reached his ears, carried on the gentle sea breeze. The soft glow of festival lights flickered in the distance, casting playful shadows along the path and adding to the enchanting atmosphere of the night.

Upon reaching the cove, Sabo paused, taking in the sight before him. There you were, bathed in the ethereal light of the moon, your scales catching the shimmering reflections from the sea. The soft, iridescent glow of your skin mesmerized him, each scale reflecting the hues of the festival lights like tiny jewels. They glimmered softly against your body, creating an otherworldly aura around you.

You stood at the edge of the cove, your movements fluid and graceful as you danced to the music only you could hear. The band playing nearby provided a rhythmic backdrop, guiding your movements with its upbeat tempo. Sabo watched, captivated by the way your body moved with such effortless grace, every sway of your hips and twist of your body a testament to your innate connection to the sea.

‘Motion in the Ocean~’

Unable to resist, Sabo stepped forward as you spun gracefully under the moonlight. With a boldness born of longing, he reached out and gently caught you in his arms. You gasped in surprise, your eyes meeting his with a mixture of astonishment and something deeper—a silent energy between you.

Without a word, Sabo began to move with you, his hands finding a natural place on your waist as he guided you in a dance that transcended words. The music enveloped you both, its melody weaving around your intertwined bodies like a delicate thread, binding you together in a shared moment of intimacy.

Your scales brushed against his hands, their texture smooth and cool to the touch, yet somehow soft and inviting. Sabo marveled at the contrast between your delicate scales and the warmth of your skin beneath, a sensation that sent a thrill through him with each fleeting touch.

As you danced, the distance between you melted away, leaving only the raw emotion and desire that had simmered beneath the surface for so long. Sabo's touch was tender yet firm, his gaze never leaving yours as he communicated his feelings through the language of movement and touch.

The song continued, each beat a heartbeat that echoed the rhythm of your shared dance. The festival lights twinkled in the background, casting a magical glow over your intertwined forms. The moonlight bathed you both in its soft, silvery light, highlighting the contours of your faces and the sparkle in your eyes.

As the final notes of the song drifted away, you both stood still, your hands clasped together, your breaths mingling in the cool night air. The intensity of the moment hung between you, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken feelings that had brought you together under the moonlit sky.

"Again?"

"Again!"

With that, you both moved together once more, the world around you fading into the background as you lost yourselves in the dance of passion and longing. The only language needed was your moving bodies and the shimmering magic of the night.

Kidd

Amidst the vibrant festival lights and the lively atmosphere, Eustass Kid found himself observing the festivities with a skeptical eye. The air was thick with the scent of food and excitement, and the sound of music echoed through the streets.

As he navigated through the crowd, his attention was unexpectedly drawn to a figure that stood out from the revelry—a figure he didn't immediately recognize.

There she was, the crewmate he knew as somewhat reserved and always covered, now dressed in a flowing blouse and a short ruffled skirt that was raised higher with every step she took. Her mask was absent, allowing her hair to cascade freely around her shoulders. This new sight of her, smiling, laughing, and dancing without a care in the world, captivated him instantly.

She had become the center of attention in a dance circle, her movements graceful and fluid, drawing the eyes of everyone around her. Her laughter mingled with the music, a melody of joy that echoed through the night. 

Kidd couldn't tear his eyes away from her—the way her eyes sparkled with mirth, her smile lighting up her face in a way he had never seen before.

Kidd was enraptured by this new side of her, so full of life and energy. It was a stark contrast to the quiet, reserved persona she usually displayed aboard the ship. He found himself drawn to her like a magnet, wanting to get closer without disrupting her dance.

Meanwhile, Killer, ever observant of his captain's moods and inclinations, noticed Kidd's fixed gaze and sharp interest. With a mischievous grin, he assumed Kidd wanted to join in on the fun and playfully slapped his back in encouragement, pushing him forward towards the dance circle with a hearty, "Go get 'em, Tiger!"

Startled by Killer's unexpected shove, Kidd stumbled forward and inadvertently bumped into the edge of the dance circle, drawing the attention of everyone, including you. At first, you looked surprised, momentarily pausing in your dance as you tried to place the interruption.

However, any annoyance quickly melted into amusement when you realized it was your captain who had stumbled into the midst of the dance. You giggled at the sight of him, his usual stern expression slightly awkward as he tried to move in sync with the music and the others around him.

Without missing a beat, you took matters into your own hands, quite literally. Grabbing Kidd's hands with a playful grin, you pulled him flush against you, guiding him through the steps of the dance with an infectious confidence. The music seemed to intensify around them, matching the fiery spirit of their impromptu dance.

Kidd, though initially caught off guard, soon found himself swept up in the rhythm of the dance and the energy radiating from you. Your touch was surprisingly gentle yet firm, leading him through the intricate steps with a natural grace that belied your usual reserved demeanor. He couldn't help but be drawn to your infectious enthusiasm and the way your laughter filled the air around them.

Each step and sway seemed to draw you closer, the rhythm syncing your movements in a sensual duet. The festival lights cast shifting patterns around you, accentuating the curve of your neck as you leaned into his touch, and the warmth of his hand on your waist, guiding you in the dance. Kidd's gaze held an intensity that sent shivers down your spine, his fingertips grazing lightly against your skin as you moved together. The air crackled with a palpable tension, charged with the electricity of desire. 

Your breath mingled in the space between you, the heat of the night matching the heat rising between your entwined forms. The world around you faded into a blur, leaving only the sensation of his strong frame pressed against yours, and the undeniable attraction that had ignited between you.

The festival lights cast a kaleidoscope of colors around them, accentuating their dance with a vibrant backdrop of swirling hues. The night seemed to bend around them, the music guiding their every twist and turn, until they were lost in their own world of rhythm and passion.

With each beat of the music, you surrendered to the allure of the dance, allowing yourselves to be carried away by the intoxicating rhythm and the lingering touches of his hand on your hips and waist sending a rush of warmth through you. 

At the end of the song, they stood together in the center of the circle, their hands still clasped, breaths mingling in the cool night air. Kidd couldn't suppress the smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips. The festival lights flickered around them, casting playful shadows over their faces as they caught their breath.

"Well, well," Kidd started, his voice low and teasing, "Who knew the prude one had such moves?" Kidd couldn't help but admire you in this liberated state, his usual gruff demeanor softened by the warmth of your smile.

Your cheeks flushed with a mixture of interest and amusement. "Surprised, Captain? I guess there's more to me than meets the eye," you replied, your tone playful yet tinged with challenge.

Kidd chuckled, a deep rumble that resonated in the night air. "Clearly," he remarked, his gaze locking with yours. "I never took you for someone who could command a dance floor."

You shrugged nonchalantly, a hint of mischief dancing in your eyes. "You never asked~," you quipped, stepping closer to him until your bodies were almost touching.

He raised an eyebrow, a flicker of admiration crossing his features. "Maybe I should ask more often," he countered, his voice lowering to a husky murmur.

Your heart skipped a beat at the intensity in his gaze, your breath catching slightly. "Maybe you should," you shot back, a bratty challenge in your tone as you leaned closer to him, your faces mere inches apart.

For a moment, you stood there in the electric tension between you, the music and laughter of the festival fading into the background. It was just the two of you, caught in a dance of words and desires.

"Care to show me more of your hidden talents, then?" Kidd murmured, his voice a low, enticing growl.

A smirk played on your lips as you tilted your head, meeting his gaze head-on. "Depends," you teased, "Are ya up for the challenge?"

Kidd's eyes darkened with a mixture of amusement and something deeper, his hand tightening around yours. "Try me," he dared, a hint of a challenge in his voice.

With that, you pulled him back into the dance, your bodies moving together with a newfound power and intimacy. The festival continued around you, but in that moment, all that mattered was the fiery connection between you in the midst of the night's celebration.

As you danced, your banter continued, each teasing remark and playful touch fueling the chemistry that simmered between you. The festival lights illuminated your dance, casting a halo of warmth and desire around your figures as you moved in sync, drawn together by a magnetic pull that neither of you could resist.

At the end of the song, you paused once more, breathless and exhilarated from your dance. Your eyes locked, the air thick with unspoken promises and newfound understanding.

"Can you handle me?" you whispered, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

Kidd smirked, his gaze never leaving yours. "I’ll fuck around and find out," he agreed, pulling you closer as you both prepared to lose yourselves once more in the intoxicating rhythm of the night.

Corazon Rosinante <3

Rosinante joined the Straw Hats and Heart Pirates at a bustling club to celebrate their latest victory. The atmosphere was alive with pulsing music and laughter, drinks flowing freely as everyone reveled in the night's festivities. Amidst the animated crowd, Cora sat quietly at the bar, nursing a glass of water, his serene expression belying the chaos around him.

You, working behind the bar as a bartender, couldn't help but notice the lone figure amidst the revelry. Curiosity sparked, you approached Rosinante with a friendly smile, unaware that he couldn't speak. 

“Hey stranger, you enjoying yourself?” 

He looked a little startled by you. He hadn’t expected anyone to strike up a conversation with him tonight. Holding up a polite finger, he dug into his pocket for a moment, pulling out a notepad. He scribbled a cheerful greeting and slid it over to you, hoping to communicate with you. 

‘Hi! Thanks for asking. I’m doing fine.’

Unfortunately for him, his pencil broke. Cora let out a silent groan before reaching into his pockets to find another writing tool. Quiet giggles filled his ears before he looked up to see you pull a pencil from behind your ear and you scribble a cheerful greeting and before sliding it over to him.

‘No problem at all.’

Rosinante, caught off guard by your gesture, glanced at the note with surprise before returning your smile. You picked up a pen and offered it to him and he began to respond in kind, a playful doodle sketched on its surface. It depicted a tiny heart wearing a straw hat, accompanied by a speech bubble saying, "Quiet night?"

You looked up, surprised, then smiled warmly. He reached for the note and wrote underneath, "Not much for the noise. Enjoy watching them have fun."

You chuckled softly, replying with another doodle, this time of a heart holding a pen, writing, "I get that. Sometimes it's nice just to watch."

Rosinante grinned at your doodle, appreciating the whimsy in your communication. Before he could respond, a commotion broke out nearby.

Your coworker, a spirited woman named Maya, known for her contagious enthusiasm (and for getting so hammered with the clients she would dance on the bar), had spotted you at your station. With a mischievous wink, Maya grabbed your hand, urging you to join her on the dance floor.

At first, you resisted, shaking your head with a playful protest. But Maya wasn't easily deterred. She pulled you gently but persistently, whispering, "Come on, just this once! It's your song!"

~ ♩♪♩♬   ♬♩♪♩~

The DJ, sensing the moment, began to cue up your favorite track, its familiar beats filling the air. Initially hesitant, you laughed and shook your head, trying to resist her playful insistence. But Maya wasn't one to take no for an answer. With a playful pout and a persuasive sway, she coaxed you onto the dance floor amidst cheers and encouragement from those nearby. 

“Fine! Just for one song!” You finally relented, stepping onto the dance floor. Caught up in the moment, you began to move, your body responding naturally to the music. Your dance was a display of precise waist control and confident grace, drawing all eyes towards you.

The music enveloped you, with you effortlessly weaving through the crowd with dance moves that showcased your skillful waist control and playful charisma. The club erupted in cheers, friends and strangers alike clapping along to the rhythm, captivated by your impromptu performance.

Meanwhile, Rosinante watched in awe seated at the bar. He couldn't help but watch with rapt attention. His cheeks flushed as he observed your skillful movements and the joyous energy you exuded. He hadn’t expected this tonight, he hadn’t expected you tonight—so vibrant and alive, captivating everyone around you.

The club erupted in applause and cheers, celebrating your impromptu performance. Maya danced alongside you, matching your energy with her own infectious spirit, creating a scene of pure revelry and joy.

Rosinante, mesmerized by your dance, felt a warmth spread through him. He couldn't look away, feeling admiration and perhaps a hint of a crush stirring within him as he watched you shine in the spotlight of the dance floor. His heart pounding in his ears along with the music's beat. 

Meanwhile, Luffy and Zoro noticed Rosinante's fixed gaze on you. With mischievous grins, they nudged Law, who was quietly sipping his drink nearby. Law, ever the strategist, decided to intervene in his own unique way.

"Cora-san seems to need a little nudge," Law remarked casually to Luffy and Zoro.

"I'll help him find it."

Before Rosinante could react, Law had already grasped his hand, feigning concern as he led Rosinante away from the bar. "Let's checkout the DJ booth," Law suggested, his tone masking his true intentions.

Confused but compliant, Rosinante allowed himself to be led towards where you were dancing. Suddenly, Law released his hand, leaving Rosinante standing awkwardly behind you. Flustered, Rosinante attempted to move out of the way, his taller frame proving a challenge in the crowded club.

“Looks like we got a challenger folks!” The DJ boomed over the music leading you to turn around and crank your neck up, up, up at the now standing silent customer.

“Oh it’s you!”

Cora, unsure of what was happening, allowed himself to be led, his mind racing with thoughts of how to gracefully excuse himself from the situation. Just as he was about to attempt to leave, you noticed him and gently grabbed the back of his shirt, preventing his escape.

The music pounded around you as you shouted over the noise, "Hey! Dance with me!"

Startled, Rosinante fumbled for his notepad to write a response, but you took it gently from his hand and pocketed it with a knowing smile. Sensing his hesitation, you hopped up onto a nearby table, waving him forward. Your eyes met his, and he could see the playful challenge in your expression.

“This should be okay, right?”

With a shy nod and a blush coloring his cheeks, Rosinante tentatively joined you at the table. It had been years since he last danced, but with your encouragement and the pulsing beat of the music, he quickly found his rhythm again. His movements were graceful yet tentative at first, but as the song progressed, confidence surged through him.

The dance became a playful exchange of steps and spins, laughter ringing out between you. Rosinante surprised himself with how easily he moved, his tall frame gracefully accommodating your playful gestures. As the music reached a crescendo, he swept you into his arms, one hand securely under your thighs and the other clasping yours. You held onto his waist with your legs and together, you spun in sync, the joy evident on both your faces.

The club erupted into thunderous cheers and applause, celebrating your spontaneous and captivating dance. Even Law, watching from the sidelines with a rare smile, couldn't help but be impressed by Rosinante's unexpected grace and the dorky cuteness between you both.

For Rosinante, this unexpected dance had not only brought him closer to you but also rediscovered a part of himself he thought he had long forgotten. And as the club around him faded, amidst the laughter and celebration, he found himself very grateful for the playful twist of fate that had brought him to your side.

As the song ended, you both took a bow, and the crowd clapped enthusiastically. However, in his attempt to stand tall and bow gracefully, Rosinante rolled his ankle and stumbled, causing a collective gasp from the onlookers.

“Ah shit.”

“There Cora-san goes again!”

“Have you tried drinking some milk?”

Quick to react, Law stepped forward, helping you guide Corazon to a nearby chair. He swiftly retrieved some ice from the bar and placed it gently in a bag on Rosinante's ankle, muttering about the clumsiness under his breath.

Rosinante winced slightly but managed a sheepish smile as he gestured for you to come closer. With a touch of embarrassment, he handed you a note. You gasped in surprise, feeling your pockets and realizing that Rosinante had discreetly taken back his notepad without your notice.

The note was a simple yet heartfelt message, thanking you for the best time he'd had in years with a smiley face that had hearts on both cheeks. You beamed warmly at him, feeling a rush of affection for this gentle-hearted man who had ventured out of his comfort zone for you.

"Can I give you a hug?" you asked softly, seeking permission.

Rosinante's shy eyes widened, and he nodded eagerly, opening his arms. Without hesitation, you dove into his embrace, feeling the warmth and sincerity in his gesture. He felt so fucking good to hug.Even the scent of his cologne, mixed with the subtle aroma of the club and the faint trace of sweat from dancing wasn’t bad at all. 

He was so tall you actually could almost climb into his lap if you wanted. But that would be going pretty far for a first meeting. Instead, you tucked your head into his neck and closed your eyes. His heart was pounding against yours, the rhythm syncing with the lingering excitement of the dance.

‘He’s so fucking cute!~’

In that moment, amidst the music and the crowd, you realized that you weren't the only one feeling a "little" flustered. 

Suddenly, the DJ's voice blasted over the speakers, giving you both a shoutout. "Let's hear it for the cutest couple out here tonight!"

You and Rosinante's cheeks flushed crimson as you snapped your necks to the DJ before shyly looking back at each other. As he sat back in the chair, trying to process the unexpected attention. In his flustered state, he tipped backwards, taking you with him in a gentle fall. Before you could react, his strong arms instinctively wrapped around you, protecting you from the fall. 

You cringed at the echo of the chair slapping against the concrete floor as you ended up in the handsome stranger's lap and pressed up into his chest and neck. 

"Sorry!" he whispered in your ear softly, his voice so warm and soothing that it sent a shiver down your spine. It was then that you realized—he could talk, and his voice was incredibly nice.

The crew members of both the Straw Hats and the Heart Pirates, along with your coworkers and even your manager, let out collective "awes" at the sight of you both, wrapped up in each other's arms. The moment, filled with laughter and warmth, seemed to freeze in time, a perfect tableau of the unexpected

As your coworkers and Law helped you both back up from the chair, the warmth of the moment lingered between you and Rosinante. Despite the stumble, you found yourselves chatting easily, laughter punctuating the conversation as you exchanged stories and shared moments from the night.

Eventually, the festivities began to wind down, and one by one, your friends and colleagues bid their farewells, heading home for the night. Rosinante lingered for a moment, his gaze meeting yours with a soft smile.

Before he left, he waved goodbye and then gestured towards his pocket. Confused, you looked down and discovered a note tucked neatly into your pocket. With a flutter of anticipation, you unfolded it and read the words written in his neat handwriting.

–

My tiny dancer,

Thank you for the most wonderful evening I've had in years. Your smile lit up the room, and dancing with you was a joy I'll cherish. I hope we can do it again soon! (But hopefully without the ‘accidents’.)

Take care, 

Rosinante

Phone number: XXX- (555) -4567

–

Heart racing with excitement, you looked up to find Corazon already halfway out the door, his shy smile lighting up his face. With a rush of gratitude and newfound connection, you tucked the note safely away, 

You nodded at him, conveying your appreciation and eagerness to see him again, and then playfully blew him a kiss.

Corazon's cheeks flushed crimson once more as he, in a moment of playful realization, pretended to catch the blown kiss, but his attention was momentarily diverted. With a soft thud, he accidentally banged his head against the metal door frame, a mix of embarrassment and amusement crossing his features. You cringed a little bit from the impact and gestured to his forehead. He gave you a thumbs up and your heart relaxed a bit. 

Meanwhile, the other characters in the club had been watching the scene unfold with amused affection. Maya clapped her hands together with a gleeful laugh, thoroughly enjoying the romantic interlude she had inadvertently helped create. Law, who stood nearby, nudged Corazon along, “Come on, you’ll see her again soon,” a rare smile playing on his lips as he observed Corazon's departure.

Outside, the night air was cool and refreshing as Corazon walked away from the club, a smile lingering on his lips. He couldn't shake the butterflies of excitement and anticipation, grateful for the unexpected turn of events that had brought him to you.

Back inside, the club gradually quieted down as patrons began to disperse, each carrying with them memories of a lively celebration and the heartwarming sight of two unlikely dancers. Maya and your other coworkers exchanged knowing glances, silently agreeing to tease you about this later and hound you for updates once you’d texted the clumsy cutie. 

You were a little more smiley as you closed up your section. Standing amidst the remnants of the evening's joy, you felt a sense of possibility and newfound happiness knowing that this night had brought something special into your life—a gentle-hearted man named Corazon, who had danced and rolled his way into your heart. 

You reached for your phone to take a picture of the note. Just in case you lost it. Tucking Corazon's note safely into your pocket, you knew that this was just the beginning of a romance with a gentle-hearted giant named Corazon.

Bonus:

Later that night, as you settled in at home, you reached into your pocket and pulled out Corazon's note once more. With a smile, you carefully unfolded it and read the words again, feeling a flutter of excitement in your chest. You decided to send him a text, wanting to talk to him again.

----

Unknown: Hi Corazon! It's [Name] from the club. I made it home safely. Thank you for the lovely note. 😊

----

Meanwhile, across town, Corazon lay in a hospital bed with his head bandaged and his ankle elevated, the result of an unexpected mishap on his way home. While walking back to his car with his friends, Cora was lost in thoughts of you and the evening's enchantment. So he had stumbled into an uncovered manhole, resulting in a tumble that miraculously left him only bruised and slightly battered.

----

Rosinante: Hi [Name]! I'm glad you made it home safely. Sorry for the delay—I had a little accident on my way back. Nothing serious, just a reminder to pay more attention. 😅 How are you?

----

You settle back into your cozy spot on the couch, phone in hand, waiting for his response. The moments stretch out as you imagine the possible scenarios, your mind filled with concern for the endearing, clumsy man who had captured your heart so unexpectedly.

Your phone dings again, and you quickly read his reply.

––––

Oh no! What happened? Are you okay? :You

Rosinante: I was daydreaming about you and didn't notice an uncovered manhole. I fell in and sprained my ankle and bumped my head. I'm in the hospital now, but it's nothing serious. Just a bit embarrassed. 😳

–––––

“Oh Dearest Pie, he falls down a freaking manhole and still asks me how I’m doing.”

Your heart melts at his candid confession, a mixture of concern and affection welling up within you. You can't help but laugh softly, picturing the tall, awkward sweetheart stumbling into a manhole because he was thinking of you.

–––––

Tiny Dancer: Oh no, Rosinante! I'm so sorry to hear that. I hope you're not in too much pain. If it helps, I'm flattered that I was on your mind. 😊

–––––

A shy smile tugs at his lips as he lies in his hospital bed. His reply comes quickly, the playful tone lifting your spirits.

–––––

Rosinante: It does help, actually! Your smile is a pretty nice distraction. 😊

–––––

You feel a blush creep up your cheeks as you continue the conversation, sharing stories and laughter, bridging the distance between you with every message. The night grows late, but neither of you seems to notice, too engrossed in the blossoming feelings between you.

––––

I wish I could be there to keep you company. :You

Rosinante: Just knowing you're thinking of me is enough. But maybe we can meet up again soon please? I promise to avoid any manholes this time! 😅

––––

“Fuck he’s too cute.”

––––

I'd like that very much. Rest up, okay? :You

And thank you for making tonight so special. :You 

Rosinante: Thank you, too. Goodnight, Tiny Dancer.

Goodnight, Gentle Giant. :You

––––

Despite the mishap, Rosinante couldn't help but smile as he typed out the message. The memory of your smile and the warmth of your presence lingered with him, easing the discomfort of his minor injuries. He eagerly began to look up other dance clubs he could take you to, his heart thankful for the continuation of this unexpected and delightful chance of meeting you.

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

Link to part 1.

Let this serve as the official kick off to the summer!

Taglist: @orange-milky @xxsliverwolfxx @mochiclouds

I own none of the images or art!!

I wanna add more characters later, Lemme know what characters you want! DM's are always open.

Posted on the ao3 account soon.

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See you soon my loves!!

(｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡ And thank you guys again for 100 followers!!

[axolterp]

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[blooberrries]

「 extemporaneous 」 — 07 ☾

— pairing: multi; shoto x reader, izuku x reader (so FAR...) — genre: hybrid au, slow burn-ish, reverse harem — wc: 3.4k — rated: nsfw; heavy petting (?) — notes: it has the barest sprinkle of spice. soon we will arrive upon the porn with plot...... soon....... save me

You've never really had much to do with hybrids, existing in your own little bubble for a majority of your life. That comes to an end when your friend phones you for help and somehow you end up taking two hybrids off of her hands while they recuperate in the wake of an unfortunate incident. But when the time comes that they have to leave, will you really want them to go?

⟵prev. || masterlist || next⟶

Recently, the boys have taken to accompanying you on your morning exercises.

The weather is getting cooler, and with it the days shorter, so you’re not particularly opposed. Well, you wouldn’t be anyway because you enjoy spending time with them and there is also no way in hell that you would miss the opportunity to see them work out.

(For scientific reasons, of course. Hybrids are built a little different, after all. You’re definitely not a pervert and any source saying otherwise constitutes defamation.)

You’re on your back, having sprawled on the cool grass around ten minutes ago in an attempt to catch your breath after a run. You might have bitten off more than you could chew by telling them they could set the pace, but you’d sooner stub your own toe than admit the difference in your fitness levels. Thankfully you’ve regained control of your lungs and are no longer heaving, and they appear none the wiser to your momentary health crisis. You are pleased to maintain even scraps of your dignity at this point.

“I like this park.” A voice muses from your left. You allow your head to roll slightly, eyes falling upon the stretched form of the canine hybrid beside you. A breeze rustles the snowy hair that brushes his right cheekbone. “Quiet. Peaceful. Also, quite pretty.”

You hum in agreement; you’re in a meadow-like area that you can reach by following the footpath for a kilometre or so. Trees loom tall on the outskirts, creating verdant walls of green that curl the small sanctuary into their embrace as warmth from the sun pools in the centre and glimmers off the dewy grass. Instead of speaking, you allow a moment for the reply from Izuku that you can feel coming. It enters the air like clockwork barely a second later.

“Isn’t it, Sho?” Izuku tilts his head back, the sun filtering through foliage to paint his skin in swathes of gold. “Plus, it’s nice seeing so many other hybrids come through here every so often.”

Shoto lets out a noise in agreement. In an odd moment of serendipity, a family of hybrids accompanied by a single human emerge from where the path disappears into the treeline in the distance. The child swinging between the two adult hybrids couldn’t be any more than five years old, and the second they lay eyes on the great expanse of grass woven with patches of clovers and wildflowers before them, a delighted peal of laughter rings in the air.

Before you can think twice, your eyes are moving to scan the expressions of your companions in curiosity. From what you recall, an intact family unit isn’t very common for hybrids, though Nejire told you once that it is becoming increasingly the norm. Hybrids from the initial generations, those born in a sterile lab, are now creating families and small communities of their own as the movement for their rights strengthens and gains more traction over time. It makes you happy to see it in action, though a part of you worries that the sight might bring up memories for your companions that aren’t particularly pleasant.

Then again, you have no idea about their backgrounds, really.

Thankfully, the shift in their expressions isn’t sad or melancholy. Rather they appear contemplative, bordering on nostalgic. Curiosity lingers in an unspoken question on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t dare to voice it.

It’s Shoto that volunteers to fill the silence first.

“I wonder if that kid gets lonely,” he muses. “It doesn’t look like they have any siblings.”

You blink, something about the way he says that sparking a new curiosity. “… You had siblings?”

He shrugs, a small smile curling at the corners of his lips. He glances at you and then Izuku from the corner of his eye. “Well, maybe not in the typical sense. We were often created in batches, so we definitely weren’t alone.”

“You have company, but in all you don’t get to spend much time with the other hybrids. The adoption process can start young sometimes,” Izuku supplies, shaking his head to dislodge a leaf clinging to his forest-hued curls. “Shoto and I actually ‘grew up’ together, in a way.”

The confusion must be evident on your face, because the rabbit hybrid laughs and reaches out to pinch your cheek. You frown but can’t be bothered to lift your arm and bat him away, and so he remains the unspoken victor.

“I guess you could call it that.” Shoto snorts, reaching up with both arms to stretch. The movement lifts the edge of his shirt to reveal smooth honey-toned skin and you fight for your life to keep your eyes in a respectful location. “I think our labs ended up merging at some point and from then on we kind of got stuck together. Neither of us were ever officially adopted.”

That takes you by surprise, actually. Ignoring how visually stunning they are, both hybrids are pleasant and sweet, sincere in everything they do, and a pleasure to be around. You can safely say the addition of them into your life and routine has been a blessing. So when you take in his words, your brain can’t quite comprehend the idea of someone not wanting them.

A part of your feels bad for them – you know it isn’t the case for all hybrids, but for some of them the act of ‘adoption’ means a lot – but at the same time, you’re unsure whether you would have ever ended up meeting them if they had been adopted earlier in their lives.

It feels selfish, but… deep down, you’re a little glad that you were able to know them as a result of it.

Shoto lowers his arms and twists to face you a little more, eyes surveying your supine form. You have a feeling that he is looking for the best place to curl up and your suspicions are confirmed when he zeroes in on your abdomen and turns back around so he can recline with his head resting on the soft swell of your stomach. You don’t even bother trying not to blush. You’ll just blame the heat of the sun if you need to. Or even the exercise. Plenty of excuses.

“It’s good to see so many kids around,” Izuku hums, blowing some hair out of his face and allowing his eyes to flutter closed after. It’s a slight redirection of the current topic, but you don’t particularly mind. “There’s more than I thought there would be, considering the current ratio.”

This piques your interest further, tickling something familiar in the back of your mind you’d heard once upon a time. “The current ratio…?”

“Of male to female hybrids,” Shoto supplies helpfully in his soft, leisurely tone, turning his head and nuzzling into your abdomen just below your ribs. You have to physically hold down the responding shudder that wants to roll over your body. “It’s pretty disproportionate, currently. Something like one female hybrid for every two –- or is it three? -– male hybrids.” “Oh shit,” you mutter, the words leaving you before you can think to censor yourself. “Tough odds.”

Shoto snorts, and Izuku looks to be fighting a grin. Surprisingly, it is the hybrid currently taking up real estate on your stomach that continues.

“It might look like that,” Shoto hums, his head tilting just enough for his mismatched eyes to trail and lock onto your own. The slightest curl plays around the corner of his mouth. “But we’re pretty adaptive, you know. Most hybrids tend toward polyandry.”

Oh. Oh. Nejire never told you that.

Shoto’s eyes, clear and glimmering in the morning sunlight, track every minute movement and change in your face. His ears flick ever so slightly, no doubt catching the slight uptick in your heartbeat as well as the warmth gathering in your face.

You have to wet your lips in order for your question to greet the air. “Why, um-- is there a reason behind the ratio?”

Izuku hums a pleasant noise, like he’s been quizzed on something that he knows the answer to.

“Men – or in this case, male hybrids – are easier to clone and create than women. Something about having two X chromosomes makes it a little more complicated, if I remember correctly.” Izuku tilts his head, eyes glazing as he falls deeper into his thoughts. “That’s probably why we all ended up having the kind of instincts that we did. Being excessively territorial is detrimental to the population as a whole when one gender greatly outnumbers the other.”

“Plus, more chances for females to conceive when there are multiple--”

“RIGHT, yeah, there’s also that.” Izuku lets out a loud, embarrassed laugh, cutting the canine hybrid off before he can continue. For his benefit, you continue to ignore the heat making itself known on your face and fight to swallow your own amused chortle. You did think it had been a little too long since the last time Shoto said something outrageous with the most unbothered face. The rabbit hybrid continues, almost like he can’t help himself.

“Even so, the bond that a, um… mated pair share is super important. Hybrids have a tendency to bond deeply in general, but I suppose it is doubly so for males. Definitely more matriarchal in nature, hybrid communities.”

Bonds? Mated pairs? You feel kind of faint as your brain works to reconcile all the information you’ve received in the last five minutes. “Huh… I see.”

Izuku suddenly looks oddly restless, almost… nervous .Evidently taking a page out of Shoto’s book, he turns and dives to bury his face in your side, eliciting a ticklish yelp from you as he does so. He ends up pulling on a lock of Shoto’s hair that had fallen over your side by accident, and the hybrid lets loose an unimpressed, low rumble. Ignoring the noise, Izuku takes a few deep breaths against your side, digging his nose into your shirt.

Sincerely, you don’t think you’re going to be able to survive this. You consider sending a prayer heavenward.

As if things weren’t already embarrassing enough for you, your stomach chooses this exact moment to let out a forlorn rumble.

Shoto snorts softly, lifting off of you and rolling to a stand with such grace, you’re genuinely envious for a moment.

“Probably best we head back and get some food in our bellies.”

He doesn’t need to tell you twice.

---------

This is a losing battle.

Granted, it’s not like you’re really fighting it at all anymore (arguably didn’t even really fight it to begin with), but still. It feels like everything is somehow snowballing, in a way that you’re not particularly against despite your better judgement.

Somehow, your two housemates have gotten clingier. They stick to you like shadows, scenting you in an almost possessive manner whenever they get the chance and more than a few times you’ve caught them sniffing you for a whiff of your own scent when they think you’re too occupied to notice.

It’s doing a number on your already frayed self-control.

The brief but very informative conversation the three of you had in the park almost a week ago has helped alleviate some of the guilt you carried for being attracted to both of them at the same time, and also planted some ideas in your head that you haven’t been able to pry out despite your best efforts.

Currently, your dilemma comes from the fact that not only are you attracted to them both, but you like them both.

It’s still budding, not at a catastrophic level as of yet, and technically speaking you would be able to be with them physically without spiralling when they eventually leave. Probably. Actually, you’re torn between not wanting to do anything to save yourself the pain in the long run, and doing something so that you can treasure and make the most of the time you currently have together.

You’d probably regret it if they ended up leaving without you addressing whatever this is between you. However, you also know yourself enough to know you’re too sappy to be able to part with them seamlessly if you did act on it.

This is torture. You almost wish they’d just make the decision for you.

Apart from those differences, the routine the three of you remains mostly unchanged. Unfortunately, that leaves plenty of opportunity for you to overthink and dwell as you complete your bedtime routine. You almost reach for a cheeky drink just so you might put an end to the thoughts and go to bed in peace. Somehow, you manage to imitate meditation enough that you eventually drift off without the need for a nightcap.

Something rouses you from sleep earlier than anticipated, though. The soft creak of your door has you blinking awake, eyes less bleary than anticipated.

It’s pitch black at first, but your eyes quickly adjust enough to see as two figures slink into the room and over to your bed. You feel the mattress dip with their weight as they climb atop, a soft rumble reaching your ears that you know to be coming from a certain canine hybrid.

“What is it?” you ask, wiping your eyes in an attempt to clear any remaining sleep. It’s harder to focus on their forms than you expect. “Is everything okay?”

“Yona.”

It’s a throaty whine that answers your question, timbre no doubt belonging to Izuku. The slimmer of the two slips closer, a hand coming to grasp the one you’d reached out without realising. Your heart stutters in your chest, breath catching in your throat. The smell of pine and jasmine twine together and brush your senses. Of course you’ve smelt whatever cologne your two hybrid roommates wear before, but never so strongly. It’s making butterflies come to life in the pit of your belly.

“What is it?” you ask again, sitting up a little more. Izuku brings your hand to his cheek, nuzzling into your palm. Your fingertips brush his fluffy curls and you find yourself winding them into the locks without a second thought.

While Izuku seems to be sitting back on his haunches for the moment, Shoto has no qualms about approaching further, his large hand brushing against the skin of your shoulder, revealed by sheets that fell when you rose earlier, before trailing down your arm and then back up. His palm settles against your neck, scorchingly hot, and the length of his fingers wrap around your nape. Your heart kicks up again, an excited, frantic patter.

Izuku’s lips press against your palm, searing affection into your flesh. You can hardly keep track of what is happening, attention torn from one to the other in rapid succession.

A soft whine escapes from Shoto this time, and he leans forward to nuzzle his face into your neck, dragging his nose along the line of your jaw. It tickles, and sends a shiver down the length of your spine.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he murmurs, mouth hot against your neck as his lips shape the words. You feel his ears flick and catch against your hair. You want to lift a hand and touch him, but for some reason your body refuses to obey. “Nothing wrong, just need you.”

You feel like your heart has stopped completely in your chest, a breathless moment passing before it returns to its chaotic gallop. You barely have the presence of mind to force out, “What…?”

The hybrid’s lips begin to press in a heated trail down your neck and across your collarbone, ignoring your murmur completely. His free arm slips around your side and behind you, pulling you close quick enough that a soft noise of surprise escapes you. Heat is beginning to set your veins alight, blood turning to magma. Your thighs clench as Shoto’s teeth scrape against your clavicle before he sucks the flesh into his mouth.

Oh my god.

Having moved you closer to the centre of the bed with his manoeuvre, there is now room for Izuku to sidle up against your other side, and he happily takes the opportunity. Your hand is dropped for only a moment before he picks it up again from his new angle, returning it to where it was. He then leans forward, burying his nose into your hair and letting out a contented groan – something he’d done earlier in the day when the three of you had been cuddling on the couch. It had made butterflies burst into your stomach then, but now it makes your body thrum in anticipation.

“You smell so good, Yona, you’re so lovely,” Izuku murmurs, the low cadence of his voice eliciting another shiver across your shoulders. “We want you, need you… don’t you want us too?”

The words leap from your throat, unbidden. “Of course I do.”

A pleased, throaty groan slips from Shoto as his mouth moves lower, towards the neckline of the singlet you’d worn to bed. You weren’t sure what to expect, but it still takes you by surprise when he drags his lips over the material, following the swell of your breast until he comes across your peak, straining against the material. He takes it into the wet heat of his mouth, and you can’t help but gasp at the sensations that reach you through the damp material of your shirt. Arousal shoots straight to your core.

Again, you will your hand to lift and tangle in his hair, but the limb remains by your side. You barely have time to feel the resulting confusion and frustration before Izuku’s free hand is trailing along your side, nails dragging along the skin of your hips and tracing the line of your waistband. The ache beginning to make itself known between your legs is suddenly all you can think about, and this time when you will your hips to shift, rocking up against his hand, they listen.

Izuku inhales softly, sounding pleased at your reaction. You feel like you’re going a little bit insane.

“Yeah? You want us? Want us to touch you, like this?”

Words catch in your throat and so you settle for an emphatic nod, eager for the touching to continue – especially if it meant Shoto was going to keep doing those things with his mouth. As though summoned by the thought, he clamps his teeth around your nipple in a light bite, sending shocks of pleasure over your skin. A moan tumbles from your throat, thighs squeezing in a sad attempt at friction.

You need more. You need more, but your stupid limbs won’t listen to you, and Izuku’s hand is going everywhere but where you need and want it most.

“Izuku,” you whine, the sound bordering on pathetic. You can hardly think amongst the drowsy haze of pleasure fogging your mind. “Please…”

Please touch me, you want to say. Your fingers twitch with the urge to grasp his hand and move it to your core, but they remain woefully unresponsive. Instead of your desired destination, his hand lifts to pinch and tug your neglected nipple softly. He seems to revel in the noises the actions elicit.

Shoto releases your abused nipple with a soft noise, leaning up to nip and lick under your ear. The sweet scent of jasmine threatens to swallow you whole.

“Tell us what you want, lovely,” he murmurs, voice thick and catching in his throat. His teeth scrape your neck and you tilt your head back, wrenching your eyes closed as Izuku times it with a firm pinch.

A rush of different desires overtake you at once, so many you can hardly choose only one to voice. You strain to lift your arm and cup his cheek, willing it desperately to move. “I-”

Your arm jerks, breaking free of its invisible bonds, and your eyes snap open. The room is quiet, save for your panting breaths, and you are entirely under the covers. A cursory glance around the room once your eyes adjust reveals you are, in fact, alone. Your bedroom door is closed, just as you’d left it before going to bed.

It takes a moment for you to be awake enough that realisation comes crashing through you. You just had a wet dream about your housemates.

…. You’re so fucked.

[darlingyougotthis]

Gravity

Jake “Hangman” Seresin Fanfic

Chapter Two: The Storm Beneath

The morning sun burned through the hangar’s glass, striping the concrete with long shadows. Inside, the Top Gun squad filed into the briefing room, most still shaking off sleep with half-finished coffees and lazy banter.

Jake strolled in last, sunglasses perched low on his nose, the familiar cocky tilt in his step. He looked as he always did—golden, loose, in control.

But he didn’t feel like it.

Because she was already there.

Nova sat in the second row, legs crossed, flight suit zipped to her collarbone. Her Strike Six patch—dark, understated, deadly—rested over her heart. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. The guys weren’t even trying to hide it anymore—the sideways glances, the hushed murmurs.

Jake didn’t look at her.

Not right away.

He took a seat across the aisle, a few rows back, and told himself he wasn’t keeping her in his peripheral vision. That his attention wasn’t already bending toward her like gravity.

But it was. She looked composed. Polished. Effortless. She didn’t scan the room. Didn’t try to place herself. She already knew where she stood.

Like nothing from last night lingered—not the dart game, not the way she’d shut down that “ghost squad” comment with a single line, not the way she’d looked at him when she said goodnight.

That look still echoed somewhere in his chest.

Phoenix dropped into the seat beside her, nudging her lightly. “Morning, Ghost Girl.”

Nova huffed a quiet laugh. “You still calling me that?”

“I don’t see you denying it.”

Rooster leaned toward Coyote behind them. “Think she’s as lethal as her badge looks?”

Coyote muttered, “Think she could kill you with her flight helmet.”

Jake didn’t speak, but he was listening. He tapped his boot lightly against the floor, jaw tight.

Then the room shifted—straightened—as Admiral Beau “Cyclone” Simpson entered with his usual no-nonsense scowl. Behind him came Maverick, flight suit half-zipped and eyes scanning the room like he already knew everything they didn’t.

“All right,” the commander called out, pulling up the screen behind him. “Hope you’re all feeling sharp this morning, because we’re diving straight into classified scenario prep.”

A chorus of “Yes, sir.” can be heard from around the room as Cyclone explains the perimeters of their training.

“What you’re about to see hasn’t been flown before. It’s a prototype extraction op, low-visibility, multi-vector. You’ll be running it in sim, then in air. We’re assigning pairs. These rotations will stick for now.”

He tapped a button. Names appeared on the screen. Jake’s stomach tightened when he read his.

Seresin – Brooke.

He blinked. Brooke. Nova.

One beat of silence passed before he let out a low breath. Phoenix smirked beside Nova. “Lucky boy,” she muttered.

“Pairing decisions weren’t random,” Cyclone went on. “Brooke’s experience with Strike Six makes her a critical asset in scenario building. She has logged over 1,200 hours in black zone operations, has confirmed three air-to-air kills during classified missions, and holds the record for the lowest successful terrain-hugging exfiltration on file. She’ll be leading some of the tactical phases.”

Heads turned toward Nova, someone—Rooster, probably—let out a low whistle. She didn’t react. But, Jake did. He couldn’t help it—the way his brow ticked up, the way his focus narrowed on her profile. Tactical lead? That wasn’t casual. That was trust.

Maverick launched into mission parameters, the room adjusting around the sharp angles of strategy and simulated risk. But Jake was only half-listening.

He was watching Nova.

She sat straight, eyes forward, fingers loosely laced on the desk. When Maverick threw out a question—“What’s the fastest vertical split response in a blind canyon at high-altitude entry?”—Nova didn’t pause.

“Two-point-six,” she said. “Three, if you’re flying with deadweight.”

A low whistle came from Coyote.

Mav gave a short nod. “Correct.”

Jake leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. He was impressed. Too impressed. Maybe that was the problem.

This wasn’t some pretty blonde with a mysterious past and a good aim at the dartboard. This was someone who didn’t just deserve to be here—she could fly circles around half the room. Maybe including him.

“Gear up. Wheels up in 30.” Maverick dismissed them as the briefing wrapped up, chairs scraped and conversations sparked. Rooster clapped Coyote lightly on the shoulder as they passed, muttering something like “Damn, she really is a ghost.”

Coyote rolled his eyes. “Told you.”

Jake stood slower than the rest. He told himself he wasn’t waiting for her to look at him.

He told himself wrong.

She rose gracefully, gathering nothing—she hadn’t even brought a pen. She didn’t need to. That brain of hers probably held more classified knowledge than half the intel office.

And then, just as she passed him, she glanced sideways. Their eyes met. No smile. No word. Just that look. Like she saw right through him.

Then she was gone, boots tapping steadily out of the room like she wasn’t leaving a trail of tension in her wake. Jake let out a slow breath, dragged a hand through his hair, and muttered under it— “Shit.”

The locker room was quiet, filled with the rustle of gear bags and the low creak of hinges as Phoenix pulled her locker open. Nova leaned against the bench, zipping up the top half of her flight suit, blond waves falling down over one shoulder. She looked calm. Almost serene.

She was still new here. But it didn’t feel like it.

Not to Phoenix.

“You really don’t rattle, do you?” Phoenix asked, tossing Nova a water bottle from the top shelf. “Not last night. Not this morning. Not even when Cyclone dropped your kill count like a mic.”

Nova caught the bottle one-handed and smirked. “Why waste energy?”

Phoenix rolled her eyes, grinning. “I swear, Strike Six must teach emotional detachment with flight mechanics.”

Nova chuckled, soft and low. “It’s more like… perspective.”

Before Phoenix could reply, the door opened behind them.

Tiffany stepped inside.

Her heels clicked against the tile, and even out of uniform she looked like she’d walked off a magazine cover—sleek hair, perfect blouse, clipboard clutched in one manicured hand.

“Didn’t realize this was an open meeting,” Phoenix muttered under her breath.

Nova said nothing, just tightened the strap on her gear bag and focused on tucking in the edge of her sleeve.

Tiffany smiled. Wide. Pleasant. Deadly. Eyes landing on Nova.

“Just thought I’d drop by and check on the pilot side of things. Big flight coming up. Heard you’ve been paired with Jake.”

Nova glanced over, expression unreadable. “That’s what the board said.”

“Interesting choice,” Tiffany said, head tilting slightly. “They usually don’t shuffle partners unless there’s… potential.”

Phoenix turned fully now, one brow arched. “I’m sorry, are you implying something?”

Tiffany didn’t even blink. “Of course not. I’m just surprised how quickly things move around here.”

Nova finally looked at her then—calm, open. No edge, no bite.

“I’m just here to do my job.”

Tiffany’s smile tightened. “Naturally. Though it’s a little jarring, I guess… how someone can show up one day and have everyone talking.”

Nova didn’t respond. She didn’t need to.

She just swung her bag over one shoulder, smooth and practiced, then offered Tiffany a gentle nod. “Nice to meet you, by the way. Officially. Professionally.”

Tiffany blinked. “Right. Yes. You too.”

She extended her hand.

Nova took it without hesitation—firm, respectful, brief.

Tiffany’s grip lingered half a second longer than necessary. “I hope your time here is… productive.”

Nova’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “So do I.”

With that, Tiffany turned on her heel and walked out—head high, hips swaying, and a tension in her jaw that didn’t match her parting grace.

The door clicked softly shut. Phoenix let out a breath.

“I don’t know what Jake sees in her,” she muttered.

Nova, still facing her locker, didn’t look up. “That’s not really my business.”

Phoenix scoffed. “She doesn’t like you.”

This time Nova did look at her and shrugged.

“Yeah,” she said simply. “I noticed.”

She grabbed her gloves from the bench and tucked them under her arm, not a trace of bitterness in her voice. Just fact. As if it meant nothing at all.

Phoenix studied her for a moment, then nodded slowly. “You’re kind of a badass, you know that?”

Nova gave a faint smile. “You’re late to that conclusion.”

Laughing, Phoenix followed her out of the locker room, boots hitting the tile in sync. Together, they headed for the sims—two women, side by side, walking into fire without ever needing armor.

The tarmac shimmered under the late afternoon sun, the heat rippling off steel wings and freshly laid jet fuel. Jake “Hangman” Seresin adjusted his gloves out of habit, attention flicking toward the runway.

Then he heard her.

Boots on pavement. Confident, steady, unhurried.

Nova.

Helmet under one arm, Strike Six patch gleaming over her heart, eyes hidden behind aviators that somehow made her even harder to read. She walked past him like he wasn’t even there—but her words landed with precision.

“Try to keep up, Hangman,” she said casually.

Jake’s grin came slow, easy, and way too honest.

“If you’re setting the pace,” he replied, eyes following her, “I won’t complain.”

She didn’t stop. Didn’t look back. But he noticed the subtle rise of her shoulders, the slight pause in her step—just enough to let him know she’d heard it. Then she was climbing into her jet, silent and composed.

Jake shook his head, laughing under his breath. This wasn’t going to be a routine flight. Engines ignited moments later, rumbling under the weight of two high-performance birds preparing to punch through the sky.

Jake launched first, Nova tight behind him. Separate jets. Shared objective. Shared frequency.

“Hangman, airborne.”

“Nova, on your six.”

Her voice crackled into his headset—low, precise, unreadable.

Jake checked his radar, watching her icon slide effortlessly into formation behind him.

“Targets ahead,” he said. “You want high or low?”

“Split left. I’ve got upper sightlines.”

He didn’t hesitate. Jake banked hard into the turn, Nova slipping above him like they were two pieces of the same machine. Her movement was clean. Automatic. Every minor shift predicted the air before it changed.

Strike Six. Ghost team, sure—but her instincts were all too real.

“Ping at nine o’clock,” she called out. “Cut wide. You’ll ride through clean.”

Jake adjusted without hesitation. She wasn’t giving suggestions—she was anticipating and she was right again.

“Sharp eyes,” he murmured.

“Comes with the ghosts,” she replied. He could almost hear the shrug.

Jake exhaled a tight laugh. “Remind me to get one of those Strike Six manuals.”

“There isn’t one,” she said simply. “You either get it… or you don’t.”

They flew tighter. Cleaner. Every shift in position felt choreographed, but it wasn’t. It was trust. Immediate. Natural.

Nova called another move. “Thrust down two percent. You’re drifting.”

Jake followed without thinking. A beat later, she added, “Clean correction. Didn’t think you’d actually listen.”

“Only when it counts.”

“You mean when I’m right?” she teased—just enough to twist the knife.

Jake smirked. “You’re not wrong.”

There was a pause in the comms—brief. But not empty.

Then Nova spoke again, voice softer now. “You don’t fly like the rumors.”

Jake arched a brow. “That a compliment?”

“Take it however helps you sleep.”

They dropped low into canyon terrain—tight ridges, red rock shadows, and simulated fire zones. Jake cut between walls like he’d done a hundred times before. Nova was right with him. No errors. No corrections. Just harmony.

Then came the final run. Target acquisition.

“Visual on the mark,” Nova said. “You ready?”

“Always.”

“Then let’s finish this.”

He aligned, locked in, and struck clean.

Nova confirmed it a second later. “Target hit. Smooth shot.”

Jake pulled up into open sky, adrenaline still humming.

“Hell of a run,” he said. “You always this easy to fly with?”

“Only when they can keep up.”

Her tone was still even. But something in it curled beneath his skin like a spark.

Minutes later, both jets touched down—Jake first, Nova gliding in behind.

He powered down his jet, lifted his helmet, and slid out onto the ladder. The heat hit again. So did the buzz still crawling down his spine.

She joined him near the tarmac, helmet still tucked against her hip, eyes calm.

“Nice flying,” she said, meeting his gaze.

And then, with just the faintest smile:

“Jake.”

It hit harder than it should have.

Not Hangman.

Just Jake.

Before he could reply, she turned and walked away—like she hadn’t just unbalanced his entire axis with two syllables and a smile.

Jake didn’t follow. He just stood there, watching her go and thinking, she’s dangerous.

The debrief room buzzed low with chatter, but Jake barely registered it. His gaze was locked on the footage playing across the screen—silent, stunning, undeniable.

Nova’s jet carved through the sky like she owned it. Every move was instinct. Every pivot, every shift, every call—it was all just ahead of where it needed to be. Not rushed. Not guessed. She wasn’t reacting. She was reading the sky.

“Look at that,” Rooster muttered beside him, chin propped in his hand. “She’s already banking before the radar even picks up the threat.”

Jake didn’t respond. His jaw ticked once, eyes locked on the way Nova’s jet sliced low through the canyon like she knew exactly where the danger would be.

“Damn,” Rooster said. “That’s not flying. That’s something else.”

“She flies like she’s dancing,” he said quietly, the words slipping out before he could catch them.

Rooster tilted his head. “That’s either poetic or horny, and I honestly can’t tell which.”

Jake’s mouth twitched. “She’s precise. I’ve never seen anyone fly like that.”

Nova’s voice crackled over the recorded comms. “Cut thrust two percent. You’re drifting.”

Jake watched his own response—fluid, immediate. He hadn’t questioned her in the moment. Just followed. Trusted.

He hadn’t done that with anyone else. Not like that.

“She doesn’t hesitate,” Jake murmured. “She just knows.”

Rooster leaned back in his chair. “It’s hot.”

Jake didn’t respond at first. Then - quietly, almost as if he wasn’t aware he said it. “Yeah…”

Rooster glanced at him, brow raised. Jake didn’t look away from the screen.

Rooster added, more softly this time, “Careful, man. That kind of attention’s hard to hide.”

Jake’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile.

“It’s just flying,” he said.

But he said it too fast. Too flat. And his jaw clenched a beat too long. Rooster didn’t call him out on it. He just looked back at the screen. At the woman carving through simulated death zones like she was painting in the air.

“Sure it is,” Rooster murmured.

Jake didn’t reply. He didn’t have to because somewhere between her voice in his headset and the way she said his name after they landed, he knew damn well— It wasn’t just flying.

[sw5w]

Rear of the Hangar

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 01:58:56

[wizzdot]

The Patron Saint of One Way Trips

ch1

Description: this is my first fic. Please be nice. It’s an A/B/O verse fic, not sure how it’ll end yet but it’s probs gonna be poly!141 in a pack situation. It’s a reader insert. Y/n will be used. It is going to be multi chapter so please follow / notify yourselves for updates. Happy reading. It’s going to be pretty traumatic. Mdni - there will be everything in this fic. Reader is she/her and omega. Taskforce 141 are all alpha. Alejandro is alpha, Rudy is omega. Others will be mentioned as and when they appear in the fic. Hugs and kisses, Wizz! Xx

"Bring Laika to me" Dr Dimitrov demands.

*Y/N's POV*

It is the middle of a harsh Russian winter. It is now approaching the 6th year, I think, of being held in this facility under the control of the ultranationalist terrorist group led by an Alpha, Vladamir Makarov. I have never actually met Makarov, but have heard stories and segments of information that I could pick up thanks to my very broken knowledge of the Russian intellect.

My room, or cell, to be more precise, is damp and dark.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The sound of water falling from the ceiling sounds like the ticking of a, slightly out of time, clock. I close my eyes and count the ticks inside my own head, as far as I can go, before losing my place in the thousands and starting at one again. A sad metaphor for my life, really. After a few hours, the drips fade into heavy footsteps. I sit up and brace for whatever was about to happen. Like an obedient, albeit unstable, mutt. Hackles raised, but too scared to actually bite.

The door of my cell smashes open, jarring me from my self prescribed detachment from reality. I blink away the sound of dripping and concentrate on the two guards standing in front of me. I bow my head and submit. The guards stand proudly and sneer at my submissive nature.

"Pfft How is she the last one standing Sergei? I had my money on the ex-military Alpha. Not this little mutt... what even is she anyway? I can't scent her.." The guard jeers.

The other, less chatty, guard scents the air and seems to agree, all the while, I stand, offering my wrists for them to cuff in order to move me to wherever it was they were sending me this time.

"Such a good little bitch you are, Laika" the first guard sneers at me. I stay still, staring at my dirty, cracked shoes.

I am escorted by both guards toward a larger room. I have been here many times. It wasn't a nice room.

"Dr Dimitrov.." the guard announces "Laika - as requested" before they both turn and leave me to face the Doctor and his two assistants. The door closes and I am maneuvered to sit on a hard chair with restraints on the legs and arm rests. The assistants glance at the restraints and then to Dr Dimitrov, who is shaking his head. "No, she won't need those. Laika here, is an obedient little mutt. Isn't that right, Laika?" he mocks. I do not respond, continuing to look down, submissively.

"We have a new task for you Laika. Requested by Makarov himself. Now, personally I think its above your skill set, what with you being the weakest of our three original assets, but sadly we have no other choice now the other two are... expired" I glance up at him and scan the creepy, slimy smile on his face, and immediately drop my gaze back to the ground.

Should I be thankful to be the surviving one? I don't feel very thankful. I feel hopeless. I never had much hope, but to now feel completely and utterly devoid of it is really rather terrifying. I can feel heavy globs of tears well up in my lash line, but I refuse to let them fall. I can only pray or..hope.. that I - what was the word..? 'Expire' during this task too.

I snap out of my own thoughts and realise that the Doctor and his assistants had been discussing my mission and I had not been tuned in. I try to follow but they are talking in Russian so I only pick up segments. Something about a task force, 5 - or was it 4 - men. I am roughly uncuffed and I feel a hard hand grip my chin, wrenching my gaze upwards to meet Dr Dimitrov's. "You WILL comply, Laika. You remember what happened last time you acted up? And the time before that?" I weakly nod my head with wide eyes, terrified of the consequences. I didn't think I 'acted up' but when your controllers are as evil as this, any small fault is picked apart.

*3 years earlier*

I had been dropped discreetly, by Dimitrov, on the verge of a small Spanish village where a supposed cartel gang were holed up. My task was to, simply, eliminate the leader and one other assistant. I tailed the group for days and took stock of what they did every day and how they interacted. I'd been told that these men were responsible for bombing an airport and killing innocent civilians and children. The facility had been testing drugs on me for the past 18 months and they'd finally settled on the cocktail that suppressed my designation and kept me fully under their control. I was just a puppet on a string, but I was always reassured that I was on the 'good side' of history.

I had been away from the facility for a few days now, loaded with my weapons, maps and drugs, that I obediently took, three times a day as scheduled. During a scuffle with a small sub-group of the cartel, my bag was damaged and burnt during my escape. I dont realise what that actually meant until the following morning, when my head felt a bit clearer and my senses less foggy. I continue to go through the motions of tailing the man and his second in command. I had learnt that the leader of the Cartel was called Vargas and the other, Perez, or Parras, or something along those lines. The second day without my drugs, I realised that they were a bonded pair, and they actually were kind to those they met. My brain was telling me to follow orders and get back to the facility sharpish, but my heart wanted to observe the pair. It all blew up when another group rolled into the village and I was caught in the middle of a huge battle. I needed to complete my mission. I sneak round a building that I know Vargas is holed up in. I had seen the other man surrounded by armed men so assumed he had been taken care of already. I get to a rooftop and set my sniper rifle up and as I am about to take a shot I feel a sharp tug on my leg. I immediately roll and hold a knife to the neck of whoever had touched me.

I drop the knife, allowing it to clatter to the floor. The tap on my leg was a boy -maybe 4 years old, covered in blood and looked like he had been charred slightly in a fire. I feel some sort of instinct to protect him so I tuck him under my arm, tell him to be quiet and set back up at my rifle, readjusting the sight. I see Vargas through the cross hairs, and then behind him, I see one of the guards who work at the facility. This guard in particular is a brute of a man, always touching and groping me. Something comes over me then and I line up my sights and shoot him down. Vargas glances in the direction of the sniper and I can't be certain if he catches my eye or not, but I run, with the small boy under my arm.

I call in to be collected after the mission had failed. I had done as briefed and walked clear of the village. Three black trucks pull up and heavily armed guards step out alongside Dr Dimitrov. The child is pulled from my grasp and shot between the eyes. "You will learn to obey, Laika" he bellows down at me. I must have collapsed in shock when I saw the boy shot. "LOOK AT ME YOU USELESS MUTT" I hear but cannot collect myself to understand what is happening. I am ripped from the ground, jabbed with a needle, and thrown into a cage in the back of one of the cars. I wake up numb and strapped to the chair in the dreaded room I had come to hate so much but now I couldn't remember why I hated it.

"Dr Dimitrov, you'll be pleased to hear that the asset has been topped up with suppressants. This won't happen again. We are working on a long lasting injection which will enter her blood stream and alter her DNA for up to 8 weeks. This will remove any risk of this happening again. We apologise for any responsibility we may have in the failure of this objective" I hear from behind my chair. My brain is fuzzy, I feel like a spectator trapped in my own body.

"Good, Whatever the timescale on this injection is... Half it" Dr Dimitrov orders.

"Yes Sir" I hear from behind me, before hurried footsteps rush from the room, followed by the sharp slam of the door.

*Present Day*

I am returned to my cell with the instruction that I am to be collected at midnight for drop off at an undisclosed location. For the past 3 years, the facility had been successfully using the injectable suppressor drug, which kept me obedient and free of any symptoms of my designation, whatever it may be. They knew I wasn't an alpha due to my anatomy which left two options - Beta or Omega. They don't want to test as they know I am undesignated and had never experienced a heat when I was captured and still hadn't, possibly thanks to the suppressants but most likely due to the fact I am a Beta like my late mother and father, and two siblings. I try to sleep but thoughts plague my mind which is unusual in itself as my brain is usually in a constant haze due to the chemical alteration it has suffered for the past however many years.

I am tucked up the corner of my cell listening to the ticking of my imaginary clock.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

I smell them before I hear them. And then I hear them before I see them. Or I hear the facility's alarm blaring, anyway. I try to hide in my cell but there is nowhere to go. They always remove my weapons before putting me away. I hear heavy, but fast footsteps splash down the hallway outside my room. I tuck myself immediately next to the door so anyone looking in through the small window wouldn't be able to see round the angle of my hiding spot. I hear the footsteps stop.

"Looks clear in my hallway, over" a strange accented voice speaks roughly, attempting to be quiet. His position from directly outside my door gives him away though but if he doesn't think I am here, then I will stay as quiet as a mouse until he leaves. I hear a radio muffle to life on his shoulder "Clear here too, over" a smooth, recognisably English voice radios back.

I feel my eyebrows furrow as a trace of a scent starts wafting through my door. It smells like rain and grass and...gunpowder. There are other scents too that I cannot place. Scents I haven't smelt before, or, it had been so long since I had, that I no longer knew its name. But I knew rain, grass and gunpowder. I try to chase the scent slightly, seeming to be distracted for a split second. I am broken from my thoughts when the crackly radio crashes to life again.

"Soap! Hostiles coming your way. They are wanting something - fuckin loads of them.. stay sharp" I try to muffle the gasp at the voice. He sounds like he could take on a bear in a fight, and win, just by shouting at it to piss off. I had never heard such a rough, strong voice. That was the voice of their leader. I just knew it.

The man with the strange accent starts buzzing about in the hallway, trying to find somewhere to fight from. He starts whispering to himself. "what the fuck are they lookin' for eh? Thought I'd cleaned the place out for fucks sake. Fuck it.. in here will have to do".

The handle of my cell starts shaking roughly, the rattle gets louder and louder. I am stuck, just out of view, like a deer in the headlights of a fast moving car. I hear him attach a small blast to the door and he blows the locks out, the door swinging open. He catches it before it hits the wall, avoiding the usual crash that occurs when the door swings open like that. He gently turns and shuts the door to make it look as if nothing had moved. I stay frozen. He steps back, and as he takes his first proper glance of the room, our eyes meet.

[onegayastronaut]

Loyalty and Justice Part 1 (JJ X Reader)

Requested by anon, wanted a longer fic. This is going to be a multi part series because the description was long and I wanted to break it out into parts lol

Standing at the edge of the rooftop, you surveyed the bustling city below, taking note of everything that took place. Your eyes narrowed, focusing on a nondescript sedan parked across the street. The target had arrived.

You touched your earpiece, speaking in a low, controlled voice. "JJ, I have eyes on the subject. Moving to intercept."

"Copy that," came JJ's steady reply. "Be careful, this one's dangerous."

A ghost of a smile played on your lips. "Aren't I always?"

With practiced ease, you scaled down the side of the building, years of training evident in every precise movement. As your feet hit the pavement, your demeanor shifted. Gone was the warmth in your eyes, replaced by a cold, professional detachment.

As you approached the sedan, your hand instinctively rested on the concealed weapon at your hip. As you drew closer, the driver's window rolled down, revealing a face you hadn't seen in years, a face you never thought you’d see again. Your breath caught in your throat.

"Hello, (Y/N)," said the woman behind the wheel, her voice a mixture of warmth and wariness. "It's been a while."

You fought to keep your expression neutral, even as your mind raced. It was Elena, your former fiancée, the woman who had left you to rot in prison. "Elena," she replied, her tone carefully measured. "This is... unexpected."

Elena's eyes, once so familiar, now seemed foreign. "I need your help, (Y/N). I know I have no right to ask, but—"

"You're right," you cut her off, her voice sharp. "You don't."

But even as the words left your mouth, you felt the old pull. The years of training and discipline warred with the memories of love and betrayal.

"Please, just hear me out," Elena pleaded, her eyes darting nervously to the rearview mirror. "I'm in trouble, real trouble. And you're the only one who can help me."

Your hand tightened on your weapon, mind racing through possible scenarios. Was this a trap? A ploy to lure you in? Or was Elena genuinely in danger?

"You have one minute," you eventually answered, your eyes scanning the street for any signs of a threat. "Make it count."

Elena took a shaky breath. "It's about my father's old associates. They think I have something they want, and they're willing to kill to get it. I've been running for weeks, but they're closing in. I didn't know where else to turn."

Your eyes narrowed. "And what exactly do they think you have?"

Elena hesitated, then reached into her jacket pocket. You tensed, ready to draw your weapon, but Elena slowly pulled out a small flash drive. "This. It contains details of all their operations, their contacts, everything. My father left it to me before he died. I didn't even know what it was until they came after me."

You eyed the drive warily before finally taking it. If Elena was telling the truth, that tiny piece of technology could bring down one of the most powerful criminal organizations in the country. But trusting Elena again could be suicide.

"Why come to me?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper. "After everything that happened?"

Elena's eyes met yours, filled with a mix of regret and desperation. "Because I know you, (Y/N). Despite everything, I know you'll do the right thing. And... because I never stopped loving you."

The words hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken history. You could only imagine what JJ was thinking, as memories of your past threatening to cloud your judgment. She took a deep breath, centering herself.

"Love isn't always enough, Elena," you said, your voice low and controlled. "You taught me that."

Before Elena could respond, your earpiece crackled to life. "(Y/N), we've got movement. Three SUVs approaching your position, fast."

Your training kicked in instantly. "Time to go," you said, reaching for the car door. "Move over."

Elena's eyes widened in surprise, but she quickly complied, sliding into the passenger seat as you slipped behind the wheel. With practiced precision, you pulled out into traffic, your eyes darting between the road and the rearview mirror.

"Who was that?" Elena asked, her voice tense.

"My team," you replied curtly, taking a sharp turn down a side street. "And right now, they're the only reason you're not in handcuffs."

The SUVs appeared in the mirror, gaining ground rapidly. Your mind raced, formulating and discarding plans in seconds. You needed to lose their tail, but you also needed answers.

"Start talking," you demanded, swerving to avoid a delivery truck. "Everything you know about who's after you, what's on that drive, all of it. And Elena," you added, your voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "if I find out you're lying to me again, it'll be the last mistake you ever make."

Elena nodded, her face pale. "It's the Moretti family. They were my father's biggest rivals, always trying to muscle in on his territory. That drive contains evidence of all their illegal operations - money laundering, human trafficking, assassinations. Everything needed to take down their entire organization."

You processed this as you wove through traffic, the pursuing SUVs still visible in your mirrors. "And how did you end up with it?"

"My father gave it to me right before... before the FBI raid," Elena said, her voice catching. "He told me to keep it safe, that it was insurance. I didn't understand at the time. I hid it away and forgot about it until the Morettis started coming after me a few weeks ago."

Your jaw clenched at the mention of the raid - the day everything had fallen apart. You pushed the memories aside, focusing on the present. "Why now?" you asked, taking another sharp turn. "Why are they coming after you years later?"

Elena hesitated. "Because... because I started looking into what happened to my father. And to you."

Your hands tightened on the steering wheel. "What do you mean?"

"I never believed you betrayed us, Lex," Elena said softly. "It took me too long to realize it, but I know you would never have turned on us. On me. I started digging, trying to find out what really happened. I must have tripped some alarms, because suddenly the Morettis were after me."

Alexis's mind raced. If Elena was telling the truth, it could change everything. But years of betrayal and hurt had taught her to be wary.

"JJ, if I’m taking her to the location that we agreed on if anything were to happen." You waited for a response, but none came. “JJ?” You pressed on your device again, but received nothing in return. It seemed as if you were on your own again, only this time, you had your ex with you.

[eternaldarknesswitch]

Special Promot Valentine day.

How Do Suitors Celebrate Valentine's Day with You? – From grand gestures to quiet moments, how do they show their love? Pairing ; Ikemen Villain (Harrison and Liam) and Ikemen Vampire (Faust and Comte) Bonus Mozart.

Header Credit: Ikemen Series Pairing: Multi Scenario x gender neutral!Reader. Tags : Slow-burn Romance, Intense & Unsettling Affection, Dark Yet Tender Love, Suitor Being Cryptic™, Obsession Disguised as Devotion, Acts of Service as Love Language, Possessive Undertones, Fluff, Slow-burn Romance, Gothic & Haunting Romance, Mortal vs Immortal Themes, A Love That Borders on MadnessLove Through Music, Soft Yet Awkward Affection, Private Serenade, Love Language, Subtle but Deeply Felt Affection.

Warning : Dark & Intense Romantic Themes, Mild Emotional Repression, Awkward Yet Endearing Affection, Canon-Typical Moodiness, Brief Touching & Hand Kissing. Morbid Imagery & Medical References, Intimate Yet Unnerving Gestures. Lavish Displays of Affection – Expect grand romantic gestures.

A/N : Request from @ike-garden2024, for special Valentine promotion: (1) How Do Suitors Celebrate Valentine’s Day with You? – From grand gestures to quiet moments, how do they show their love?. For ikemen Villian; Liam and Harrison and the vampire Ikemen; Faust and Comte, Bonus, Mozart.

The following is my interpretation of what I believe Liam, Harrison, Faust, Comte and Mozart would say and act, and I kindly apologize if it does not align perfectly with the character or if you have a different understanding. Please bear in mind that it is intended purely for entertainment purposes and should not be taken to heart.

─────────ೋღ 🌺 ღೋ─────────

Harrison Gray

Valentine’s Day with Harrison Gray – “The Weight of a Gentleman’s Heart”

Harrison Gray is a man of precision, order, and cold calculation. There is no room for frivolity in his world, no space for sentiment. And yet… when it comes to you, all his carefully laid defenses crumble like dust beneath your touch.

Morning – A Gentleman’s Restraint

The day begins in the same meticulous fashion that Harrison Gray governs every aspect of his life—predictably, efficiently, without deviation.

His mornings are usually spent in his study, reviewing documents, writing letters, ensuring that the world he controls remains exactly as he intends.

Yet today, as he stands by the window, the golden light of dawn filtering through the heavy curtains—his mind is elsewhere.

You.

The thought of you is an intrusion, a disruption, an irritation.

And yet, as he stares down at the single sealed envelope upon his desk, its contents written in his own careful hand, he exhales slowly.

"Sentiment is a foolish thing," he mutters. And yet, the letter remains.

A carefully penned note—one that he has rewritten three times over, discarding every word that felt too revealing, too indulgent.

A confession that he cannot bring himself to speak aloud.

The knock at the door startles him.

"Come in."

When you step inside, the very sight of you— dressed in soft morning attire, your presence filling his private world - unsettles him in a way he refuses to name.

You tilt your head, studying him.

"You seem distracted this morning, Harrison."

He scoffs, gathering his composure."Nonsense. I am precisely as I always am." But then—he hesitates.

His gaze flickers to the letter still resting upon his desk. Slowly, methodically, he slides it toward you. "I would have had this delivered, but since you are here…"

A beat of silence.

You blink, looking from him to the letter, curiosity flickering across your expression.

"May I open it?"

His jaw tightens.

"Do as you please."

And yet, as you break the seal and your eyes scan the precisely written lines of ink, he cannot bear to look at you.

Because the words upon that page—though still carefully restrained—are the closest thing to a confession he has ever allowed himself ;

"You are an enigma to me. A disruption. A force that does not bend to my carefully laid plans. And yet… I find that I do not wish for you to leave. I find that, despite my better judgment, I have come to rely upon your presence. I do not know what to make of this feeling. I do not know if I care to understand it. But what I do know is this—I would rather have you near me than not at all."

Your breath catches. "Harrison…"

He cuts you off, his expression unreadable, his tone clipped. "That is all. There is no need for a response."

A pause. And then, in a voice softer than you have ever heard from him— "Simply… stay."

Afternoon – A Gift with No Name

Harrison Gray does not entertain frivolities.

And yet, the mere idea of today— a day dedicated to meaningless sentiment— has left him restless.

He is a man of practicality, of precision. If he is to offer you something, it must be worthy of you.

Thus, as you walk into the drawing room, your eyes widen at the sight before you.

Upon a velvet-lined case, laid out with immaculate care, is a necklace unlike any you have ever seen.

"Harrison, this is—"

"A trinket. Nothing more." His voice is firm, dismissive. And yet—his hand twitches at his side.

A beautiful sapphire rests at the center of the piece, deep as the ocean, its facets catching the light with every movement. The chain is intricate, woven with the finest gold—not ostentatious, but impossibly elegant.

It is, in every way, something carefully chosen.

Something that could only belong to you.

Your fingers brush against it, reverent.

"Why?"

A sharp inhale.

And then, his hand ghosts along the nape of your neck, gathering your hair to the side.

"Turn around."

Your heart pounds as he clasps the necklace in place, his fingers brushing the bare skin at your throat.

The contact is brief—fleeting.

And yet, the silence between you is thick with something unspoken.

"Harrison…"

"It suits you."

The way he says it— so quietly, so final—makes your breath hitch. He steps away. "That is all."

Because if he lingers, if he lets himself soften any further—he may not be able to stop himself.

Evening – A Dance with the Devil

The ballroom is grand, filled with music and movement, the glittering elite of society swirling in an endless waltz.

And yet—the moment Harrison steps into the room with you upon his arm, the world stills.

The murmurs begin.

For Harrison Gray does not dance. He does not entertain, he does not engage in pleasantries.

Yet here he is, his posture impeccable, his hand firm at the small of your back as he leads you onto the floor.

"They are staring." His voice is low, edged with irritation.

You smirk. "Perhaps they are wondering if you will finally crack a smile tonight."

A scoff."Fools."

And yet, as he spins you in perfect time with the music, his gaze never leaves yours.

There is something in his expression—something raw, something unsaid.

And when he finally speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper. "I should not have allowed this."

You tilt your head. "Allowed what?"

A pause.

A hesitation.

"This." His fingers tighten at your waist. "You."

A sharp inhale.

"You have ruined me, you understand?"

The words are a confession, a damnation, an admission of defeat.

And yet, as he pulls you impossibly close—his breath warm against your ear, his heart beating in tandem with yours—

You know that he would not have it any other way.

"Happy Valentine’s Day, my dear."

Harrison Gray does not indulge in love.

And yet, for you—he will allow himself this one moment.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Liam Evans

Valentine’s Day with Liam Evans – “A Thief’s Most Precious Treasure”

Liam Evans has spent his life taking, stealing whatever he pleases without a second thought. Yet, when it comes to you, he finds himself wanting to give—though he knows a man like him should never dream of keeping something so pure. But just for today, he will pretend that he can

Morning – A Thief’s Softest Hour

The morning drifts in softly, slipping through the heavy curtains in thin streaks of pale gold. The fire in the hearth has long since dimmed to embers, leaving behind a quiet warmth in the room.

But warmer still is the presence beside you.

Liam Evans—a man who moves through life with the ease of a shadow, yet here he is, bound to the bed by nothing more than sleep and the slow rise and fall of his breath.

His hair, always so neatly combed when in public, is a little tousled now, dark magenta strands catching the light as they spill against the pillow. His face, hardened by a life of crime, is at its most unguarded.

And yet—he stirs.

A low, lazy hum escapes him before his arm tightens around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest.

"Mm... And where do you think you’re sneakin’ off to, dove?”

His voice is still thick with sleep, a slow, indulgent drawl as his lips brush against the delicate skin of your temple.

You smile, amused. “I wasn’t sneaking off anywhere.”

"Liar.”

His grip tightens—not enough to hold you captive, but enough that you can feel the heat of his body against yours.

"Stay a little longer.” His voice dips lower, almost hesitant. "Ain’t often I get to wake up with somethin’ good beside me.”

And there it is. Liam Evans, at his most honest.

Love, for him, has never been something gentle. It has been stolen, clawed at, fought for. But in this moment—it is simply quiet.

And so, you stay.

Afternoon – A Gift Only a Thief Could Give

Liam is not a man of grand gestures.

There are no roses, no sonnets whispered beneath the moonlight. He does not deal in things so fleeting.

But when you step into the drawing room, there it is.

Laid across the table—a gown.

Not just any gown.

A masterpiece of silk and lace, its color deep as the midnight sky, its embroidery silver like the stars.

Your breath catches.

Before you can even form a question, his voice cuts in from the doorway.

"Don’t ask how I got it.”

There’s a smirk in his tone, but his eyes watch you carefully, as if bracing for your reaction.

Your fingers brush against the fabric, marveling at its softness. "It’s beautiful," you murmur.

Something shifts in his expression. Relief, perhaps.

"Had it made for ya." His voice lowers. "Wanted ya to have somethin’ that’s only ever been touched by your hands."

And that—that is what he truly means.

A thief. A man who has spent his life taking.

But for you? For you, he wants to give.

Evening – A Dance With the Devil

The grand hall is filled with soft candlelight, the air humming with the murmur of nobility.

It is a place of power, of wealth—a world Liam despises.

Yet tonight, he stands at your side.

Dressed in a sharp black waistcoat, his cravat slightly loosened, his gloved hands resting in his pockets— he looks every bit the gentleman he refuses to be.

But it is only when his eyes land on you—wrapped in the very gown he gave you—that his posture stills.

A flicker of something dangerous passes over his face. Possessive. Fierce.

"Look at you," he murmurs, low enough that only you can hear. "Walkin’ in here like a dream I ain’t allowed to have."

A waltz begins.

Liam’s hand extends toward you, palm up, a silent command.

"Dance with me."

There is no choice in his voice. But his touch, when you take his hand, is reverent.

The moment he leads you onto the ballroom floor, every eye turns to you both.

But Liam does not look at them. His world narrows to you and you alone.

"I ain’t a good man, dove.” His breath brushes against your ear as he leads you in time with the music. “But if I was… if things were different…”

His words trail off.

Your heart twists. You know what he means.

But instead of answering, you only tighten your grip on his hand.

And for a moment—just one—his steps falter.

"Damn it, dove." His forehead presses against yours, eyes burning with something raw. "How d’you always make me feel like this?"

And then—he kisses you.

Not like a nobleman. Not like a gentleman.

But like a thief—taking, desperate, as if he will never have another chance.

Night – A Thief’s Final Confession

The night air is crisp as you step onto the balcony. Beyond the estate, the city is silent, the gas lamps flickering like distant stars.

Liam stands there, one foot braced against the railing, a cigarette burning between his fingers.

The soft glow of the embers casts fleeting shadows across his sharp features.

You step beside him, wrapping your shawl tighter around your shoulders.

"You look like you have something on your mind." Liam exhales, watching the smoke curl into the night.

"Thinkin’ ‘bout how I don’t deserve this."

His tone is light, but there is something bitter underneath.

He gestures vaguely—to the world, to the stars, to you.

"Ain’t never had a damn thing that wasn’t taken with blood or lies. And yet, here you are."

You reach for his hand, lacing your fingers through his.

"I chose to be here, Liam."

A sharp inhale.

And then—he grips your wrist, pulling you between his legs.

"If that’s true, then promise me somethin’."

Your pulse pounds. "Anything."

"Don’t leave me."

There is no jest in his voice, no smirk to hide behind.

Just a man—battered, broken, yet willing to kneel before love if it means keeping you.

You cup his face, tracing the scar at his lip, the rough stubble along his jaw.

"I won’t."

For the first time that night, Liam Evans has no words.

Instead—he kisses you again.

Slow. Desperate. Like a man who has stolen countless treasures, yet knows that you are the only one he truly wants to keep.

And for tonight—for this stolen moment—he lets himself believe that he can.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, dove.”

For the first time in his life, Liam Evans does not want to steal.

He simply wants to be yours.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Faust.

Valentine’s Day with Faust – “A Heart That Should Not Beat”

To love is to be human. To be human is to be weak. And yet… when he looks at you, when he hears the steady rhythm of your pulse beneath fragile skin—he wonders if the greatest flaw of his kind is not immortality, but the ability to feel at all.

Morning – A Gift Without Words

The first sign of Valentine’s Day comes not in whispered declarations or lavish gestures, but in something more subtle.

You wake to find a single book placed upon your writing desk.

It is aged, its leather cover worn from years of use, the gold embossing nearly faded. When you run your fingers along its spine, it feels almost fragile, as though it has existed longer than your own lifetime.

There is no note. No signature. But you know exactly who left it.

Faust.

 

You turn the pages, immediately noticing something—annotations, scrawled in an elegant but sharp hand. His notes.

He never does anything without reason, and so you read.

The book is a medical text, one of the earliest theories on alchemy and the human soul. And yet, in the margins, his thoughts have been penned in careful, deliberate strokes:

“If the soul is nothing more than the product of electric impulses within the brain, does love not become a mere illusion of chemistry?”

Another:

“A man’s heart beats only until it ceases. But what of those whose hearts have already stopped?”

The weight of these words lingers in your chest long after you close the book.

Afternoon – The Scientist and His Confession

Finding Faust is never a simple task. He does not wish to be found. And yet, you know where he will be.

The laboratory is buried deep within the estate, its air thick with the scents of ink, aged parchment, and the faintest trace of chemicals.

When you enter, you see him—cloaked in shadow, candlelight flickering against the lenses of his spectacles. His gloved hands move with precision, assembling vials and glass instruments as though preparing for some great experiment.

He does not look up.

“You read it.” It is not a question.

You step closer. “I did.”

“And?”

Your fingers tighten around the book. “You already know my answer.”

Finally, his jade eyes lift to meet yours. A pause. A flicker of something unreadable in his gaze.

And then— “Do I?” You swallow.

There is something unnerving about the way he watches you, as though you are not a person but a specimen under his observation. And yet, beneath that sharp, clinical detachment… there is something else.

Something far more dangerous.

“Why that book, Faust?”

His lips curve into something that is not quite a smirk. “Because it was the first book I read after my death.”

The words settle between you, heavy with unspoken meaning.

The first book after his death.

After he was reborn into something beyond human.

You step closer. “Then… does that mean you regret it? Becoming what you are now?”

For a moment, he does not answer.

And then, in a movement so fluid it is almost imperceptible, he is suddenly before you, towering over you, fingers reaching toward your wrist.

His thumb brushes against your pulse point. Light. Testing.

 “I have never regretted it,” he murmurs.

His grip tightens—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you of what he is.

“Until now.”

Your heart pounds beneath his touch—loud, steady, alive.

A sound that he has long since lost.

Evening – The Taste of a Question

The estate is quiet when night falls.

Dinner has come and gone, yet Faust remains. You find him in the grand study, where the glow of the fireplace casts his sharp features in flickering gold and shadow.

In his hand, a glass of red wine sits untouched.

He does not acknowledge your presence at first. But when you step closer, the corners of his lips twitch.

“You are persistent, little dove.” 

You fold your arms. “And you are avoiding me.”

A soft chuckle. “Perhaps.”

His gaze flickers to the book still clutched in your hands. “You should keep it.”

Your fingers tighten around the leather binding. “Why?”

Faust does not answer immediately. Instead, he leans forward, resting his chin upon his hand as he studies you.

“Do you know the origins of Valentine’s Day?”

You exhale a soft laugh. “A day for lovers?”

“No,” he corrects, “a day for sacrifice.”

The way he says it sends a shiver down your spine.

 “Saint Valentine was martyred. He bled, and now mortals celebrate his death with chocolate and flowers. It is almost poetic, don’t you think?”

Your throat tightens.

“Then tell me, Faust. If today is a day of sacrifice—what have you given up?”

A long pause. And then— He moves.

Too fast. Too fluid. Before you can react, he is standing before you, his gloved hand tilting your chin upward.

“Do you want the real answer?” His thumb brushes against your lower lip. A touch so light, yet so consuming.

“I have given up my peace.”

Your breath catches.

“My clarity.”

“My control.” His lips hover just above yours—a breath away, a decision unmade.

“Because of you.” The words are a confession and a condemnation. And yet, as he finally steps back, retreating into the depths of his mind—

You know.

He has already surrendered to you completely.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, my little dove.”

And though his heart should not beat—on this night, for you, it does.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Comte de Saint-Germain.

Valentine’s Day with Comte de Saint-Germain – “A Love That Defies Time”

Centuries have come and gone, yet no passage of time has ever moved him. That is, until you. Until this single moment, where eternity feels like a gift instead of a curse.

Morning – A Gift Wrapped in Mystery

The estate is still shrouded in early morning mist when a knock echoes at your chamber door.

Not urgent. Not hurried. Just… patient.

The way only Comte would knock.

When you open the door, you find no one waiting. Only a single box, exquisitely wrapped in fine silk, resting upon a silver tray.

Your name is written in elegant script upon a folded letter.

“Good morning, ma chérie. You are cordially invited to spend the day in my company. I do hope you will accept—after all, it would be most impolite to refuse a host on such a special occasion. Follow the petals.”

Your lips curl into a smile.

And then you see them—red rose petals, scattered along the floor, leading away from your door and down the grand staircase.

Afternoon – A Courtship from Another Era

The trail of petals leads you not to the grand dining hall nor the parlor, but to the conservatory—a sunlit haven filled with exotic plants, the scent of roses and citrus hanging in the air.

And there, at the center, Comte waits.

Dressed in his finest, a glass of deep red wine resting in his hand, his golden eyes gleaming as he watches you approach.

“Ah, there you are. I was beginning to worry I’d been abandoned.”

A smirk tugs at his lips as he gestures toward a lavishly set table.

"Come, ma belle. I had the kitchen prepare something special just for you."

The meal is an exquisite array of delicacies—artfully arranged fruits, delicate pastries, fine cheese, and a pot of your favorite tea.

But the true indulgence is the way Comte watches you.

"Did you know, in my time, Valentine’s Day was not merely an occasion for gifts, but for grand gestures of devotion?"

You arch a brow. "And how did men of your era court the ones they loved?"

A soft chuckle.

"Through poetry. Serenades. Secret letters slipped into gloves or hidden beneath a lady’s plate at supper. Each act was a declaration—an unspoken promise."

His gaze darkens—not with mischief, but something deeper.

Something eternal.

"I fear, however, that mere words may never be enough to express what I feel for you."

Evening – A Dance That Defies Time

By the time night falls, the estate is bathed in the soft glow of candlelight.

You are surprised when Comte does not lead you to the ballroom—but instead, to the gardens.

A violinist stands waiting beneath the stars, the first notes of a waltz drifting into the crisp night air.

And then—his hand is extended toward you.

"Dance with me, ma chérie." He does not wait for an answer.

He sweeps you into his arms, and before you can even take a breath, you are spinning beneath the moonlight, the world fading until all that remains is him.

His touch is gentle yet unyielding, the warmth of his palm resting against the small of your back, guiding you effortlessly through each step.

"Did I ever tell you," he murmurs, "that once, long ago, I believed love to be nothing more than a fleeting illusion?"

Your heart stutters.

You glance up at him, but his golden eyes are already fixed on you.

"And now?" His lips curve into the faintest of smiles—but it is not playful. It is reverent. "Now, I know the truth."

The violinist plays on, but you barely hear the music anymore.

Because Comte bends forward, his breath ghosting against your temple as he whispers—

"You are the only moment in all of eternity that I wish to last forever."

Night – A Promise That Defies Mortality

Later, when the world is quiet and the fire in his study casts long shadows against the walls, Comte takes your hand in his.

And he kisses your wrist— not with hunger, nor temptation.

But with something infinitely softer. With devotion.

"It is a cruel thing, ma belle," he muses, *"to love and yet be forced to watch time steal it away."

A pause.

"But with you, I feel something I have not felt in centuries."

Your breath hitches. "What is that?"

His lips graze the back of your fingers. "Hope."

You close your eyes, feeling the weight of his words settle deep in your soul.

And in that moment, you realize— For a man who has spent eternity watching the world change, you are the one thing he wishes would never fade.

"Joyeuse Saint-Valentin, ma chérie."

And though time will march ever forward, in his arms, you feel infinite.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Bonus!

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.

Valentine’s Day with Mozart – “A Symphony for Two”

Music is his language. Silence is his sanctuary. Love is the one composition he has never dared to write—until you.

Morning – A Quiet Gift

Mozart is not one for grand displays.

He does not shower you with roses, nor does he whisper flowery words of affection. Instead, his love is quiet—felt in the spaces between moments, in the echoes of melodies left unsung.

When you wake, there is no extravagant gesture waiting at your bedside.

No card. No carefully arranged flowers.

Only a single sheet of music, placed upon your pillow.

The notes are unfamiliar.

You trace your fingers over the staff lines, reading the melody in your mind—a delicate composition, gentle and yearning, as if each note is reaching for something just out of reach.

And at the bottom, scrawled in sharp yet elegant handwriting:

"For you."

No signature. But there is no need for one.

Afternoon – A Musician’s Courtship

Finding Mozart in the daylight hours is always a challenge.

But today, you know where he will be.

The music room.

When you step inside, you find him at the grand piano, his fingers gliding effortlessly over the ivory keys, lost in a melody only he can hear.

He does not acknowledge you at first.

But then—his playing shifts.

The notes soften, the rhythm adjusting—as if welcoming your presence, as if rewriting the music to include you.

You step closer, placing the sheet music on the piano beside him.

"You wrote this for me."

His fingers falter—just slightly.

A pause.

And then, without looking at you, he mutters—

"Tch. Don’t make a big deal out of it."

You smile.

Because this is Mozart.

A man whose affections are buried beneath sharp words and guarded silences.

And yet—his music betrays him.

Evening – A Private Performance

Dinner is a quiet affair.

Mozart does not join the others at the long dining table, nor does he engage in the estate’s usual festivities.

Instead, when the world outside is dark and the air thick with the scent of burning candles, he finds you.

"Come with me."

No explanation. No warning.

Just a command, gruff yet expectant.

And so you follow.

He leads you to the empty ballroom—a vast, open space bathed in moonlight.

And at the center, waiting for you—a violin.

"You’re always complaining you don’t get to hear me play," he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. "So listen."

Before you can respond, he lifts the instrument, settling it against his shoulder, his bow poised above the strings.

And then— Music.

Soft at first, almost hesitant—and then swelling, cascading, filling every inch of the room.

A melody of longing and tenderness, of passion restrained, of love spoken in a language older than words.

You are rooted to the spot, unable to look away.

Because this is Mozart’s love letter.

Not written in ink.

Not whispered in the dark.

But played with every ounce of his soul.

Night – A Love That Transcends Sound

When the final note fades, there is a silence that stretches between you.

Mozart exhales slowly, lowering his violin.

And then, at last, he meets your gaze.

"You… liked it?" His voice is quiet. Almost uncertain.

You step closer—slowly, carefully, as if approaching a skittish animal. "It was beautiful."

His jaw tightens. A muscle in his throat moves as he swallows. And then, in one swift motion—he turns away. "Tch. Of course it was. It’s my composition."

You bite back a laugh. This man.

Even now, he refuses to let down his walls completely.

And yet—the tips of his ears are flushed.

Before he can move, you reach out—catching his sleeve, stopping him. "Mozart."

He stiffens. And then, slowly, he lets you turn him back to face you.

Your fingers brush against his—light, tentative.

He does not pull away. Instead, he exhales—a quiet, defeated sound. "You drive me insane, you know that?" His hand curls around yours—tight, warm. "But if I had to compose only one piece for the rest of my eternity…" He lifts your joined hands—bringing your fingers to his lips.

A kiss. Soft. Fleeting. "It would be for you."

"Happy Valentine’s Day, liebling."

And in that moment, you realize—Mozart does not need words. Because his love is already a melody, written in every note, every glance, every touch. And it is yours.

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Written by : @eternaldarknesswitch

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[rosamariaa]

hellooo happy new years <3

for the Put That Guy in a SituationTM Ask Game/Prompt! — number 45 for wolfstar!

Hello hello!! Happy new years!! Thanks so much for the ask, I love putting Remus in Situations... it's like he was made for it I fear..

ask game/prompts

prompt 45  - Realization of feelings at the Worst Possible Moment.

“Be careful out here!” 

Remus heard the grave voice of either Fabian or Gideon Prewett –He couldn’t tell which one with how dark it was outside, and he could only see a redhead in the distance. A damp mist hung low over the dimly lit alleyways of suburban London. It was cold enough that Remus could see his breath coming out in soft, misty puffs.

Just a few minutes ago the Order received a frantic patronus message regarding an attack against another muggleborn family —the second one only this week. Normally, Remus wasn't called for those types of missions, since he was not the best duellist out there, but they were severely under-staffed tonight and he was one of the few members available at the headquarters to attend the call.  

“Get your wand ready, Lupin” Murmured a low voice to his left.

Remus wasn’t startled by the sudden voice cutting through the creeping silence. He didn’t need to. He knew exactly who it was. It was as though he had a built-in Sirius Black radar, a constant awareness of Sirius's presence. A sensor which never lets him rest, constantly picking out the faint click of Sirius’s boots against the pavement or the soft rustle of his long, tailored black coat.

Remus was in the middle of mumbling out that he already had his wand ready, you smug git when a bright green flash shot past them—and all hell broke loose.

Fabian—or was it Gideon?—shouted commands for everyone to get into formation. What was before silent alleyways turned into chaos, multi colour curses zipping through the air and rageful screams taking place instead. Remus, knowing he wasn’t the strongest duellist in the Order, took up his usual position at the back to cover the order members, hexing the death eaters before they could attack while the more skilled duellists stayed front, fighters like Sirius, who moved with lethal grace.

Despite the intensity, Remus started to feel optimistic. There didn’t seem to have any loss within the order’s members and the death eaters were slowly retreating as their numbers dwindled. He even had the view of Sirius in the corner of his eye, black coat swaying around with every sharp turn and, although Remus couldn’t see every detail, he would still bet money Sirius was duelling with a borderline insane look in his eyes, just like the one he always had when they were marauding around hogwarts when they were kids. Although nowadays Sirius had a much more powerful and deadlier look —It still left Remus with the same breathless feeling from all those years ago. 

But then it happened.

Remus sensed the presence a moment too late. Before he could fully turn, a red flash shot past, striking him. He wasn’t able to deflect the attack completely, feeling the hotness of a fresh cut forming at his cheek. He barely had time to register the sting before a hand clamped around his waist and yanked him backward, pulling him into the shadows between two buildings.

Chest to chest with Sirius Black, Remus froze. He barely had time to register Sirius’s movements as he reached around him and knocked the death eater out with one sharp move of his wand. Sirius then leaned halfway out of their hiding spot, scanning the area to make sure the rest of the Order had things under control before turning his full attention to Remus.

“What the hell was that?” Sirius whispered harshly, his voice low but shaking with intensity.

Remus tried to focus on trying to understand why Sirius was so pissed, but all he could think about was how close they were. Sirius had one of his tights pressed between Remus’ legs, one hand still digging into the flesh of Remus waist and while the other, still holding his wand, rested against the wall beside his head.

At that moment, Remus felt like he could drown in Sirius. In his eyes, still with that insane and murderous look but now completely focused on him. And Remus, that always felt overwhelmed with the way Sirius made him feel, never realised how much he wanted those wild eyes craved on him like they were now. He was basking in the sight of Sirius, flushed, panting and utterly alive. Remus could only want. He wanted this. Wanted Sirius close like this—closer, if possible. Wanted Sirius to look at him this way always, like he could set him on fire with just a glance. 

It doesn’t matter to him that they are in the middle of a death eater attack. Neither the fresh cut burning on his cheek. Nor Sirius’s tirade, which was still going on.

 “... careless? You should never leave your guard open like that. What if I wasn’t paying attention–” 

Sirius stopped mid sentence, noticing that Remus was completely out of it, head resting on the wall behind him, eyes glossed over and face completely flushed. He didn’t seem to listen to a word Sirius was saying. 

Sirius frowned, moving the hand from Remus’s waist to his face, cradling his cheek gently. “God, what is wrong with you? Did the hex hit you harder than I thought?” 

It took everything in him not to lean into Sirius’ touch like some pathetic, needy creature.

“I’m so fucked.” Remus thought, before closing his eyes.

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