#quinn (crash and burn) x reader

[vees-scribbles]

Celebrating a Birthday With Them

It was my birthday yesterday I'm treating myself

Content Warning: Bo's gets horny idk what came over me but it's not like super explicit, Canon typical murder and substance use

Luigi Largo

He's a busy man okay

He might need a GENtern to remind him of your birthday but TRUST

There's someone who's entire job is remembering shit about you

He's probably working on your birthday

But he loves you so he's not entirely ignoring it

Almost definitely doing something special for dinner

Probably taking you somewhere fancy

Don't like the attention of going out with a Largo? Fine, you're having your fancy dinner at home and if it isn't perfect the person who made it will meet Luigi's knife and then whatever god they might believe in

Contrary to popular opinion, I think he's a good gift giver

This man cannot say that he loves you. But he's constantly buying you shit to show you

Definitely getting you something expensive but pretty in line with the things you like

Always your favorite color or the latest fashion or an unreleased prototype

Not very creative, he's picking tried and true things

Kiss him and say thank you

Amber Sweet

She did forget your birthday

Sorry she was probably high

Good thing she's rich and can get you something last minute when she remembers

Gets you something she'd like

Bonus points if it's also something she knows you'd probably enjoy, but not her first priority

Clothes? She wanted to see you in them. Perfume or cologne? She wanted to smell you wearing it

If it's something she can borrow, she will

Sorry not sorry

Probably not hanging out with you after

Unless you're down to go on a Zydrate run w her

Who said romance was dead

Probably doesn't care if you say thank you

I'd suggest doing it anyway

Blind Mag

Prepare to be spoiled

She did remember your birthday and she's been thinking about this for at least a month

Obviously she can't really control what GeneCo wants her to do

But every second she's free is devoted to you

Super good at thinking of things you'll like

Like you don't have to tell her or even know that you'd like this thing she'd just think of it on her own

Obviously down to do whatever you want and probably plans an evening for you that's pretty accurate to something you'd enjoy

But I think she'd especially like celebrating at home

Kiss her and say thank you

Nathan Wallace

Surprisingly a pretty thoughtful gift giver

Did remember your birthday

Probably celebrated a few days late

The repo man grind never stops

But his next night off trust he's got you

Figures out what food you like and definitely is making it for you

If you've been together a while and he's introduced you to Shilo it's a family dinner

Shilo does most of the talking, presents you with a bug she pinned

Be nice

Nathan himself probably gets you something sensible

Think a watch

But he's pretty certain it's something you'll like, too

He wants you to get plenty of use out of it

Very low-key kind of thing, you're probably not going out or anything

Kiss him and say thank you

Otis Driftwood

Oh BROTHER

No he didn't remember

Don't ever ask him some stupid shit like that again

Someone else probably told him

Bc I know you're not stupid enough to bring it up

Does not care

Cares a little

Maybe makes you something

You're lucky to get anything at all

And maybe he's a little bit sweet when he kisses you. Just a little though

And don't you dare mention it

Kiss him and say thank you

And you better be REAL grateful, rabbit

Baby Firefly

Remembered for sure

Very excited to party about it!!

Probably snags something off a victim for you tbh

Hope you're cool with getting fucked up

And doing fucked up shit

Seriously though you're not staying sober

It's a household affair she's making this everyone's problem

And she's dragging you on some wild mission or another

Maybe you get to pick a tourist all your own!!

How romantic <3

Feel free to kiss her and say thank you, neither of you will remember in the morning

RJ Firefly

Remembered of course

Similar to Baby, he gets you something off someone they killed

NOT similar to Baby, he's very chill about it

Definitely down to still drink about it

But doesn't need to make it a huge affair

Would prefer not to, actually

I have no basis for this, but I think he'd wanna spend it outside with you

Looking at the stars and sharing a case of beer

Or your preferred drink

Doesn't have to be alcoholic but come on it's preferred

I think he's handsy when he's got enough in his system

He's always handsy, but especially when he's a little buzzed

Down to be quiet with you or let you talk his ear off about whatever you want

Kiss him and say thank you

Quinn

You're wondering if the android remembered your birthday?

Yes

He doesn't care

You get a verbal happy birthday, a head pat, and a kiss to the cheek

He has shit to do

Also idc if you're taller than him he's patting your head

The world could be so beautiful if Quinn responded to my faxes

Kiss him anyway bc he's beautiful

Logan Burnhardt

Yes, of course he remembered

He might act like an asshole on the air but he doesn't strike me as someone tonactually forget a birthday

He's doing pretty basic birthday things

Flowers in the morning, breakfast if you're up at the same time

If not, don't worry!

He's taking you out to dinner

Gets you a card and writes something a little cheesy on it

Gets you something related to a hobby you have, probably

Has at least once pretended that your gift was just a bunch of his own merch

Bo Sinclair

He remembered...barely

Yes he's a deranged killer and a jackass

He's also a southern gentleman (in his own eyes, anyway)

Comes home practically glowing with pride

Ate two canaries, that one

Another guy that regifts something from a victim

Presents it to you with so much pride, though

If it's jewelry or something, he makes you wear it for him

Puts it on for you

"Gimme a spin, sugar."

Stupid fucking smirk on his face

Makes you wear it while he rails you later Who said that

But come on you know that's his actual gift

I haven't publicly said this before but I'm saying it now: Bo Sinclair gives head like his life depends on it

And that's when it's NOT your birthday

On your special day? You're going to have to physically remove him

Kiss him and say thank you

Vincent Sinclair

Okay he's actually really sweet about it

Did remember

Made you something :)

He's a little nervous to give it to you bc it's "not much"

Yes he's a deranged killer but he's also v in love with you

Otherwise super down to do anything you want!

Within your limits of course

Bo isn't going to let you two just waltz around wherever you want

But you wanna watch a movie? Or eat dinner together? Wanna cuddle?

He just wants to make sure you're nice and relaxed and happy

Kiss him and say thank you

[pollenallergie]

artist!billy knight who almost always ends up recreating your image in his art, sometimes intentionally, other times unintentionally.

billy sits down to paint a landscape painting for a commission, and he thinks to himself, “hmm, i think maybe if i put someone sat at an iron garden table drinking tea somewhere over here, then that would really complete this piece.” so, he adds the person in, thinking up different features for them at random as he goes along, all the while thinking, “yes, yes! that’s much better.” until, finally, he realizes, “shit, that’s my partner. for fuck’s sake, i promised i’d stop putting my partner in my clients’ commissions. well, they’re already there and looking stunning, as always, so it’d really be a waste to just paint over them… might as well just leave them there and hope it doesn’t become an issue with the client.”

[azazelflare]

PLEASENPLEASE PLEASE QUINN FROM CRASH AND BURN X VIRGIN READER WHERE THE READER CAN TUG ON HIS WIRES GRRRR BARK BARK

Quinn X reader Return to me

CW: Sex, loss of virginity

You had been working with Quinn for months now, he always seemed a bit odd. He would always brush his arm against you when he walked by and help you keep steady on the ladder. You were confused at first when he started doing this, thinking it was just him being kind, but as he kept doing it you realized he was trying to flirt. You finally got the courage to ask him what he was doing a few weeks ago. He started to stutter and blush at the question. 

“I like you, but I really don't know how to flirt. So I just did what the other guys were doing.” you smiled at him, walking up to him and wrapping your arms around his neck. “Well, why didn’t you say so sooner? I like you too Quinn.” his eyes go wide and he smiles wide. 

He wraps his arms around your waist. You push yourself up against him and peck him on the lips. 

After he confessed, you both got closer. The others started noticing and gave you both shit. You both got annoyed at the teasing. When the kid came along and started to accuse everyone of being a synth. Quinn was dealing with a lot during this time and when he was revealed to be the synth, you stuck by him. When he was crushed, you rebuilt him. You loved him, synth or not. When he finally came back online he was shocked to see you. 

“WHy DiD yOu rebUIld mE?” you cupped his face and smiled. “I love you. I couldn't just leave you there. You were gone and I didn't know what to do. I rebuilt you, and tried to get as many pieces of you as I could. I had to scavenge for some.” his head tilts and you smile. He overused his voicebox. “Rest now, and when you wake up you will be complete.” he shuts his eyes. You continue working on his body as he rests. 

When his body is finished you power him up. His eyes open and he looks right at you. “Hey honey, welcome back to the land of the living. Try moving your joints so I can see if I need to do some adjusting.” he moves his body so he is sitting down and tries to stand up. He sways and you run up and steady him. He wraps his arms around you and bends down. He catches your lips, kissing you. He licks your bottom lip and you open, allowing him entrance. You both battle for dominance, you have only done this with your ex. You give up fighting allowing him to take over. 

He grips your hips and pulls you closer to him. You moan at him, he releases your lips. You pull your shirt off and you start to grind on him. You don't know what you are doing since you haven't had any sexual experience except with Quinn. Even though you were together for a while, you both haven’t gotten past heavy petting. The fiasco at the station didn’t help either. You both couldn't get any alone time with the kid there accusing everyone. You were still a virgin, you were shaking, and your nerves were on edge. 

“We don’t have to do anything. If you’re scared, we can stop.” You shake your head at him and you bend your neck up kissing him. He kisses you back and you grab a handful of his hair. He jumps at this and you pull softly at it. He lets out a moan at this and you let go running your hands down his neck and chest. You have seen him naked since you fixed him up. He was naked already since he just booted up. You could feel his member against you and he pushes your shorts down. You step out of your shorts and he picks you up. Your legs wrapping around his waist. 

He holds you and positions himself at your entrance. “This may hurt” he pushes into you and you can feel the pressure. When he feels resistance he pushes hard and fast into you. you whimper as a small bit of blood comes out as he pulls out a bit. He lets you get adjusted and when you nod to let him know to continue. He starts to thrust into you slowly. Moaning as he thrusts into you, you feel his arms around you. He tightens his hold and thrusts into you faster. You feel your walls tighten and you feel a knot in your stomach. When he hits a spot deep inside you, the knot releases and you feel more wetness. 

He lays you down on the table and flips you over onto your stomach. He holds your hips and thrusts into you hard and fast. You grab the edge of the table and hold on so you don't fall off. He licks up your back to your neck and nibbles it. He grabs your hair and pulls softly. You bend back and your body is arched. He holds your neck to keep you in position. His thrusts speed up and he puts his other hand on your clit, rubbing and pinching it. 

You feel the knot start to tighten again and he moans as you tighten around him. He pushes deep in you while rubbing furiously at your clit. You tighten more and the knot releases, meanwhile you feel him cum inside you. He bends over you releasing your neck and letting you relax. He slowly pulls out of you and his cum drips out of you. He walks over to a shelf and grabs a towel to wipe you off. 

When he finishes wiping you down, he carries you to the shower and washes your body. He massages the knots out of your back and he washes under your breasts. When he washes the soap off of you, he carries you to the bedroom and lays you down on the bed. He comes around the bed and lays next to you, he kisses you on the cheek and you both fall into a dreamless slumber.

[cineatros]

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁thorns of love ౨ৎ lara raj

men, the most absurd of God's creature

ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁 poison ivy!lara x harley quinn!reader ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁 headcanons!

.ᐟ cw: injuries, violence, kissing, seduction, partners in crime

So many people to kill...so little time

‧₊˚ ⋅ poison ivy!lara who loves to give you plants 'cause you keep telling her it feels lonely whenever she goes out.

‧₊˚ ⋅ poison ivy!lara where she sometimes use her pheromones whenever you two fight so that you could relax and let her explain everything.

‧₊˚ ⋅ poison ivy!lara where she has a secret playlist 'bout you in her work laptop and she plays it whenever she misses you (which is always)

‧₊˚ ⋅ poison ivy!lara who adores you—the only one immune to her toxins. during your heists, the moment you're hurt, your power surges, bodies dropping instantly. Lara cradles your face, whispering, "My deadly darling, they should know better than to touch what's mine." She ensures you never bleed, not out of fear—but because she loves watching you choose to kill.

‧₊˚ ⋅ poison ivy!lara loves sharing facts about plant and you're just tuning her out when it gets too much

‧₊˚ ⋅ poison ivy!lara knows you love watching her plan—the way your eyes light up as she maps out escape routes, picks the perfect time, and lists tools like it’s an art form. She plays into it, sketching out heists with extra flair, just to see you grin. “Enjoying the show, yn?” she teases, smirking.

‧₊˚ ⋅ poison ivy!lara where she seduce you by using her pheromones whenever you're mad at her or too busy for her.

‧₊˚ ⋅ poison ivy!lara where during heists, Lara, ever the strategist, keeps you in check with her chlorokinesis. The moment they start rambling or giggling too loud, Lara’s vines gently wrap around their mouth, silencing them with an exasperated yet fond look. “Quiet, love,” she whispers. “Unless you want every guard in Gotham on us.” you just grin behind the leaves.

‧₊˚ ⋅ poison ivy!lara who loves kissing your wounds after the heist cause its her way by healing you.

‧₊˚ ⋅ poison ivy!lara where she sings to you everytime you can't sleep.

‧₊˚ ⋅ poison ivy!lara who almost kills joker with her poison emission when he tried manipulating you to join him again.

‧₊˚ ⋅ poison ivy!lara where as soon as Batman’s batarang sliced your arm, Lara’s eyes darkened with fury. Vines shot from the ground, wrapping around the Dark Knight, tightening with her every breath. "Don’t hurt my baby," she hissed, stepping in front of you like a shield. Her fingers traced your wound, her touch gentle despite the rage burning in her veins. "You okay, love?" she whispered, voice soft for you alone. Batman struggled, but Lara's wrath was an unyielding force of nature.

‧₊˚ ⋅ poison ivy!lara where you gear up for the mission—with the squad, tightening your gloves and Lara grabs your wrist, pulling you close. Her emerald eyes flicker with worry, lips parted as if debating something—then, without warning, she crashes her lips onto yours. The kiss is deep, almost desperate, her fingers curling into your collar. "Come back to me, okay?" she murmurs against your lips, her voice softer than usual. With a smirk, you wink. "Anything for you, Red." Then, you're gone.

‧₊˚ ⋅ poison ivy!lara who always insists on trying to lift your mallet, even though she knows she can’t. She grips the handle, straining for a moment before sighing. Then, with a sly smirk, she extends her vines, wrapping them around the mallet and swinging it effortlessly. You lean against the wall, watching in amusement as she twirls it like it weighs nothing.

‧₊˚ ⋅ poison ivy!lara where after every date, she guides you onto the balcony, her fingers laced with yours. The moonlight spills over her as she lifts her hands, coaxing delicate blooms to life around you. Petals unfurl, vines curl along the railing, and the air fills with the scent of fresh roses. She twirls you into her arms, her lips brushing your ear. "Dance with me, love," she whispers, swaying you beneath the stars, her heart blooming only for you.

a/n: mystique megan next !!

[urdreamydoodles]

BAT-VILLAINS X FEM!READER

Your first kiss

Characters: Joker, Harley Quinn, Poison Ivy, Bane, Scarecrow, Two-Face, The Riddler & The Penguin

JOKER

- Love, for the Joker, is not something soft. It is not something gentle, nor sweet, nor warm. It is chaos, wrapped in laughter, dipped in madness, stitched together with something sharp enough to draw blood. He does not fall in love—he plummets, crashes, shatters into it with the force of a hurricane. And with you, oh, it is a spectacular kind of ruin.

- The night smells of smoke and gunpowder, the remnants of a heist gone perfectly, beautifully wrong. You are breathless, laughing, adrenaline singing through your veins as you lean against a lamppost, the distant wail of sirens drowning in the sound of his laughter. His face is painted in neon, a mess of colors bleeding under the streetlights, and when he looks at you, there is something wild in his eyes.

- Then, suddenly, he is close—too close, all teeth and chaos and something that is almost hunger. “You know,” he purrs, tilting his head like a predator, “I think I’m gonna keep you.” And before you can respond—before you can think—he grabs you, claims you, crashes his lips against yours with all the elegance of a train wreck. The kiss is frantic, messy, a collision rather than a caress, but it is him, in all his violent, madcap glory.

- When he pulls away, he grins, breathless, eyes glinting with something wicked. “Oops,” he says, licking his lips. “Guess that makes you mine now.” And then he laughs—bright, sharp, insane—and drags you into the night, into the storm of him, into the madness that is loving the Joker.

HARLEY QUINN (HARLEEN QUINZEL)

- Harley doesn’t do anything halfway—not love, not laughter, not chaos. She is all in or not at all, and when she loves, she loves like a firework, bursting and burning and filling the sky with something dazzling. And you? Oh, you are her favorite explosion.

- It’s late, the two of you curled up on a rooftop, eating fast food from greasy paper bags and tossing fries at passing pigeons. She’s talking—always talking—telling you some ridiculous story, hands moving wildly, eyes bright with mischief. And you, you are just watching, because Harley demands to be watched, to be adored, to be the brightest thing in the room.

- Then, suddenly, she stops. Stares. And for the first time in forever, she is quiet. “Y’know,” she says, tapping a fry against her lips, “you’re real pretty.” And before you can react, she launches herself at you, knocking over a milkshake in the process, her hands tangling in your hair as she kisses you—deep, messy, impulsive, a little too much, just like everything else about her.

- When she pulls back, she giggles, nose scrunching. “That was fun,” she declares, wiping a smear of ketchup from your cheek. “We should do that more often.” And just like that, she is off again, talking, laughing, dragging you headfirst into her world, into the beautiful, reckless disaster that is Harley Quinn.

POISON IVY (PAMELA ISLEY)

- Ivy is not soft. Ivy does not fall in love. She grows it, cultivates it, like a rare flower—tender, careful, knowing exactly how much to give before it becomes dangerous. Love, for her, is control, is something precise, something she chooses. And yet, with you, something wild has taken root.

- The air smells like damp earth and blooming flowers, the greenhouse bathed in moonlight as Ivy moves between her plants, fingers tracing petals like a lover’s caress. She does not look at you, not yet, but she feels you, knows you are watching, waiting. “You shouldn’t be here so late,” she murmurs, voice smooth as silk. “The night-blooming cereus only opens for a few hours… blink, and you’ll miss it.”

- And then she turns, slow, deliberate, the faintest smirk curving her lips. “But I suppose,” she purrs, stepping closer, “there are… other things worth staying up for.” And before you can respond, before you can even breathe, she leans in, presses her lips to yours in a kiss that is devastatingly slow. It is not demanding—it is decadent, like honey, like poison, like something that lingers long after the first taste.

- When she finally pulls away, she watches you with something dangerous in her gaze, something unreadable. “Mmm,” she hums, tapping a finger against her lips. “I knew you’d taste sweet.” And then she turns, graceful as ever, leaving you there, breathless, surrounded by the intoxicating scent of her, of the flowers, of the slow, creeping promise of something deadly blooming between you.

BANE

- Bane is a man of discipline. Of control. Of unshakable strength. He does not need love—he needs power, needs focus, needs the kind of strength that is not burdened by foolish emotions. And yet, when it comes to you, something unraveling lurks beneath the surface.

- The gym is quiet, the scent of sweat and metal filling the air as he wraps his hands, preparing for another round of training. You watch him from the edge of the ring, arms crossed, amusement flickering in your gaze. “You fight like a machine,” you tease. “Where’s the fun in that?” He exhales through his nose, unimpressed. “Fun is for the weak,” he states, voice steady, unreadable.

- But then, without warning, he moves, closing the space between you in a blink. He towers over you, his presence demanding, his expression unreadable. “You think I do not feel?” he murmurs, voice low, rough, dangerous. And then, before you can answer, his lips crush against yours, fierce, unyielding, like a conquest, like a claim. His hands do not shake. He does not hesitate. He takes, because Bane does not ask.

- When he pulls away, he lingers, his forehead brushing against yours, breath warm against your skin. “I do not love like men do,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now, almost… reverent. “I do not break. I do not yield.” His fingers skim your jaw, careful, reverent, before he steps back, leaving you breathless, shaken, knowing without a doubt—Bane does nothing halfway, and now, you are his.

SCARECROW (JONATHAN CRANE)

- Love, to Jonathan Crane, is a peculiar thing. It is an experiment, a slow dissection, an endless study of human vulnerability. He approaches it with the same fascination he holds for fear itself, wanting to understand, to unravel it thread by thread. But you—you are the outlier, the variable he cannot control, the one thing in his carefully constructed world that does not fit neatly into a hypothesis.

- The air is thick with the scent of aged books and something faintly chemical, the dim glow of candlelight flickering against the walls of his cluttered study. You sit across from him, legs curled beneath you, his coat draped over your shoulders—a quiet, stolen intimacy in the middle of one of his obsessions. He watches you, fingers tapping idly against the spine of an old psychology tome, as if you are a question he cannot quite answer.

- “Fear,” he murmurs, voice almost thoughtful, “is the most intimate emotion. It strips away pretense. It lays us bare.” His gaze flickers to your lips then, calculating, curious. And before you can respond, before you can decipher the intent in his sharp, knowing eyes, he leans forward and kisses you. It is deliberate, precise, an experiment in itself—his lips cool, the pressure almost clinical, but there is something underneath it, something unraveling in him.

- When he pulls away, his breath is steady, but there is a flicker of something uncertain in his eyes. “Curious,” he muses, fingers brushing against his own lips, as if committing the sensation to memory. Then, after a moment, his gaze sharpens, a smirk playing at the edges of his mouth. “I think I might need… further study.”

THE RIDDLER (EDWARD NYGMA)

- Edward Nygma does not fall in love. He solves it. Love, to him, is a puzzle—one of the most complicated riddles in existence. It is a game of logic, of carefully crafted patterns, of deductions and answers waiting to be uncovered. And yet, despite all his brilliance, despite all his mastery over language and mind games, he finds himself at a loss when it comes to you.

- The two of you are in his lair, a place that is entirely his—a shrine to intellect, filled with neon-green glow, stacks of unsolved puzzles, and the ever-present hum of his restless mind. You lean against one of his desks, idly toying with one of his trophies, while he paces, hands moving animatedly as he rattles off some elaborate scheme. But then, mid-sentence, he stops. Looks at you.

- His eyes narrow, lips pressing together. “I’ve been running the numbers,” he muses, voice quieter now, “and I have come to an… irritating conclusion.” He steps closer, his fingers twitching as if resisting the urge to reach for you. “You,” he says, as if it is an accusation, “are my favorite riddle.” And then, before you can speak, before you can tease him for his dramatics, he grabs your face and kisses you—quick, sharp, like a punctuation mark at the end of a maddening equation.

- When he pulls away, he exhales sharply, his eyes searching yours as if expecting some grand revelation. Then, finally, he smirks, straightening his tie with a self-satisfied little hum. “I do believe I’ve solved that mystery,” he declares. “Care for another round?”

TWO-FACE (HARVEY DENT)

- Love, to Harvey Dent, is a tragedy waiting to unfold. It is a gamble, a weighted coin forever spinning in the air, never quite landing on a side he can trust. He has been burned before, has been betrayed, has watched the world twist his kindness into a weakness. And yet, when it comes to you, the coin hangs—uncertain, suspended, caught between ruin and something almost hopeful.

- The city stretches out before you both, the rooftop quiet save for the distant hum of Gotham below. Harvey stands beside you, half in shadow, half bathed in the cold silver of moonlight. His fingers twitch at his side, the ever-present weight of his coin resting between them. You watch him flip it absently, his expression unreadable, his thoughts locked away behind the fractures in his mind.

- “You know,” he murmurs, rolling the coin across his knuckles, “everything in my life has been a game of chance.” He finally looks at you then, his mismatched gaze searching. “Even this.” He lifts the coin between you, lets it glint in the light before flipping it high into the air. You both watch as it spins, tumbling end over end, before finally landing—heads. He exhales, slow, measured, then steps forward and kisses you.

- The kiss is firm, decisive, a choice he has made rather than let fate decide. His hands are steady, his grip sure, and for a moment—for one rare, fleeting moment—Harvey Dent is not torn in two. When he pulls back, he lingers, his forehead resting against yours. “For once,” he murmurs, voice rough, “I don’t need a coin to tell me what I want.”

THE PENGUIN (OSWALD COBBLEPOT)

- Oswald Cobblepot is a man who has spent his life fighting to prove himself. To earn respect. To demand a seat at the table that Gotham never wanted to offer him. Love, to him, has always been transactional, a game of power, of alliances, of knowing when to hold your cards and when to play them. And yet, when it comes to you, the game no longer makes sense.

- The Iceberg Lounge is quiet in the late hours, the usual crowd long gone, the scent of expensive cigars and whiskey lingering in the air. Oswald sits at his desk, meticulously counting the night’s earnings, his fingers tapping against the polished wood. You watch him from across the room, perched on the edge of a velvet booth, swirling a glass in your hand. “You’re working too much,” you chide, your voice light, teasing. “Even the King of Gotham needs a break.”

- He exhales sharply, his eyes flickering up to meet yours. There is something calculating in his gaze, something unreadable, and then—without a word—he pushes himself up from his chair and crosses the room in a few determined strides. “You talk too much,” he mutters, and then, before you can quip back, before you can so much as blink, he cups your face in his gloved hands and kisses you.

- The kiss is possessive, firm, an undeniable claim. He is not a man used to softness, but with you, there is something almost reverent in the way he holds you, as if you are a rare jewel in his collection. When he finally pulls away, his breath is warm against your skin. “Mine,” he mutters, voice low, dangerous. “And I don’t share.”

[whatsupsonnyboy]

Drunk in my mind | Joseph Quinn (part II)

PAIRING: Joseph Quinn x fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Joe and you (actress!reader) met during the filming of a romantic thriller, you two struggle to keep your undeniable chemistry professional. But when intimate scenes push your limits, the line between acting and reality begins to blur.

wc: 5.1K

warning: fluff, slow burn, co-stars to friends, friends to lovers, mentions of sex, swearing, overthinking, angst

a/n: sooo here its part II for drunk in my mind, it's kind of angsty soooorry, i just cant help writing messy Joe, its absolutely captivating for me idk. Hope you enjoy this one (plus, there's obviously gonna be a next and least part)

Feedback is welcomed <3

request are open  | masterlist

part I | part II | part III

Joe barely slept. Again.

He had spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, thoughts running in circles, replaying every word, every second of last night’s disaster. He had hurt you. That was the only thing that mattered. He hadn’t meant to, not in a million years, but that didn’t change the fact that he had. And now, there was no way to fix it. Not when today was another workday. Not when the only thing he could do was push through, pretend nothing had happened, and get this over with.

The worst part was knowing that you would be there. That he wouldn’t be able to avoid you. That he wouldn’t even be able to talk to you properly—because how could he? What could he say? Sorry I shut you out? Sorry I ruined everything? Sorry I want you so much it’s ruining me?

No. It didn’t matter. None of it did. The only thing that mattered was getting through the next few hours without making things worse. The only way to do that was to switch off, keep his head down, and be professional. That’s what he told himself as he got up, showered, and got dressed. That’s what he repeated in his head all the way to the set. That’s what he told himself when he saw you.

You were already there, talking to the intimacy coordinator, going through notes, nodding at whatever Edith was saying. Your body language was careful, measured. Professional. You didn’t even glance in his direction.

Joe forced himself to look away, to keep walking. No lingering glances. No hesitations. No what ifs.

Just work.

The scene was unavoidable. Production had no choice but to pick up where they left off.

A love scene. One of the love scenes. The one that was supposed to be raw, desperate, consuming. The one that should have felt like two people unable to stay away from each other any longer.

Instead, it felt impossible.

Joe was hyper-aware of you. Every movement, every breath. He had promised himself he wouldn’t let it show, that he would be professional, but as soon as the cameras rolled, he felt the hesitation. The way his hands hovered for a second longer before touching you. The way he stiffened when he should have softened.

“Cut.” Mark’s voice rang out almost immediately.

Joe exhaled sharply, stepping back. He didn’t dare look at you.

“Alright,” Mark sighed, rubbing his forehead. “We need more… connection. More need between you two.”

Joe nodded, forcing a tight-lipped smile. More connection. If only they fucking knew.

They went again. And again. And again.

Each take was just as difficult as the last. Every time Joe’s hands traced your skin, every time your breath mixed with his, it felt like walking a tightrope. It wasn’t just awkwardness—it was something else, something dangerous. Like standing at the edge of a cliff, knowing one wrong step would send them both crashing down.

By the fourth take, something shifted.

Maybe it was exhaustion, maybe it was the sheer force of muscle memory, maybe it was the fact that neither of them could afford to keep messing this up. But suddenly, the scene started to flow.

Joe stopped overthinking. He stopped hesitating. He let himself sink into it, into you.

And for a moment—just a moment—it didn’t feel like acting.

It felt real. The heat. The pull. The way his hands gripped your waist, the way your fingers tangled in his hair.

And that was the problem.

Because for a split second, Joe forgot. Forgot the cameras, the script, the fact that this was a scene and not something he could actually claim as his own. It was the way your body pressed into his, the way your breath hitched against his lips—it was everything. Too much.

Panic hit him like a train.

His body betrayed him first, his muscles tensing, his pulse hammering against his throat. His fingers curled involuntarily, his grip on you momentarily faltering before he forced himself to let go. He stepped back too fast, severing the connection in a way that felt brutal.

"Fuck, sorry," he muttered, already distancing himself, already forcing his mind into lockdown.

But it was too late.

The moment was gone. The scene was ruined.

The set was dead silent, and the weight of everything—everything that had just happened—pressed heavily on both of you. Joe’s eyes flitted to the floor, unable to meet yours, his breath shallow as though he’d just been caught in the act of something unspeakable. You didn’t know what to say, what to do. Your body felt stiff, frozen in place as you stared at him, but inside, it was all unraveling.

It wasn’t just about the scene. It was about everything that had been building up, the tension that had been hanging between you two for so long. And then, in that moment, everything felt more complicated than it ever had before. You’d crossed a line. He had crossed it. Neither of you had intended it, but there it was, unspoken yet undeniable.

“Fuck,” Joe said again, quieter this time, almost as if to himself. His hands fidgeted, as if they didn’t know where to go. He was torn between apologizing again or pretending it hadn’t just happened. His whole posture was tense, defensive, like a man on the edge of a breakdown.

You weren’t sure what to feel, how to react. Everything in you wanted to lash out, to scream at him for doing this to you, for making you feel something you shouldn’t feel in the middle of all this. But nothing came out. No words. No anger. Just confusion.

"Is everything alright?" you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them. 

Joe didn’t answer right away. He just looked at you, his eyes filled with a mix of apology and frustration, like he wanted to say so much more but couldn’t. Finally, he took a deep breath, looking like he was preparing to speak but unsure what words would make it better.

Mark’s voice broke through the tension. "Cut!" he called, clearly frustrated by the pause. “We need a break. Everyone, take five.”

You didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t look at Joe without feeling your chest tighten, your breath coming in short bursts. He had pulled away so quickly, as if the moment had disgusted him. And maybe it had. But why had it happened in the first place?

The space between you had never felt so vast. And it wasn’t just the physical distance. It was something far more complicated. The emotional distance. The boundaries you’d been trying to ignore for so long had suddenly slammed into reality.

Joe didn’t move, didn’t say anything more. He stood there, staring at the floor, his fingers running through his hair in frustration. He focused on breathing, on grounding himself, on pretending that the past two minutes hadn’t just thrown him into complete fucking turmoil. He couldn’t afford this. He couldn’t let this happen.

Not again.

He heard your footsteps behind him, hesitant. Maybe you were about to say something, maybe you were about to ask if he was okay—but he couldn’t. He couldn’t look at you, couldn’t meet your eyes and risk unraveling completely. So he took a step further away, putting more space between you, a boundary neither of you had needed before.

The silence stretched on until it became unbearable. The set felt colder, more sterile, and the walls between you felt thicker than ever. 

“Five more minutes,” he said, his tone flat, detached. “We need five minutes, and then we’re finishing this.”

You didn’t know what to say. The words didn’t matter. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. But you couldn’t let the scene stay ruined. You couldn’t let it fall apart because of this. You had a job to do.

With a stiff nod, you turned away from him, walking towards the side of the set where they were setting up for the next shot. Joe didn’t follow, but you could feel his gaze burning into your back.

The five minutes passed in silence. You barely moved, barely thought. You just breathed, trying to collect your thoughts, trying to block out the way your heart was hammering in your chest.

Joe squared his shoulders, forcing every ounce of emotion out of his system. When he turned back, he wasn’t Joe anymore—he was his character, detached, composed, ready to finish what he had started. 

The second take began.

And this time, he made sure it was nothing more than a performance.

Joe came back to his position, his face set, his eyes distant. He was a professional, and he was determined to keep it that way, no matter what it cost him. He stayed rigid, focused entirely on the task at hand, keeping his distance. The touch, the heat, the closeness, all of it—he forced it all out of his mind.

You did the same.

And somehow, the scene went on. He acted, and you did too. Every movement was calculated, each touch forced, but the cameras were rolling, and the show had to go on. There was no room for mistakes now.

As the scene finished, the tension in the air was palpable. Mark called cut, and everyone immediately scattered, avoiding eye contact, not wanting to acknowledge the unspoken tension that still hung between you and Joe.

He didn’t speak to you. Neither did you. There was nothing left to say.

-

You had never felt the weight of silence quite like this.

The distance wasn’t just physical—it was everywhere. In the moments between takes, in the breaks that used to be filled with effortless conversation, in the absence of his presence when you turned your head expecting to find him watching.

Because that’s what Joe used to do.

He used to sit behind the camera when it was your turn to film, watching, always watching. You’d grown used to it, to that silent but constant support, the way his presence felt like an anchor amidst the chaos of filming. But today, his chair was empty. He had scenes of his own to shoot, yes—but that had never stopped him before.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. Maybe this was for the best. But the ache in your chest told a different story.

It was pathetic, really, the way you kept looking for him. How you still expected to turn a corner and see him waiting, how you half-expected him to fall into step beside you between scenes, making some dry comment about the ridiculousness of whatever you had just filmed.

But he wasn’t there. And you hated how much you noticed.

It was infuriating, this version of Joe you were seeing now. The cold professionalism. The single-minded focus. Like nothing that had happened between you mattered at all. Like you weren’t worth even a fraction of the consideration he had so easily given before.

Maybe that was the worst part—not just the absence, but the realization that you had been wrong about him.

You had believed he was different. That he was kind, thoughtful, the kind of person who cared about more than just the job. But maybe that was just another illusion. Maybe he was no different from every other actor who smiled for the cameras and left the wreckage behind when the scene was over.

And maybe that was on you.

Because you should have known better. You should have kept your distance, maintained the boundaries that would have made this easier. But you hadn’t. You had let yourself trust him, let yourself believe that whatever had been growing between you was real. And now, you were paying the price.

The worst part?

He wasn’t.

Joe was moving on like nothing had happened. Like you were nothing more than another scene, another line to be delivered and discarded.

And that? That hurt more than anything.

- 

Joe had told himself—convinced himself—that this was for the best. That if he kept his distance, if he forced himself to be professional, to be cold, then maybe things would settle. Maybe the weight in his chest would lessen. Maybe he’d stop wanting you so fucking much.

But it hadn’t worked.

If anything, it made it worse.

The absence of you was unbearable. The silence, the lack of your voice filling the gaps between takes, the missing glances you used to share—it all felt like a punishment. And he knew he deserved it. But fuck, it was getting harder to breathe.

You weren’t just keeping your distance—you were freezing him out. Completely. And he couldn’t blame you. He had drawn the first line. He had built the first wall. But he never expected you to build one even higher, even thicker, impenetrable in a way that made his chest ache.

Days passed, and the realization settled like lead in his stomach.

He had been selfish.

At first, his fear had been simple: that you didn’t feel the same. That this pull between you was something he had imagined, exaggerated in his mind. That maybe you were just friends, that maybe he was just another coworker to you.

But then, he saw the way he had hurt you. Saw the anger in your eyes, the disappointment, the pain. And it hit him like a fucking freight train.

Of course, you had felt it too.

And instead of talking about it, instead of giving you the chance to decide what to do with those feelings, he had made the decision for both of you.

That was the worst part. The unbearable truth.

He had convinced himself this was for your sake, for the sake of the film, for the sake of professionalism. But deep down, he knew it was a lie. He had done it for himself. To protect his own heart. His own fears.

And now? Now he had no idea how to fix it.

You wouldn’t even look at him anymore. Wouldn’t speak to him unless it was strictly necessary. And even then, your voice was devoid of warmth, clipped and controlled, like you were barely tolerating his presence.

He wanted to fix it.

He just didn’t know if he had the right to.

Because if he had been the one to break everything apart… how the hell was he supposed to ask you to put it back together?

-

Joe had told himself that he could fix this. Maybe not entirely—maybe not in the way he wanted—but at least enough to make things bearable again. He had spent days carrying the weight of his own selfishness, his own fear, and now, faced with the wall you had built between you, he realized something even worse.

He wasn’t the only one who had made a choice. You had, too.

You weren’t playing along anymore. The kindness, the warmth, the easy understanding—you had shut it all off. And why wouldn’t you? He had been the first to pull away, to decide what was best for the both of you, and now you had done the same. Except this time, he was on the receiving end of it, and it fucking hurt.

Still, he had to try.

So he made an effort. Small things at first. Little acknowledgments, nods when you passed by each other, polite comments about the scenes. He didn’t push, didn’t expect anything in return. He was just trying to remind you that he was still here. That he wasn’t avoiding you anymore.

But it wasn’t enough.

Because you weren’t meeting him halfway.

You weren’t cruel, not exactly, but you weren’t letting him in either. When he spoke to you, you answered, but only in clipped, neutral sentences. When you had breaks between scenes, you no longer spent them anywhere near him. And when it came to the actual filming, you were professional—so professional it was almost unbearable.

Joe could handle the distance. What he couldn’t handle was the fact that you wanted it.

And it was fucking up everything.

The more he thought about it, the more distracted he became. He fumbled lines, missed cues, stepped in the wrong place. Tiny, stupid mistakes—mistakes he never made. He could feel the irritation creeping in from the crew, from Mark, from you.

Especially from you.

Your frustration was palpable.

At first, it was just little things—tightened shoulders, tense jaw, the way you let out sharp breaths whenever the scene had to be reset. But then, after the fourth take was ruined because he hesitated before delivering his line, you snapped.

"For fuck’s sake, Joe," you muttered under your breath, but loud enough for him to hear. “Can you please focus for once?"

He flinched. Not because of your words, but because of the way they sounded—tired, exasperated, like you were done. Done with him, done with the whole damn thing.

He wanted to apologize, to explain, to say anything to make it better.

But what the fuck was he supposed to say?

That he was exhausted, but not from the long days of shooting? That he had spent every second of the last week thinking about you, about how badly he had handled everything? That standing next to you, knowing he had ruined whatever was between you, made it impossible to focus?

None of that would fix anything.

So instead, he swallowed it down. Forced himself to breathe. Forced himself to focus.

And when the cameras rolled again, he delivered the line.

Perfectly.

Because if there was one thing he could still do, one thing he had left, it was pretending.

- 

You didn’t have to look at him to know when he entered the set. You felt it. The weight of his presence, heavier than before. It was as if he’d been trying—no, he had been trying, and that was what pissed you off even more. You hadn’t wanted to see it, hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it, but you knew he had been doing his damned best to be cordial, to rebuild whatever mess of a relationship you had left.

The tension between you two had been thick, but you kept your eyes fixed on your script. You forced your body to stay rigid, not even glancing in his direction. His attempts to be professional, to give you a nod or some small, respectful gesture, didn’t go unnoticed. And it annoyed you to no end.

He had been the one who messed this up. He had been the one to pull away. And now, after all that, he expected you to just... let it slide? No. Not this time. Not after everything. You had built walls higher than you ever thought you could, and there was no way in hell you were letting them crumble so easily. Not for him.

As the scenes had unfolded, the weight of the unfinished tension from the past days had pressed down on you, turning every moment into a battle to maintain composure. He’d been trying, you could tell—he’d been trying so hard to fix things, to show that he cared—but all you felt was a cold bitterness creeping in. He didn’t get it, did he? He’d thought he could just pick up the pieces and act like nothing had ever happened. Like everything had been fine now just because he suddenly cared.

You had watched him stumble through his lines. His movements had been all off, as if he hadn’t been quite present, as if his mind had been somewhere else. It had been infuriating. Why did he have to make everything so difficult now? Didn’t he see that you were the one trying to push through this, that you were the one who just wanted to get through it without falling apart?

Every time he misplaced his mark or hesitated on his lines, you felt your frustration boil. You couldn’t help but sigh loudly, a sharp exhale through your nose that was loud enough for him to hear. You didn’t care anymore. It wasn’t your fault he was distracted. If he had cared about this as much as he said, he wouldn’t have been falling apart like this. It was like you were filming with a stranger—someone who didn’t even have the decency to put in the effort.

His eyes had darted to yours, and there had been that brief flash of guilt, of self-awareness, but it had only made you angrier. He had been doing this on purpose, hadn’t he? Trying to make you feel something again, trying to bridge the gap you had both built, but you hadn’t been interested in falling for that. Not now. Not after everything.

As the day had dragged on, you had begun to realize just how tired you were. Tired of the tension. Tired of him. Tired of pretending that you weren’t dying inside, that you weren’t resentful of every moment you had to spend in this space with him. He’d been messing up more than ever, and it had been hard to watch and even harder to ignore.

But even worse had been that little voice in the back of your head, the one that still cared, that still wanted to reach out. You hated it. You despised it. But no matter how hard you had tried to shut it up, it had lingered there, mocking you, making you wish for a simpler time when things hadn’t felt so complicated.

But then, after the fourth take had been ruined because he had hesitated before delivering his line, you had been done.

You had thrown your hands up in frustration, your voice snapping as you muttered, "For fuck’s sake, Joe, can you please focus for once?"

He had flinched. But it hadn’t been the words that had hit him—it had been the tone. The weariness in it. The frustration. You hadn’t even realized how much of it had seeped into your voice. You had felt a little bad, but not enough to stop the words from coming out. He had made this hard for you. So why shouldn’t you make it hard for him, too?

He hadn’t said anything, though you could feel the tension in the air. You had known he had been wrestling with something, but what could he possibly say? It wouldn’t have mattered, would it? You hadn’t wanted to hear any explanations, hadn’t wanted any half-hearted apologies. You were past that. You had just wanted to finish the scene, finish the day.

You saw him there, standing still, like he was trying to pull himself together, but you couldn’t figure out what he was doing. He seemed lost, but what could he possibly be struggling with? Maybe it was all in your head. Maybe you were just overthinking it.

But then, as the cameras started rolling again, he took a breath. You watched him steady himself, as if he was trying to shut everything else out. And when he spoke—when he nailed that line, just like nothing had happened—you felt your chest tighten.

As the final scene wrapped, you gathered your things, moving quickly, not wanting to linger. You could feel his presence behind you before you even heard him step closer.

“Hey,” Joe’s voice was tentative, careful, like he was testing the waters. "Sorry I kept messing the scene up. It 's been hard to focus lately"

You didn’t turn around. Didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking him in the eye. The tightness in your chest felt unbearable, but you weren’t about to let him see it. What was he exactly doing? What did he pretend?

“Yeah… it’s okay, Joe,” you said flatly, your voice colder than you wanted. You didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to feel the tug of something still there when all you could think about was escaping. "See you." 

You could hear him hesitate, then take a step back. And even though you felt a flicker of something—maybe regret, maybe pain—you didn't care. Not enough to turn around. You didn’t want to give him a chance, you weren’t feeling like talking.

Despite everything, despite your anger and the wall you had built, a part of you still ached when you saw him looking at you like he was genuinely trying. Like he wanted to fix things. But no. You wouldn’t let him. Not then. Not after what he had done. So you turned away, and the emotional distance felt as real as the physical one that had been between you two for days.

You wanted it to be over. You wanted it to end. You wanted the tension to disappear, but you were afraid that if you gave him an inch, he’d tear down everything you’d worked to build. So you kept your distance. You kept your anger. And maybe, just maybe, you’d get through it without losing yourself.

- 

You had known this scene was coming. You had read it a hundred times, rehearsed it in your head, told yourself it was just another day at work.

It was a fight. A breaking point. The moment where your characters—two people caught in an inevitable downward spiral—finally let the dam burst. It was raw, emotional, the kind of scene designed to leave a mark.

But nothing could have prepared you for how it would actually feel.

It started fine. You exchanged the first lines with the usual sharpness, slipping into your role with ease. Joe did too, his delivery solid, precise. But then something shifted.

His voice. His expression.

The anger in his eyes wasn’t just acting—it was him.

And suddenly, you weren’t just saying the lines. You were there, locked in an argument that felt too real, too close to everything you had been trying to ignore.

He stepped toward you, a muscle in his jaw twitching as his voice rose. “Don’t do that. Don’t stand there and pretend like it doesn’t matter.”

You felt it—an almost imperceptible tremor in his voice.

It made your pulse stutter.

You forced yourself to hold your ground, to push back like the script demanded. But his energy was suffocating. His eyes burned into you with a desperation that made it impossible to look away.

And then it happened.

His breath hitched. His voice broke.

And a tear slipped down his cheek.

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t in the script.

You felt something twist violently in your chest.

Because in that moment, you knew.

This wasn’t just about the scene. This wasn’t just about acting.

He was breaking in front of you.

"Cut!"

The room exhaled all at once. There was a beat of stunned silence, then Mark’s voice cut through the quiet.

“Wow. That is what I wanted to see. That was incredible.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the set—crew members nodding, sharing glances of admiration. Someone clapped Joe on the shoulder.

He barely reacted.

He just stood there, breathing heavily, blinking rapidly like he was trying to pull himself back together.

And all you could do was watch.

Watch as he wiped a hand over his face, as he swallowed hard, as he tried—and failed—to shake it off.

Something inside you cracked.

For days, you had let anger guide you. You had let pride build a wall so high that you convinced yourself it was the right thing to do. You had blamed him. Resented him. Refused to let yourself care.

But looking at him now, hurting in a way that was so real, you realized the truth.

You had been wrong.

Not for being upset. Not for feeling hurt. But for pretending like it didn’t matter.

For acting as if walking away from him was easy, when the truth was—it wasn’t.

Because no matter how much you fought it, no matter how much you wanted to be done, there was one undeniable fact staring you right in the face.

He still mattered to you. More than you had ever been willing to admit.

- 

Joe lay alone in his room, sprawled on the bed after another long day of filming. The scene still echoed in his mind, like a painful reverberation. He felt exposed, vulnerable, embarrassed for having shown so much emotion in front of the entire crew, especially in front of you. Everything he had been avoiding, everything he had repressed, had surfaced. And now, with the knot in his stomach that wouldn’t go away, he knew he couldn’t keep ignoring what he felt.

He felt powerless. He had been unable to make things better between the two of you, and the fear of losing whatever was left of any kind of relationship consumed him. Yet still, he didn’t know how to take the first step. The distance between you two was palpable, his pride wounded, and the fear of being completely rejected paralyzed him.

He closed his eyes, feeling a pressure in his chest. How did it come to this? he asked himself once again. What else can I do if every time I try to get closer, she pushes me away with a coldness that leaves me speechless?

Meanwhile, you walked down the hallway of the set, alone, after another exhausting day of filming. The sound of your footsteps echoed in your mind, but it was the silence around you that made you think the most. At that moment, something shifted. You realized what was happening inside you. For days, you had been looking at Joe as someone who had simply let you down, as a person who had played with your emotions. But now, after that last scene, after seeing him so broken and vulnerable, you realized he had also been suffering—not only because of what had happened between you two but because all of this had affected him deeply.

A strange sense of guilt washed over you. For a moment, the pain and resentment you had kept inside mixed with a new perspective. Why have I been so blind, so determined to protect my pride at all costs? you asked yourself. It hurt more than you expected to see Joe like that, so vulnerable, so real.

You stopped for a moment. You knew you had allowed your own pain to cloud your judgment. All this time, you had been thinking it was only him who had let you down, but the truth was, you had played a part in this too. Maybe it wasn’t the best decision to shut yourself off so much, to hide your feelings behind walls that kept growing taller. Maybe neither of you had been brave enough to face what you were really feeling.

But the truth was that neither of you knew how to take the next step, how to break the silence that had settled between you without everything spiraling out of control again. Joe continued to be tormented by his own fears and lack of courage, while you kept resisting, knowing that opening up wasn’t easy, especially after everything you had been through.

[fantasticfourthwingimagines]

Chokehold Pairing - Dain Aetos x RiorsonSister!Reader Summary - You can't ignore it anymore. The tension between you and Dain Aetos is past breaking point. When you find out he feels the same . . . Will it all come crashing down? Word Count - 3.3k Warnings/Author's Notes - Language, but that's it! If you want something to listen to while reading this, I HIGHLY suggest Chokehold by Sleep Token.

You weren’t seeking him out. 

At least that’s what you told yourself. 

You were taking a walk after leaving Quinn and Imogen, a bottle of strong liquor swinging from your hand. It just so happened that you decided to walk in the direction that you had seen Dain sitting by earlier. It didn’t mean that you wanted to see him. Nevertheless there he was, and it would be rude not to acknowledge him. (Even though being rude had never bothered you before.)

He was startled as you plopped down on the ground  across from him, rather ungracefully, and leaned your back against the wall, holding the bottle out in his direction. “Want a sip? It’s good.” You asked, already knowing the answer. 

As expected, Dain didn’t reach for the bottle. “You know we’re not supposed to-”

You groaned, poking him with the bottle. “Come on, Aetos. You’re a rider in the middle of a war. You gotta live a little. You know if you weren’t such a stick in the mud-”

Your eyes widened in disbelief as the bottle was snatched out of your hand, and Dain Aetos took a big sip. Your shock was replaced with amusement as he started coughing almost immediately. “Gods, that’s strong.” 

“Of course it is. It’s from my father’s super secret stash I’m not supposed to know about.” You said with a wink, taking the bottle back from him for another sip. “You want another?” You asked, holding the bottle out again. 

Dain’s gaze met yours, and for a moment neither of you looked away. The air between you felt thick, humming with something dangerous. He seemed to feel it too, because he started reaching for the bottle again. 

As you learned forward to hand it to him, your fingers brushed his, and the contact sent a jolt up your arm. You caught the way his shoulders stiffened, the way his eyes flicked to your mouth before he looked away, taking a much larger drink than previously. 

“Okay, now I know something’s wrong with you. Spill it.” You said, leaning towards him in the small space. “Stewing in your feelings about Violet again?” You asked, sharper than you meant to. 

“You know, I’m sick of people assuming I want anything more than my friendship with her back.” Dain said, irritated, “I see the way she and your brother look at each other. I’m not an idiot. They’re clearly in love.” 

You bit your lip at his response, and it could have been the alcohol, but you could have sworn that his eyes tracked the movement for a brief moment. “What if they weren’t?” 

His answer took longer than you wanted, but it did eventually come. “It wouldn’t have worked.” He admitted, shaking his head. “We’re not the same people anymore.” 

Oh that answer shouldn’t have pleased you as much as it did. It was almost like a huge weight had been lifted off your chest, and you could now take a full breath. 

“What about you and Ridoc?” 

You were sure you hadn’t heard him right at first, but then you realized he must be joking and let out a loud snort of laughter at the thought. Gods the thought of you and Ridoc was hilarious. However, you caught sight of his very serious face and realized he was in fact not joking. “Me and Ridoc? That’d never happen.” You said, shaking your head. 

“Really?” Dain asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow. 

“Oh yeah. I love him, but I think I’d end up killing him if we dated.” You said, taking another swig from the bottle, savoring the burn then handing it back to Dain. “He’s not my type anyway.” 

Now he had a slight smirk on his face as he looked at you, and the warm things it did to your stomach made your nerves rise. “You have a type?” He asked. 

You nodded, looking down at your fingers for a moment. “It’s not a long list of qualifications. Dark hair, brown eyes, loyal, not afraid to call me out on my bullshit, and perhaps someone who’s willing to do the hard thing when it’s the right thing.” You said, the alcohol making you even bolder than normal as you met his gaze. “Like abandoning everything he knows, including his family, to fight in a war he didn’t have to.” You met his gaze for a heartbeat - and then the weight of what you said hit you all at once, sending your gaze dropping to your lap. Your heart thudded against your ribs, loud enough you were sure he could hear it. 

A large hand rested on your knee, and you startled at the unexpected touch. Dain jerked back like he’d been burned, jaw tightening, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-” 

You caught his hand before it could disappear altogether, curling your fingers around his. “You just scared me.” You said quietly. You traced your thumb over his knuckles, feeling the slight tremble under your touch. Then, meeting his wide, stunned eyes, you added, voice low, “Your touch isn’t poison, Dain.” 

Your words had an impact. You could see it in his face. Ever since it was discovered what part he played in Liam’s death, everyone had been scared of his signet, avoiding his touch. But you had no memories to hide. His thumb stroked back and forth across your hand, and heat bloomed beneath his hand, and you had to fight the instinct to lean into him, to close the inches between you. “I don’t know if I have a type, but I know what I want, and it’s not Violet.” He said, his eyes locked on you in such an intense way it almost made you dizzy. 

His thumb brushed back and forth, back and forth. 

You weren’t sure if it was your heart pounding or his that you could hear. 

Emboldened by his words and gaze, you found yourself moving closer once again, so close that your hip brushed his thigh. “Can I tell you a secret?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper, the words trembling at the edges. 

He leaned in, his leg brushing yours, gaze pinned to your lips. 

“Sometimes I want to kiss you,” you breathed, each word slipping free before you could think better of it. “Even though I probably shouldn’t.” 

Dain leaned back an inch, muscles taut like he was forcing himself away. “You’re just . . . drunk.” He said, but the words sounded brittle even to your ears. Like he didn’t believe them. 

“I wish it was that easy.” You said, “then I could move on with my life and get you out of my head, but . . . You’re stuck there. Embarrassing right?” You admitted, looking down at the ground once again. 

His fingers brushed beneath your chin, feather-light at first, like he was giving himself time to pull away. But then he tilted your face up anyway, and the look in his eyes undid you completely. “What’s embarrassing is how quickly I fold to give you anything you ask for because I like how it makes you smile.” 

You were sure your heart stopped beating at his confession. “Dain . . .” You whispered, the name almost foreign on your lips. You’d always called him Aetos, but saying that at this moment felt wrong. 

His eyes flared like you’d struck him, like your voice wrapped around something inside him he hadn’t meant to expose. He dropped his hand from your chin like your skin had burned him. “Don’t say my name for the first time like that. I’m trying to be noble here.” 

“I don’t want you to be noble.” You said, voice low and sure

For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. 

And then you crossed the space between you, sliding into his lap as naturally as breathing, your arms winding around his neck. Now that you knew he wanted you too, the thought of not having him was devastating. 

“You’re a first year. I’m your wingleader. We shouldn’t be doing this.” He rasped - but his hands found your hips anyway, anchoring you to him, pulling you closer instead of pushing you away. 

A smile ghosted across your lips, small and helpless as your noses brushed. “Of all the excuses you could have come up with,” you whispered, “that was the best you had?” 

“I’m having trouble concentrating at the moment.” Dain admitted, his thumbs caressing your side and his gaze traveling all over your face as if trying to memorize it. 

“Good. Then my plan is working.” You teased. 

Oh that smile. That was a smile you could look at forever. You’d so rarely seen it on his lips that the sight of it immediately became precious to you. 

“One kiss.” You breathed, your voice trembling against his mouth. “Maybe that’ll be enough.”

“What if it isn’t?” Dain said after a moment. 

It would never be enough. Not with him. Not now. 

“Then we’ll worry about it later.” You said, trying to sound carefree even though you knew he could feel your heart pounding against his chest with how close the two of you were now. “Let’s forget everything else. Do what both of us want.” 

His forehead pressed to yours, and for a moment, you breathed each other in.

“Kiss me,” you whispered. 

His lips brushed yours, a caress, and you sighed his name against his mouth. 

That was all it took. 

You weren’t a stranger to kissing, but nothing, nothing had ever unraveled you like this. 

His hand slid up your back, dragging you closer, anchoring you to him as if he could fuse you together. 

Your fingers tangled in his hair, desperate, tugging enough to hear the rumble of a groan against your lips. 

He kissed you like he was drowning, and you were the only air left in the world. 

And gods, you kissed him back just as fiercely. 

His lips were needy, passionate, and you knew this wasn’t the Dain Aetos who followed rules and built walls around himself like armor. This was the real Dain - fierce, wild, yours.

Your kissing grew frantic, messy, your teeth clashing, your hands pulling, both of you desperate to take and give and memorize. It was as if each of you could sense the timer ticking down on this moment, knowing it wouldn’t be long before you’d have to stop and wanting to get as much of each other as you could. His hands traveled lower, and they landed on your thighs. You couldn’t help but let out a whimper as his thumbs brushed the inside of your leathers, feeling like he had somehow managed to touch your skin through the fabric. You felt the heat rising in your lower belly and the only coherent thoughts going through your mind were closer and more. Desperate for even the slightest friction, you rolled your hips against him. 

The groan that left his lips was sinful, full of lust and wanting, and if that wasn’t enough to show you how badly he wanted you, the hardness you felt sure was. His lips left yours, leaving you panting. They didn’t travel far though, your head tilting back as they kissed along your jaw. “Gods you’re going to be the death of me.” His words were half prayer, half a curse, torn from somewhere deep and helpless. “I’ve never wanted anything this bad.” Dain admitted, his lips now leaving a warm trail down your neck. 

“Then take me,” you said breathlessly. “I’m yours.” 

His hands clenched on your thighs, as if he was trying to regain the composure you knew he had already lost. “You said one kiss.” he rasped. “Don’t offer yourself unless you mean it.” He whispered, and you gasped as his teeth nicked at your skin. 

“I do mean it.” You reassured him, and with a great amount of effort, you pulled yourself away from his lips so you could cup his cheeks and make him look at you. “Dain, you can have as much of me as you want, and I assure you that I want you more.” 

You could feel his chest heaving against yours as you both fought to catch your breath during the intimate moment. “That’s not possible.” He said, and your skin warmed even more as his hands slid up your thighs and his fingers grazed the skin under your shirt. 

“Oh it is.” You said, and couldn’t wait another second to lean forward and slam your mouth against his again, throwing every bit of passion you felt for him in it. Your hands fisted in his hair. His hand gripped your hips, desperate, anchoring you to him as if he could hold the moment in place - 

When the crash of shattering glass split the world apart. 

The two of you separated to look in the direction the sound came from to find a light shattered and someone staring at you both in shock. You knew her silhouette even before she stumbled back. 

And with her, the reality of what you had done came crashing down over you, cold and merciless.

You staggered as if slapped, the weight of what almost happened hitting you like a blow to the ribs. You had been seconds away from fucking the man your best friend blamed for her brother’s death. “Sloane,” you breathed. 

She shook her head, backing away and unable to say a word.

“Let me explain,” you pleaded, climbing off of Dain and heading towards her. 

“Get the fuck away from me.” She snapped, and turned her back to you, taking off in the other direction. 

“Wait!” You didn’t even glance back at Dain. You couldn’t worry about him right now. Right now you had to fix, whatever this was. You caught up to her, grabbing her wrist. 

“Don’t -” Her voice cracked, and she swallowed it down, replacing it with pure venom. “Don’t you fucking touch me.” She said, yanking her arm from your grip. “Not when you just had your hands on him.” She hissed the last word like it was a curse to even speak it. 

“I wasn’t thinking. About you. About anything. There’s something about him - I can’t get him out of my head-” You tried to reason with her. 

But she was shaking her head before you even finished. “You have no excuse. He killed Liam! And you -” her voice broke, “you chose him.” 

“He didn’t!” You tried to defend him. “He - he trusted his dad. He didn’t know-”

“Liam looked at you like his sister too!” She argued, ignoring your words. “And he’d be so disappointed in you for this.” 

Any piece of your heart that was unbroken collapsed at her words. You had looked at Liam as another brother too. Loved him almost, if not as much, as you loved Xaden. The thought of him being disappointed in you destroyed you. 

“I don’t even know you anymore. And I don’t want to. We’re in the same squad and other than that I never want to see your face again.” She hissed. 

This time you let her go, a hand clutching your stomach as if trying to hold yourself together when it felt like you were falling apart. It was only moments before the ground shook around you signaling Bhaltair’s arrival. 

“I could feel your distress from miles away. Get a hold of yourself.” 

“I’m not in the mood to hear a list of my shortcomings right now.” You said, wiping a tear from your cheek. 

“Perhaps if you didn’t have so many-” 

That was it. Something about his words brought every emotion you had felt tonight to the surface, and you snapped, turning around to glare at your ferocious blue dragon who looked more than done with your shit. “I’m never going to be Xaden okay!” 

“What do you speak of human?” He growled, steam warming your face. 

 “I’m not impressive! I’m not as strong as him, I’m not as powerful of a weilder as him, and I’ll never be as good of a fighter! I know you picked me because you thought I’d be as good as him because Sgaeyl is your sister! So I’m sorry for the massive disappointment you’re stuck with for the rest of my life. I promise you don’t have to keep telling me. I know!” Unable to look at the disappointment on his face any longer, you turned and started walking away from him.  

“YOU DARE ASSUME THE REASONS FOR MY CHOICE?!” 

The force of his voice in your head sent you crumbling to the ground, the cold dirt grinding into your knees as you clutched your head, sobs ripping from your throat unchecked, and everything that you had built up and hidden for the past year exploded out. 

There was no concept of time in those moments, just stress, pain, and heartbreak leaving your body in tears as you wrapped your arms around yourself until there was nothing left, but the stains on your cheeks and the ache in your head. 

That was when you opened your eyes to notice all the stars had blinked out. No. Not blinked out. Covered. Instead of the night sky, you were shielded by battle scarred navy wings, hiding you from sight. He hadn’t abandoned you. He’d protected you from anyone else who might see you breaking. “I’m sorry.” You said, too embarrassed to look at him. If you hadn’t already seemed pathetic, you were sure you did now. 

His voice wasn’t as harsh when he responded this time. “I have never found anyone worthy enough to be my next rider. Never had a desire to find one until I saw you at threshing. You were vicious, calculated, and a threat to anyone who tried to harm you. Those are the reasons I chose you. I had no idea you were Sgaeyl’s rider’s kin until you were informed of it yourself.” 

His words made you turn around, surprise all over your face. “You didn’t- you didn’t know?” 

For the first time, you saw something akin to sympathy in his eyes. “No, little one. I chose you for you, and you seem to have forgotten that you are your own person. With your own wants and needs that you are allowed to have no matter who you’re related to or who you choose to spend your time with.” 

“How can you say that when I just made one of the most selfish decisions of my life?” You asked in disbelief. 

Bhaltair shook his head from side to side. “No. I think you finally made a selfish choice you deserved.” He told you. 

His words struck you hard. For so long, you had measured yourself by everyone else’s needs and expectations - the perfect rider, the worthy sister - and tonight, for once, you’d chosen yourself. Chosen what you wanted. Maybe that wasn’t a crime after all? 

“And if I lost my best friend because of it?” You couldn’t help but ask. 

“Do not act as if you did not understand what ramifications might occur by mating with the former traitor.” He reminded you. 

The truth was you did. You tried to play it off with Dain like it only needed to be a one time thing, but from the moment his lips touched yours, you knew you were never going to be able to stop. Even now every inch of you craved to go and find him. Being in his presence made you feel . . . peaceful. But how could you do that knowing how much it had hurt Sloane? How much it would disappoint . . . everyone? 

“The girl will come around. Anyone with eyes can see the care you and the former traitor have for each other. If she truly has your best interest at heart, she will want your happiness.” 

You felt heat rushing to your face. “I - it’s not that - it’s not that obvious.” Was it? 

Bhaltair snorted. “I have forgotten how oblivious humans are to their own surroundings. It’s something you should work on as well.” 

You sighed, but a small smile formed on your face as a thought struck you. For the first time, you felt bonded and wanted by the dragon in front of you. 

And this time, it was enough to keep you standing.

[ghostfacesvalentine]

HALLOWEEN DAY 22: Non horror multi muses as horror tropes - Multi!Muse x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Non-Horror Multimuses x Fem!Reader

Warning: Mentions of hell, killing, dying, cursing nothing graphic but mentions of gore and violence.

Type: Blurb

Request: N/A

Word count: N/A

Prompt: Classic horror movie tropes for my non horror multimuse list x reader

Notes: Maybe if I’m feeling generous I might do the horror muses as a pt 2.

Harley Quinn: Possessed doll trope

You were trying to get Harley into thrifting, which she caught on pretty quickly. She started to really enjoy collecting dolls, almost of all kinds. Whatever caught her eye. “These are kinda creepy Harls” you admitted, holding the ceramic baby jester dolls in your hands. “Nonsense. They’re cuuuute! Put them back in the cart.” Before you could even get home, you noticed the car wouldn’t break when you pressed on the pedal, almost causing you to crash. You could’ve sworn the doll was sitting in the back seat staring at you through the rear view mirror. Close calls after close calls. No matter if you burned the doll, drove it to the middle of nowhere, dunked it in the lake, it always appeared in your place unharmed. The only thing you two could do, is to try to gift it to someone else.

Poison Ivy: Mad doctor trope

You followed Pamela every step of the way to watch her save the world, but for the first time in your life, you began to doubt her due to the dedication she had to save the planet. After different weather eapproaches, she decided to do what no one has attempted to before and that’s kill off the case. You start to doubt her and her methods that only grow more gruesome after the last. Would you still follow you even if it’s for a right cause?

Billy Hargrove: Final girl trope

Your group of friends went out on a road trip, your boyfriend Billy included. Drunk and ignorant, Billy and his friends picked on the stranger in the car next to you guys at the stop light. Throwing beer cans and piles of trash, the group sped off, laughing and not thinking much of it. Once you get to the dingy hotel, something doesn’t sit right with you. One by one your friends go missing, realizing it was the man who was at the stop light with an uncontrollable rage. You find each of your friends in the most gruesome death you can imagine. Billy does his best to protect you, even going as far as to sacrifice himself for you to escape, which you do, leaving you as the final girl.

Steve Harrington: Found footage

You and Steve go missing after agreeing to explore a spooky bridge near your house. You both thought the tale to be bullshit, even playing around with each other to feign a scare. You brought your camera, the only thing found as evidence that something must’ve happened. Steve and you are heard laughing and taunting the woods, in a few frames you can see four glowing eyes, then a few screams and a camera drop. Your friends go out looking for you two after a few days, only to find the camera in the bed of leaves. Would they be able to find you two in time?

Steve Rogers: Abandoned camp ruins trope

Your boyfriend tries to make a cute getaway with you, planning to take you on a trip to a campsite when he remembered you’ve never been camping. It’s a fun road trip, full of laughs and pictures, he sets everything up for you both, confident in his survival skills. It would only be for a day anyway, but as the sun starts to set, the area gets eerie. Rustling and the feeling of being watched drives you scared out of your mind, begging to go home, you find that your car cannot start. Screams and sounds of movement plague your adventure, you and Steve try your best to remain calm and wait until sunrise. What could go wrong

Bucky Barnes: The obsessed killer

No matter where you run or where you hide, you’ll always be found. Bucky tries his best to help you understand why you and what he can do to protect you. If it’s more complicated than it seems then he will just have to lose sleep, guarding you while you rest. He rather die than to let you get hurt especially over another human. He knows no one can be trusted, his only objective is to keep you safe. He will always go above and beyond for you and even try to pull favors to put this person down. Bucky is more than determined to give you a peaceful life.

Wanda Maximoff: Amusement park from hell

You think it’s a great idea to have a date at the amusement park and Wanda has never been. When you get there, it’s worn down and dingy, nothing like it was advertised. You both try to make the best of it, but when the Ferris wheel comes to a halt and you hear a bolt come loose, you both knew maybe it was better to go home. However when you look down, you see a group of clowns staring up at you two without saying a word. Your phone signals are down and there’s no one else around. Your only objective is to get the hell home and fast.

Loki Laufeyson:

Cloud Strife: Haunted Victorian house trope

When traveling from a remote village, your eyes are weary. Cloud opts to ask for help from a secluded home, he has no choice other than to carry you the rest of the way and he was strong but not invincible. He was tired too. Though you tried to convince him to follow a different path, he was stubborn. The door was open, as he peaked inside and decided to investigate for himself, you didn’t want to be left alone outside. Now you both couldn’t leave.

Sebastian Michaelis: Accidental satanic ritual trope

Upon trying to summon your beloved deceased pet, it looks like you must’ve pronounced something incorrectly. Sebastian appeared instead, menacing and taunting your own confusion, leaving you only with a choice, whether to sacrifice yourself or work out a deal with him. What would you choose?

Spencer Reid: Nightmare on Halloween trope

There’s a killer lurking on Hallows Eve and Halloween day. Spencer has kept a close eye on him, but nothing seems to solidify his hunch. He’s certain he strikes every Halloween, every three years, but the killing methods are always different. His favorite holiday soon turned to one he dreaded. The worst part? The killer seems to have a type and it meets exactly your description. This year, he started to travel around, striking on October first, another victim dropping every day, counting down to the 31st. Would he be able to catch him in time before he gets to you? Could he hide you well enough to keep you alive?

Bruce Wayne: Dead all along trope

You meet Bruce at one of his extravagant parties. The gothic manor is extremely beautiful, mesmerizing, almost as much as the eyes of the owner. He is enchanted by you, dancing the night away, drinking and talking your head off. He’s charming, rich and handsome, he’s also a homebody. As the night continues, you overhear the guests talking about how they never see the billionaire playboy outside the manor. The more time you spend with him, the more you realize they’re right. It’s not until you notice his chest doesn’t rise and fall like yours does that makes you want to ask him about it.

Jason Todd: Dragged out of hell trope

He doesn’t confide in you too much of where he came from, instead he opts to look forward into life and what it can offer. The harder he tries to turn away from his escape from the pit of hell, the more he descended into madness. When he made his escape it wasn’t just him that was set free. Demons and monsters start terrorizing the city and you two must work together to make the city a more peaceful place. You have to help him before he gets dragged back out to hell.

[aleskie]

ANYWAY, DON'T BE A STRANGER | Quinn Hughes x Reader

SUMMARY: He's the ghost from your past that's come back to haunt you.

Word Count: 993 Warnings: none. ♫ Listen: Scott Street by Phoebe Bridgers ♫

Walking down the streets of your hometown felt strange, like walking through a fog of memories. The emotions were high, and maybe that was partly due to the Long Island iced tea your mother had insisted you order. “This new place makes the best one!” she’d claimed, and she was right, as usual.

Now, here you were, slightly buzzed, your steps a little slower, and the cool night air brushing against your skin as memories of your past swirled around you like a haunting melody.

You passed familiar landmarks—the street where you used to rollerblade, watching the boys play street hockey. Summers spent by the lake, the sun burning your skin a familiar shade of pink. Winters, cold and biting, and springs that never seemed to warm up fast enough. And autumn, with its crunchy leaves under your feet, leaving that satisfying crunch you always loved as a kid.

The weight of nostalgia pressed on your chest as you circled back to your old block. The house on the corner, with its chipped paint and manicured bushes, stopped you in your tracks. Your heart ached as it tugged you back to old memories—ones you tried not to dwell on.

Thirteen-year-old you, shy and awkward, sitting at the rink after school to watch him play hockey. Fourteen, matching Halloween costumes, giggling in the cold October air. Fifteen, snowball fights in the dead of winter, the two of you against the world—or, at least, his brothers. Sixteen, when things shifted, when you’d held hands for the first time, his jacket wrapped around your shoulders when the cold became too much. Seventeen, when your world was soft touches and sweet kisses.

You think of being eighteen. The stakes are higher. The emotions ran deeper. You think of the anxiety, of the uncertainty. You think of how he wanted you to come with him, how everything came crashing down with one sentence from your mouth: “I’m not giving up Stanford for you.”

The memory hits you like a wave, flooding you with the rawness of that moment—the way his face fell, the hurt in his eyes before he turned and walked away. No words. Just the finality of it, the weight of something so important slipping away without either of you being able to stop it. It was over.

You shake your head, pushing those thoughts away. It’s been years. Things are different now. You’re different now. But just as you make a move to leave, you see him.

Quinn Hughes.

Still as beautiful as the day he left, and still capable of sending your heart into a flutter. He stares at you like he’s seeing a ghost, as if you’re some distant dream from his past that’s come to life. You stare back, not sure if you’re ready to face the memory you’d left behind.

“Hi,” he says, his voice catching slightly. “Long time, huh?”

“Yeah.” It’s all you can manage.

“How—” He clears his throat, the sound awkward between the two of you. “How’ve you been?”

You can feel the questions he’s holding back. How was Stanford? How has life been without me? Do you miss me? Do you think of me?

“I’ve been well,” you say, forcing a small smile. “Busy.” It feels like you’re choking on the tension.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, glancing down the street. “I never see you around anymore.”

There’s so much left unsaid in that sentence. He doesn’t mention how his brothers still follow you on Instagram, or how his mom gives him updates about you from time to time. He doesn’t tell you how much it’s hurt him to be away from you, how much it still stings.

You hum in response. The silence stretches between you, thick and heavy.

“How are your brothers?” you ask, grasping at straws to keep the conversation going. “I heard you’re all in the NHL now.” You let out a small laugh. “Time flies, doesn’t it? Makes me feel so old.”

He chuckles softly. “C’mon, what does that make me?”

For a moment, the banter feels almost familiar, like a whisper of what once was. But it’s fleeting, and the awkwardness quickly returns, the weight of years between you hanging heavy. Things between you will never be the same again. He made sure of that on the day he turned his back to you and left.

“How is it?” You ask after a pause. “Playing in the league?”

He shrugs, hands shoved into his pockets. “It’s a lot. But…it’s good.”

He doesn’t think you know he’s been named captain. He doesn’t tell you. He doesn’t think you’d care. Not when it involves the center of what drove you two apart.

You nod, unsure of what else to say.

“What brings you back here?” he asks, and you hesitate.

“Oh, just…” You take a deep breath. “Dropping off wedding invites to the family.”

You try not to notice the way his expression falters, the flash of hurt that crosses his face.

“Congrats.” It’s flat. You don’t think he really means it. 

Another silence stretches between you. It’s strange, how once upon a time you could talk for hours without even trying. Now, it’s like you’re strangers, grasping at fragments of what you used to be.

“Anyway,” you say, finally breaking the tension, “I’ll be here for a couple more days. If you see me around…” You flash him a soft smile, though it feels forced. “Don’t be a stranger.”

He looks at you, his eyes burning into yours in a way that makes your heart ache. “Yeah,” he says quietly, “I’ll see you around.”

“See you around, Quinny,” you whisper.

You turn to leave, but something pulls you to glance back one last time. Your eyes meet, and in that brief moment, the two of you share a look—a knowing, unspoken understanding. A look that says everything words can’t.

Thank you. I'm sorry. I loved you.

Some ghosts from the past never truly fade.

[vees-scribbles]

What They Smell Like

This is me remaking this post from my main okay

Luigi Largo

I've said it before and I'll say it again this man does not smell bad!!

He's showering for sure. Daily. I think he does it in the mornings too, so depending on how early you catch him there's a lingering smell of his soap

That said I don't think he smells particularly good. Idk maybe you're really into his soap but overall I don't think he's one of those people who Smells Good (TM)

I said in the first post he's not using fancy products BUT I do think if he was with someone he was very much into he's wearing cologne

And you better pick a good one to compliment him on because one "Oh I like that cologne" and he's wearing it every day until you die

If you buy him a cologne?? Oh, it's over he's only ever wearing that scent and he's stupid cocky if you're obviously pleased he's wearing it. But if you point it out he's brushing it off like it was just convenient

Smell his cheek after he shaves I KNOW he's got a good aftershave

I do think there's a permanent faint blood smell to him but I don't think it's overpowering

I think he has coffee breath sometimes but I also think he really dislikes having it and he's popping breath mints so more often than not it's a minty smell to his breath

And it's SPEARMINT

He tastes like it too Who said that

Amber Sweet

Oh she smells good

Idk if Zydrate has a smell so if it does you can probably smell that on her

But I think she's definitely pampering herself have you seen her?

Scented soaps, lotions, perfumes

If you walk into a room she just left, you can smell her

She smells like Paris Hilton's CanCan scent if it was a thousand times more expensive. Or maybe Heiress.

She gatekeeps what she uses, even if she cares about you. Oh you like her perfume? So does she, fuck off

I have Thoughts about the Largo siblings all being pretty weird about things they view as being Exclusively Theirs, and her products are definitely that in her eyes

If you buy her a perfume, she's definitely smelling it. I don't think she's loyal to a scent, but if she doesn't like it she's throwing it out

If she's fresh off a trip to Graverobber she's got an Outside smell to her. Not sweat exactly (though that's definitely there, too) but yk when you come inside and there's just an outside air smell to you? That

It gets washed off fairly quickly

None of the expensive products can fully mask the sterile smell stuck to her, though

Don't mention it

Blind Mag

She also smells good!

In a more subtle way than Amber

She bathes often, and I do mean bathes Bubble baths for her. She's using fancy soaps and she's relaxing. In that tub til her fingers prune up

Her shampoo smells really good

It's a floral scent but it's not super strong

She's a 'perfume on the neck' girl so it's strongest when you hug her

I don't think she uses a whole lot of perfume

She has a hand lotion she uses but it's definitely not an all over thing

Signature scent for sure. She picked a perfume and she stuck to it

And she's recommending it to everyone. You like her perfume? She's showing you a picture of the bottle

That said, if you picked a perfume for her, I think she'd wear it when she knew she was going to see you

Compliment it!!! She would definitely like to know that you noticed

Definitely a comforting kind of smell. Maybe it's just because she always wears it, so eventually it just becomes a reminder of her

Shares a perfume with your cool, sweet aunt who definitely deserves better from the rest of the family

Nathan Wallace

He showers

That's about all the props I can give him, though

He's a 2-in-1 shampoo guy

He smells like a hospital. Hand sanitizer and Something Vaguely Forboding

I think he showers at night, though

Both because he's at his most disgusting at the end of the day and because he needs a warm shower to help him sleep

I don't think it works I KNOW he's an insomniac

Blood, also, obviously. I think the hospital smell overpowers it a little but if you get too close it's definitely still there

If he had a partner, I think he's using a little cologne on date nights. It's probably an old scent he decided smelled good when he was twenty and he doesn't want to experiment

If you got him one he would wear it but otherwise I don't think he's switching it up

If you acknowledge that he's wearing it it has to be very explicitly a compliment. He will take "Oh is that the cologne I got you?" As "that smells really bad on you never wear it again"

Otis Driftwood

Do I have to say it

He's rank

He bathes two times a year and it's a hose down and MAYBE a bar of soap

Blood, sweat and dirt

In his sheets, too. If you're in his sheets frequently (and I know you are you little freak) you gotta get used to it

Or break your nose until it stops working, I'm sure he'll help with this

Date Idea we destroy one of your senses

His breath is really bad, too

Weed and booze with several weeks worth of morning breath

Don't waste your money on cologne for this man

Not only is he not wearing it, he's making fun of you

Although, if you're with Otis of your own free will, you're probably into being made fun of so if that's the case feel free

I'm not the first person to say this but you can sell him on a shower if you're inviting him into yours

Results vary on how clean either of you actually gets

If you pester him enough he might suffer you messing with his hair for ten minutes. Use it wisely

Baby Firefly

I don't think she smells bad

Definitely nothing super expensive but she's showering regularly

Probably uses any products they manage to find on victims

She's not loyal to a scent, as long as it smells good

At worst, there's a blood and sweat smell

But like I said she showers often so it's not a long lasting scent

In an ideal (for her) world, she's a consistent Bath and Body Works Japanese Cherry Blossom user

Definitely wearing anything you get her!

She's just glad you thought of her! And you have good taste, I know it

Bonus points if the bottle is cute

If you bring up that she's wearing it she hits you with the "Well, duh, silly!"

I think she's the type to spray it on her hair

I think if she has a choice she likes fruity scents best. Maybe some amber

If she has time, I think she would enjoy a bath when given the luxury

RJ Firefly

Another victim to the 2-in-1 epidemic

He showers like once a week so not...great but compared to Otis it's definitely not bad

I don't think he's like. Great with his hair but if it made you happy to do it for him he'll let you

Another guy that can be seduced into a shower but you also can just ask him

"Hey babe you're smelling a little rank, mind showering?" It's that easy

Especially if he's particularly sweaty, bloody, or car-y

Unless he's super tired then he's doing it when he gets around to it

Might use a cologne you got him

Definitely thinks it's a waste of money and probably puts it somewhere and forgets about it most the time

But when he remembers he has it, he'll wear a little

Otis WILL give him shit for it

And probably you, too

Quinn

I said before he smells like a phone and I stand by that

He smells...warm

And not a whole lot else

If it's been a rough day maybe he smells like an electrical fire

I really don't think there's much of a smell to him

He clearly can bathe, but I don't think he needs to unless he gets into something

I think the fact that he can be in a shower probably means he can wear cologne

He might wear one you get him

Another case of "He's going to forget he has it" but every once in a while he'll remember and decide fuck it why not

Hanging a car scenter on him

Same rules, btw, you have to tell me if this made you sniff your phone

Logan Burnhardt

Guys let's be honest

He's just a Guy

He showers regularly but he's hardly pampered

I do think he uses a separate shampoo and conditioner

He uses a bear oil too, I think

Sandalwood

I think he's a regular cologne wearer so yes he would wear one you got him

He doesn't know the name of it

If anyone asks or compliments it he tells them his partner got it for him

He's not trying to gatekeep he's just A Guy </3

He's nice if you mention it

"Of course I'm wearing it, sweetheart, it was a gift."

Bo Sinclair

I sound like a broken record but 2-in-1 </3

Axe body wash

Does wear deodorant on the daily he's pretty good about it

And he's pretty good about showering even if his choice in product is...questionable

Blood, sweat, and car grease are pretty frequent smells on him

Will not shower if you ask him to but if you're casual he'll eventually get around to it on his own

He does not care if he stinks don't even try to bring it up but I don't think he likes being dirty so

If, for whatever reason, he doesn't shower and you really need him to, he's another that can be convinced if you're getting in with him

Suspicious if you get him cologne

Where did you get this? When? You know you're not allowed out of the house without him

Pretend he's not playing 20 Questions about it for a second

Yes he's wearing it

Every day

Bring it up or else

Such a smug jackass about it when you do

Vincent Sinclair

Uhhh I think two or three times a week he showers

Unless he's like. Actually dirty

Particularly bloody or sweaty

Wax smell very much

Another guy I don't think takes very good care of his hair

I just don't think he was ever taught to he entirely fair to him

Please please do his hair for him

I think he would genuinely enjoy it he'd melt

Day to day I think he's a little musty

It's not bad and the more you're with him it probably becomes negligible

Just from being busy with wax all day

Basement smell yk

Yes he's wearing cologne you get him

You got him a gift??? Yes he's using it

Not even wondering where you got it

Compliment him on it and watch him get a little embarrassed you noticed

[qslovebot]

She’s The Devil: Love Quinn (WLW)

REQ: I was wondering if I could request makeup smut with Love Quinn in which her and reader get into an argument maybe which ensues some fluff and smut as well. Have a good day!

Pairing: Dom!Love x Switch! AFAB! Reader

Warnings: mentions of cheating, unprotected wlw sex, oral sex, exhibitionism, possessive Love Quinn, tell me if I missed any!

"There's no way that I would ever think of being with anyone else, Love. She was coming onto me, I didn't flirt back, I didn't even enter a five-foot radius of her!" You pleaded to your wife, who was standing against the wall of your living room with fire in her eyes. Today one of your neighbours stopped by your work to flirt with you the same time Love came to drop off your lunch. She waited all day to express her anger after dropping your food on your desk and walking away.

"She touched you, though. It didn't look like you tried to move her away!" Love replied. She had that look on her face between rage and tears. You would never cheat, ever. You would never do anything to hurt Love and it pained you to see her here like this, thinking you would.

"I told you before, Love, I wouldn't betray you like that. She dropped by, I questioned it too. Me talking to her was me being polite. She came into MY work, not me into hers, she found me, I didn't seek her out."

Love took a deep breath. "You could have sent her away, you were working, after all. I would think maybe at your age, you'd know flirting when you see it and you would shut it down because you and I are married!" She countered angrily, a snarl in her lip. "Seriously, you want me to believe that you weren't thinking about fucking her while she stood there toying with her top button? You expect me to think that you just let her stand there in her short skirt because you were being polite?"

"Love, I-"

"No! Tell me, were you thinking about fucking her? Were you thinking about her fucking you?" She advanced on you, finger pointed accusingly.

"NO!" You shouted back. "Never in all my time being with you have I ever thought about anyone else that way! I wasn't thinking about fucking her, I would never think about fucking some random neighbourhood skank who doesn't understand boundaries. It's you, it's always been you, and will continue to be you until I take my last fucking breath!" There was a moment of silence and burning eye contact between you and your wife before simultaneously you crashed into each other in a mess of hands and lips.

Nobody else but Love would ever get to do this. Nobody could yell at you so harshly and kiss you so perfectly after. She yelled out of love and she kissed out of lust and the mixture of ice and fire was enough to make you melt in her grasp.

She pulled your shirt over your head with ease, due to much practice. She was still jealous, it hadn’t just gone away. Love needed to prove to herself and to you, that you were hers and not the neighbours‘. Her hand cupped your breast through your bra as her kisses trailed your jaw. You sighed a pleasure-filled sigh and threw your head back as she massaged and kissed you.

She took off her own shirt and with that, pulled you down onto the carpet in the center of the living room which was in perfect sight to the neighbours. The neighbour.

Her legs tangled with yours as she lay on her side, kissing you. She rolled you onto your back and climbed over you again, pulling your lower lip with her teeth gently. It was intoxicating. Love was extremely drunk on the idea of the skank neighbour looking out her window to see Love kissing down your chest, taking your bra off and kissing your bare tits. Love wanted that skank neighbour to see who you really belonged to. Who you moaned for. Who you married.

Love undid the button of your skirt and you shimmied it down your legs until it was off. You were wet, so wet, and Love knew it. ”You… are… mine,“ Love said with possession in her voice. You were practically squirming under her touch.

“Mhm,” you agreed. Love looked at you with fire in her eyes, eyelashes fluttering.

“Say yes,” Love ordered you. She needed to hear it. You were more than glad to say it.

You swallowed, “Yes-“ You’d hardly said it and Love already had her tongue on your clit. The chef, the baker, was tasting you and the best part was, she loved it. “Fuck! Love-“

Love knew exactly what to do to drive you crazy. Her tongue was quick and clever and the woman was small, but her power was great. You were almost screaming her name at this point, your back arching like a cat. Love wanted the neighbours to hear. She wanted to get that message out that you were for her and her ONLY.

And she stopped right before your climax. You almost screamed. “Who do you belong to?“ she ordered her reassurance.

“You,“ you mumbled, out of breath. “Fuck me,” you begged. “Please.”

You were naked on the living room floor. You were soaked and writhing and recovering from the letdown you were just given. Your chest heaved. “Fuck me, Love.”

She smiled a little. It was evil and devious. She kissed you again, hungrily. You undid her pants, she removed them. She rid herself of all her clothing she had on and wished that the neighbours watched her fuck you senseless. Your fingers ran over her soft skin while she kissed you, lips only parting as she lifted her leg over yours, finding herself sideways over you.

The moment you connected, you let out a small sound. Love bit her lip, grinning mischievously at all of this. How she had you under her, writhing. Then she began to move slowly, rocking her hips at the same time you did.

This was not a new connection she created, but every time felt better than before. Love learned quickly the first time you’d had sex that you liked when she had the power. You liked it when she fucked you.

Her vagina was perfect, too. The way she ground against you with the perfect friction, the perfect feeling. You wanted to grab onto something but the carpet was too tightly knit. Love rocked, Love moaned and Love squeezed your thigh as she kept herself braced.

The way her waist moved while she pushed against your core was so perfect, so rhythmic. The roll of her middle, like snake-like, but more like an angel. Devil in disguise, she was. Screaming, yelling, one moment and having you screaming and yelling her name as she practically fucked you mindless.

You’d tuned the sound out due to the pure chase of a climactic high, but you came back to reality shortly as you realized you were close. Love was breathing heavily, letting out small ‘mmm’s and you, you were loud. “Fuuuuuck, god please!” You exclaimed, nearing your peak. Love sped up her grinding and squeezing and a white hot sweat hit you. She moaned, feeling it too.

“I am… the only one… who makes you feel… like this,” Love breathed over you. You let out a loud gasp as her thumb found your clit, dually pushing herself against you and rubbing circles over it.

“Love!” You exclaimed, partly choked out through the sounds of your absolute pleasure. You’d give her more if you could reach her. You’d give her anything in this moment. You’d sign your soul over to her if she asked, though the marriage contract was mostly that. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You whispered. You were about to come undone.

Love, gorgeous as she was, threw her head back and as she removed her hand from your clit, she let her rocking movements become larger, longer, slower, and it was nearly torture, but the way she lined up with you was perfect and now she hit every spot. “If you look… at her that way… ever… again. I will kill you.” She said, biting her lip. You could tell she was close, she only but her lip at this point.

You moved your own hips against hers, watching the way she moved, still chasing your own high. “Never,” you whispered. “I will never.”

“Louder,” Love demanded. “I want to hear… you. I want everyone… to hear you.” She breathed out hard and moaned loudly. “Let everyone know… you’re mine to… use. To fuck.”

The words were nearly enough to finish you off. A few more thrusts against your simultaneously moving hips, and everything exploded. “Fuck! Love, I-“ you moaned probably the loudest you’d ever had, as you’d always been cautious of the neighbours. You fell right over the edge of your orgasm and the screams just loudened. Her name, your sounds, and the background noise of heavy breathing.

Love came a few seconds later, digging her nails into your thigh. The friction of your cores together slowed and lessened. You lay on your back, chest heaving and Love climbed off of you, back to between your legs. “No, please,” you said, but you didn’t mean it as her tongue pressed into you, licking up the wet that had filled you moments ago. It was almost a tease the way she kitten-licked. You hummed a moan until she came up and wiped her mouth.

Here you were, sweaty, naked, and wet on your back in the centre of the living room carpet. “Could she do that?” Love asked, gesturing toward the other house.

Still far gone, you shook your head. “Not in a million years.” You said shakily. Love smirked and leaned over you to kiss you. You could taste yourself. She really was the devil. Such anger into such lust was truly sinful but you loved every second of it.

There was a knock on the door. You snapped out of your trance. Love stood up, naked but currently pulling her big sweater over her head. You two shared a look, you still breathlessly on the floor as she walked toward the door. You stood up and walked yourself to the bathroom where you turned on the water for a shower whilst your wife who just fucked you, so casually answered the door.

It only took a minute. You just got into the shower and washed up and Love opened the door to the bathroom.

“Everything alright?” You asked as she entered the already foggy bathroom.

“Yes,” she answered. There was the sound of fabric hitting the tiled floor and the shower curtain opened to reveal Love in her purest form once again. She stepped right into the shower, smirking as her arms snaked around your bare waist. You kissed her, the taste of yourself still there, but this kiss was as warm as the shower water. Love smiled again, “It was the police, who received a noise complaint.” Her smile was evil. Evil but in the best way.

[harringtons-cupid]

Anywhere with you- Joseph Quinn x Fem! Reader:

Word Count: 1.1k words

Warning: 18+

Expenditionist, kissing, vibrating toy. Lingerie. Public sexual behaviour. Praise kink. Dom and Sub. Squirting. Unprotected sex. Creampies.

Tagged: @dylanmunson @fvk0fff @gttrgrrl @oo0lady-mad0oo

Masterlist |

Joseph adored your body, every chance he got. He would be constantly be touching you.

He loved having sex with you public places, forcing you to be quiet as he covered your mouth. You loved see the excitement in his eyes as he fucked you, making you wetter and wetter.

Today, you were shopping at the mall. He had taken you there as a treat, you had recently reached a milestone in your life. Joe thought that you deserved a treat.

He walked into Victoria’s Secret with you, after browsing the various different lingerie aisles. You picked a red bodycon with matching stockings, suggestively you wagged your eyebrows at him as you showed him your chosen outfit.

Smirking at you, he followed you into the changing rooms. Sitting on the poof as he watched you change, his bulge getting tighter and tighter as you stood in front of him. He grabbed you and brought you in for a kiss, sliding his tongue firmly into your mouth. Moaning quietly as his hands explored your body, pausing to admire you. Feeling his hard dick between his jeans, you unbuckled them and let them fall to his ankles.

Rubbing over his boxers as he kissed your neck hard, making you gasp. Your hand firmly grasping his dick as he began stroking your clit over the minimal thong making you whimper at his touch. You were already quite wet as he pulled the thong aside, playing with your opening. His eyes unable to look away from you, he bit his lip as you slid your hands underneath his boxers.

Playing with his tip softly between your fingers, his own fingers slid gently inside you. Groaning against his lips as they crashed into yours, you felt a squirt of pre cum cover your fingers as they moved down his dick. Stroking it roughly with your hands as his finger curled inside you, getting quicker and quicker inside you as you bit down on his neck trying to hide your moans.

“Oh fuck Joe, you could make me cum” you whined, still trying to hide your moans in his neck.

The loud pop music was playing through speakers as you came all over his fingers and coating the floor. Making you laugh in shock as he continued, removing his fingers to taste you on them you pushed them further inside his mouth making him choke slightly.

He turned you around, your face and hands were pressed closely to the mirror as you felt him slide inside you. He spanked your ass loudly as he began to move inside you, his hand was firmly covering your mouth. Your moans muffled into his mouth as he thrusted quicker and quicker, listening to your pussy getting wetter and wetter.

Groaning softly, his head tipping back into the room as you slammed back into his dick. Whimpering against his hand as he spanked you once more watching as your ass jiggled.

He slowly thrusted inside you as the shop assistant walked down the hallway, shouting for someone. His dick was twitching inside you, dying to fuck you harder.

The moment they walked away, he began pounding into you quicker and quicker. Until his breath was hot and heavy on your neck, his legs shaking slightly as his tip hit the inside of you.

“Oh Joe, I think you’re going to me squirt on your dick” you whined into his hand as you looked at him fucking you.

His eyes burned into you as he quickened his pace knowing that you could cum any second, the excitement in his eyes appeared a she felt you tense around him. You gasped loudly as he fucked you through your orgasm, loudly squirting on the floor and coating his dick. You moved back on his dick, watching as his eyes rolled back.

“I want you to cum in me Joe, fill me up” you moaned into his hand. He heard what you had said and roughly pounded into you, gasping and grunting against his bitten lip.

His legs shaking as he stared at you sliding back onto his dick, fucking until you felt his dick tense up and he came hard. Filling you up completely, he continued to fuck it back in you. Groaning as he felt his dick twitch one more, cumming hard again.

He fucked his cum into you again until his body was shaking, kissing from your back upwards as he pulled out of you. Routing into your bag until he waved your lush toy in front of the mirror, you smirked with a gasp as you felt him insert inside you.

With a soft spank, he admired you in that outfit once more.

“Now let’s continue shopping”

You both got changed quickly, he took the outfit to the checkout and bought it for you ignoring your desperate attempts at convincing him over wise.

As you exited the store, he began playing with the control app making the toy vibrate aggressively inside you. Gasping as you wondered through the mall, browsing in other shops until you found another clothes store. On the verge of cumming, you picked up the first thing you saw and rushed to the changing rooms.

The moment you were alone, he increased the vibrations with his phone. Making your hips buck in the air against the bench, your eyes staring at him as he watched you desperately grind against the bench with the vibrations increasing.

Your eyes rolled back as your clit hit the bench, you felt yourself relax into your orgasm. Violently shaking against the bench as you squirted all over it, continuing to grind as he slowed down the vibrations. Enjoying you make a mess in public, biting your lip to hide your moans as you came for a second time.

Knowing that you were exhausted, he leant forward and kissed you as he removed the toy from inside you. Making you squirt even more over the bench, your body shaking even more. He kissed you again and pulled you in for an embrace.

“How about we go relax princess?” He asked you kindly, caressing your cheek lightly. Watching you catch your breath before offering you his hand and leading you out of the shop.

Your legs were shaking as you walked through the mall, he helped you into a cafe. Once you sat down, you felt your body relax more. He picked and ordered your food, ensuring that you were completely relaxed next to him.

“You’ve been such a good girl today. I hope you’re had a good day princess” he whispered into your ear, your eyes widened smiling at him.

“I have Joe, I really have”

[munsonxmayhem]

Autophobia:

the extreme fear of being alone.

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Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Warnings:

- angst

Inspired by a scene from the movie ‘6 years’

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You and Joseph had fallen in love years ago, and quickly at that. What’s the saying? That things that move fast tend to crash and burn? You’d never believed that. Always believing that if the love were real, anything could last.

This morning you woke up, the breeze flowing in from the open balcony doors. The sun just coming from above the horizon. You reach out to cold and empty sheets, panic setting in your chest.

You’d been this way for years, afraid of being left, afraid of being alone; it had come from your early childhood of being abandoned by your mother, and your father not long after. Then after that by every man you’d ever found yourself falling for; except for him.

Joseph had always been patient with you, comforting you when his job would take him away for extended periods of time; listening as you’d cry over the phone about how much you’d missed him. Nothing ever seemed to work, your dire need to never be left hadn’t ceased.

Stepping out of bed, you make your way to the balcony, spotting Joseph at the end of it smoking a cigarette. You quietly step over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. He flicked the cigarette, looking down at your arms around him.

“I’d thought you left.” You whisper, eyes closed as you held on to him. “Why would you think that?” He says, plainly. “The bed was empty.” You tell him, and he removes your hands from around him.

“What’s wrong?” You ask him, softly; heart racing in your chest. He shakes his head, “Nothing, just want to be left alone for a bit. I’ve got a lot on my mind.” He still hasn’t looked at you, eyes trained on the rising sun.

You look at your feet, “Have I done something?” He sighs deeply, shaking his head. “No, I just need to think for a bit, okay?” He sounds a bit aggravated this time, but you’re too scared to think about it.

“Do you still love me?” Your voice is soft, barely above a whisper. He tosses his cigarette before running his fingers through his hair, frustration apparent.

“(Y/N), please! Stop this! I’ve never given you any indication in the last 5 years we’d been together that I do not love you. You keep doing this to me, like if I’m not with you all of the time you’re just gonna fall apart! Like if I’m not directly beside you, it means I am leaving you. When I’m not!” He sounds exasperated, almost pleading with you through his agitation.

You gasp, eyes going wide. “I don’t know what to tell you.. I-I’m just scared to lose you..” You stutter out, holding back tears as you step closer to him. You reach out to touch him but he steps back, walking past your gesture.

“Where are you going?” Panic is evident in your voice as you follow him back inside. “I told you, I need to think.” He groans, his hands against the sides of his head.

“Just talk to me.” You plead, voice shaky. He turns to face you, and he’s never looked at you the way he is now.

“I’m asking you for space, (Y/N). I asked you for space 2 weeks ago, I asked you for some space 1 month ago. Why is it that you can never respect it? Not even in the slightest.” He explains, eyes wide and watery.

You stare at him, on the verge of breaking. “Do you still want to be with me?” He runs his hands through his hair.

“I don’t know..” He mumbles, turning away again. You reach out, grabbing his shoulder.

“What do you mean you don’t kn-“ You’re cut off by him whipping back around, and you jump back from him.

“I mean I don’t know! Okay? It is exhausting being with someone who is so fucking needy!” He yells, reaching his breaking point.

You stare, wide eyed, jaw dropped. All the panic rushes into anger and you push him. “I don’t fucking need you! So get out!” It’s his turn to be wide eyed, shocked at your sudden outburst.

Tears rush down your face as he moves past you, and you sit down against the wall of the kitchen. You sob as you see him throwing things into a suitcase; anger written on his face.

You reach out for him as he walks past you, stumbling to your feet. “Wait! No, Joseph, please! Please don’t go!” He ignores your pleas, making his way out the door and slamming it behind him.

Silence fills the empty apartment as you stare at the door. You stand for what seems like hours waiting for him to come back, but he doesn’t. The realization washing over you like a melancholic tsunami. It’s really over..

————————————————————————————————————————

[songforeddiemunson]

Hi, I'm Liv. I am a married millennial in my 30's. I write for Eddie Munson and generally hyperfixate on Joe Quinn.

🔞 WARNING: I write and reblog fics about consenting adults getting themselves into situations™️ that are not suitable for minors. 🔞

✨ This blog is a safe space; no hate, no ship wars. ✨

I'm ship-neutral and write reader insert stories. Eddie and reader are always at least aged up to their twenties. You can also find me on AO3 here. My ask box is always open!💚

MY MASTERLIST

Panic in Detroit (complete) 🔞

Bartender!Eddie x Fem!reader AU, 1991. Slow burn, strangers to lovers, angst, fluff, danger, drama, excitement, eventual smut, all the things.

part one: here today, gone tomorrow

part two: scary monsters (and super creeps)

part three: as the world falls down

part four: the heart's filthy lesson

part five: slow burn

part six: miracle goodnight

part seven: heroes

Book cover by @themarvelous-mrsmunson

Haunting in Blackwood Hollow (In progress) 🔞

1991. Eddie and reader check into a rented house in the Appalachian woods, joined by Nancy, Jonathan, Steve, and Robin. Unfortunately for our gang, things in Blackwood Hollow are never as they appear. (Unrelated to Panic in Detroit)

part one: steve's big mistake

part two: fool me once

part three: the rothschild tale

One Shots and Blurbs:

Sex Sounds Eddie x F!Reader. Pure smut, no plot. 🔞

Mistaken Identities Joe x Reader, funny, no smut.

Homeward Bound (for Christmas) Eddie x F!Reader, fluffy cute smut 🔞

Quarantine with Eddie Eddie x reader headcanons, fluffy smut. 🔞

Wake Up Call Eddie x reader, short cute smut. 🔞

Road Trip or Bust Eddie x Reader, fluffy Valentine's Day smut. 🔞

Grey Sky Luster Eddie x F!Reader, fluffy silly shower smut. 🔞

Three of a Kind Eddie x F!Reader x F!Roommate. Eddie's first threesome. 🔞

Lightning Crashes Eddie x Reader, friends to lovers, fluff.

Next Summer Eddie x F!Virgin!Reader, heckin' sweet pining, slight angst, romantic smut, fluff 🔞

Breakfast in Bed Eddie x Fem!Reader enjoy a steamy domestic moment 🔞

Things That Go Bump Eddie x Reader spooky ghost story! No smut but darker themes.

Happy Hawkins Holiday Eddie x reader host their first Christmas, fluff and shenanigans ensue. No smut.

Dear Tinseldick Rockstar!Eddie cheers reader up after a tough day at work. Fluff and comfort, no smut.

Morning Melodies Rockstar!Eddie romantic smut, sex on a piano, pwp 🔞

Into the Woods Eddie and reader go camping and engage in shenanigans. Fluffy smut 🔞

Fingertips just a little soft!Joey blurb for a birthday, so wee, pure fluff

Tagged fic recs (fics I liked so you might too; many of these contain smut so please heed the op's warnings)

Frequently used tags

[wordsbymae]

Mae's Horny Thought of The Week

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Being the King's only daughter is lovely for all the ease and pleasure it brings. But it can be dangerous when your father is overthrown by angry peasants out for his (and your) head.

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Pairing: Rebel x Royal fem!reader

tw: female reader, murder, historical sexism, reader's family is murdered, sexual bargaining,subtle implying of SA, MINORS DNI

notes: Ok so I planned for a royal advisor/ guard sorta thing but then I saw a picture of Joseph Quinn as a dirty french revolutionary and something just clicked inside me soooo yeah.

Also, what would you guys like to see over the next week? I have some ideas but I would love to see what you guys think. Miss talking to everyone cause of all the stuff I had on! But now I have a week off placement and I've got nothing planned so yay!

Anyway, enjoy!

Lots of love mae xx

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Your father really should have seen it coming. There are only so many useless wars he can wage, so many taxes increased and peasants starving, before someone gets the bright idea to storm the palace walls demanding blood. But the walls of the castle do wonders in hiding the stench of peasants and their woes from the nobility. This is why it came as quite a shock for your father and you when an angry mob of dirty villagers and serfs came crashing through the palace gates. The palace guards, bless their hearts, did try to hold them back, but it's hard to run a sword through your childhood best friend or your Aunt Joanne's boy. The guards weren't paid enough to forget so quickly the hovels from which they came. It turns out that with the palace guards quickly changing sides, there weren't that many people loyal to your father's crown. Nobles and courtiers quickly bolted from the castle, carriages and saddlebags laden with all that they could carry. Servants scurried like rats from a sinking ship, desperate to make no mistake of their disdain for your family. Even generals and admirals left quickly with their men in tow, some even turning on any palace guards who hesitated to become a turn cloak. Other generals, such as your father's lifelong friend, your father's most trusted advisor, took a different approach. A quick dagger to your father's heart and a sword to your brothers' necks. It turns out, not many people will stay loyal to an ignorant tyrant, especially if the chance to place his crown on their head is on the line.

That just left you, the only daughter of that very ignorant tyrant, now laying dead in his own blood. Your guards had abandoned you, your ladies-in-waiting scurried to the four winds and even your nursemaid from your childhood turned the other way when she saw you running towards her in fear. You were left all alone, as rebels began to pull down your father's statue and drag your eldest brother's body through the street. In your fear, you rushed towards the stables, intent on leaving by horseback. But the greedy nobles and desperate servants had picked the place dry, even taking the lame mare your father had ordered to be put down that very afternoon.

You could hear rushed footsteps and shouts of anger nearby, coming closer with each hurried and laboured breath of yours. Your day gown had been tightened too tight and the thick fabric made it hard for you to move, let alone breathe. You saw a large wooden box and in haste, you rip the contents out from within and made your home inside the thick wooden walls. Closing the lid you desperately tried to contain all your dress' fabric in the box. Unknown to you, a small portion of your hem was left to the sights of the outside world and the golden trim sparkles in the firelight of a young rebel who came rushing into the stables looking for something to burn.

----

He had left his fellow rebels in the homes of destroying the entirety of the castle with a fire set alight in the dry hay of the stables. Some of his fellows had cheered when he heard that the kind had been killed by his once trusted general, but others knew that only meant that the general was hoping to lay claim to the throne and with it them. But if he had no castle, no throne to claim, how could he control the working men and women of the kingdom?

Fire in hand, the young man rushed into the darkened stables, as he had hoped it was empty of all life, no hair or hide of the powerful beasts the King was so fond of. Before he had the chance of throwing his fire down, he was distracted by the gleam of something golden. He had hoped for a spare coin left behind in haste or something that could be traded. Instead, he was meant by the sight of a small piece of fabric dangling out from a large wooden box, that was strangely surrounded by old leather bridles and dusty horse coats. He slowly made his way over, before lifting up the lid. Inside he found something much more valuable than any forgotten gold coin.

----

Your eyes found his quickly and then rushed down to find a sword on his hip. You made no sudden moves, made no sound. You could only hope he didn't know who you were. It wasn't like you mingled with peasent regularly. No one outside the palace walls really knew who you looked like.

"Princess. People have been looking for you"

Well, it was wishful thinking anyway. You had always thought that if you were faced with some sort of challenge, or some kind of situation that demanded you be strong, you would rise to the occasion, and make it known that you were a royal princess, deserving of rescpect.

But that was before a dirty, smelly peasant literally held your life in his hands.

"Please don't kill me, please, please, please. I'll do anything! I'm nothing like father, promise! I suggested giving you all a little festival as some sort of gift, maybe for a day or two but father thought that idea was silly. I didn't want to raise taxes really! That was my brother's idea so he could travel to Rome!" You could have kept going on and on, tarnishing your family's name further and further in a desperate attempt to save your life, but you were rudely interrupted by the rebel.

"Enough tears Princess and hop on out of there." his tone was mocking and he gave a smirk as he spoke. There was a time when if someone spoke to you like that your brothers would make them walk over hot coals in punishment. But times change. You struggled to get out of the box, your dress and its fabric making it hard work, but you didn't have long to struggle as you were ripped from it by the man. You cringed as you felt the dirt from his hands make its way onto your skin. After nearly toppling over trying to get out and being pulled from the box, you were finally out of it, with tears streaming down your face and your pretty braided hair ruined.

"Your lucky I was the one to find you, princess, others wouldn't have been so polite"

" you call this being polite? dragging a Lady by her arm and allowing her to fear for her life?" you demanded, ripping your arm from his hand and taking a step back.

"Aye, princess, others would have locked the box and burned the stable down" he smiled despite the topic of your hypothetical, yet still probable, demise and took a step closer to you.

"I could have called for others, who knows what they would have suggested we do with you. I bet a pretty thing like you could keep us entertained for hours."

you cringed at his words and his smiling face.

"Please don't" you whispered

"What was that?" he mocked, leaning his ear closer to your mouth "speak up princess, got a bad ear"

" Please don't call for others," you said, gripping your dress in your hands.

" What would you give me not to?"

"Pardon?" you rushed, a cold dread filling your stomach

"What do I get out of not dragging you in front of my men? They were really looking forward to having time with you. Wouldn't want to disappoint them now, would we? So how are you going to make it worth my while?"

You wanted nothing more than to punch his stupid teeth in.

"I'll um, I'll let you put it inside of me" you whispered looking down at his feet. A moment passed before the man in front of you burst into laughter.

"Shit! No ones ever fucked you before have they? you'll let me put it inside you? Is that the posh way of saying you'll let me fuck you? Sweetheart, no offence but if I wanted to just fuck you I would've had you bent over that table over there and you would be crying on my cock by now. So Nah I don't just want to fuck you, I want something more."

"what else is there?" you questioned, willing to ignore the fact he made it very clear he wasn't a gentleman.

"I want you to marry me"

"Are you mad? Like I could ever marry some peasant like you!" you scoffed, a slight laugh coming through.

"Not like your father is gonna try and stop me is he? Or those brothers of yours. You've got no one princess. No one at all, well besides the dozens of men outside trying real hard to find you so they can, 'put it inside you', so it's them or me and Princess I think we can both agree I've been nothing but kind with you"

"why? why do you want me to marry you?" you questioned

"I think it would be funny that some high and mighty princess has to obey and respect a man like me, and I also get to fuck you for the rest of my life. Sounds like a great deal to me" A wide smile made its way over his face

"Never" you sneered

"While can't say I didn' warn you, let me just call my men. Oi! Boys-"

"Stop! Stop! I'll do it! I'll marry you!" you cried, grabbing onto your shoulders and trying to pull his attention to you.

"Knew you would come around. Well, then Princess wanna help your future husband burn your palace to the ground?"

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This may be shit but I actually really like it!

[quinncupine]

Fever

Word count: 1293

Relationship: Izuku Midoriya X Reader

Summary: The light clicked on overhead and before you even had time to register anything but your body trying to heave your insides out, the loose hair hanging around your face was lifted and pulled behind you. A warm hand rubbed gentle circles on your back as you hacked the remaining bile out of your mouth and rested your cheek on the seat with a heavy groan. Before you could even look to see who it was, another sharp pang rolled through your stomach and you leaned into the bowl as the last few sputtering dry heaves shook your whole frame.

Waking up sick is not ideal. Waking up sick with someone who cares, still not ideal, but at least you're not alone.

Warnings: sickness and vomiting

Notes: being sick sucks. Izuku would be the perfect person to care for his sick partner 1000%. Fluff and comfort ahead!

Quinns Masterlist

The sharp shooting pain in your stomach was what woke you up and the rolling burn in your throat was what got you out of bed. Throwing the covers off, you crashed to the floor and scrambled across the room in a desperate bid to get to the connected bathroom. The thin sliver of light from the window was the only thing guiding you as you stumbled through twisting vision and sleepy feet, praying you didn't trip over anything.

When you reached the door, you lost your balance and dropped onto the cold tile, narrowly missing the edge of the sink. Resorting to an awkward scramble to the toilet in the dark, your hands slapped porcelain just in time as your stomach revolted and heaved up everything it had to offer.

In the chilly darkness of the bathroom, you could only hope you aimed correctly, not that your body would've given you time to correct itself even if you could see. Painful spasms wracked your body in strong waves until tears mixed in and you were struggling to breathe through the sobs.

The light clicked on overhead and before you even had time to register anything but your body trying to heave your insides out, the loose hair hanging around your face was lifted and pulled behind you. A warm hand rubbed gentle circles on your back as you hacked the remaining bile out of your mouth and rested your cheek on the seat with a heavy groan. Before you could even look to see who it was, another sharp pang rolled through your stomach and you leaned into the bowl as the last few sputtering dry heaves shook your whole frame.

That comforting warmth left your back for a few seconds as you heard the sink turn on. When you managed to finally pull away from the toilet, you twisted to see Izuku kneeling next to you, cloth in hand and a soft but concerned look in his eye.

"It's okay," Izuku whispered, gently taking your chin to wipe the mess off your face, "take a deep breath."

You hadn't even realized you were struggling to pull in air. The world felt sticky and hot and entirely too uncomfortable sitting in your own skin. Actually sitting was a struggle all on its own so you leaned back until your back found the toilet, trying your hardest to focus on Izuku's face.

"This sucks," you managed to rasp out, feeling the tears prickling your eyes. "Everything hurts."

"Do you feel like you're going to get sick again?" He asked, dropping the rag to clean it in the sink.

"Maybe," you attempted to shrug, though you weren't sure how successful you were. "I don't want to."

"I'm gonna go get some water and medicine," he hesitated before kneeling in front of you. "Sit tight. I'll be right back." Izuku flushed the toilet and set a hand on your damp hair before he hurried out of the bathroom.

In the minute he was gone, your eyes slid closed against your will. A horrible weariness washed over you and all you wanted to do was wash your mouth of that nasty taste and drop back into bed. Standing would be a herculean task in your sorry state. How this came on so fast was a mystery. You were perfectly fine before you went to bed and now you were draped across the toilet looking and definitely feeling like a mess.

A featherlight touch on your cheek startled you so much you nearly hit your head on the counter next to the toilet. Izuku was back, sitting on the floor in front of you with a glass of water in his hand.

"Can you drink this for me?" He held out the cup and only let go once he was sure you had a tight enough grip.

It was a bit embarrassing as you struggled to drink and hold the cup steady at the same time. More than a few dribbles spilled down your chin and onto your already sweat-ridden nightshirt. But you quickly forgot about it as the cold water expelled some of that lingering burn and irritation in your throat.

When you emptied half the glass and took a breather, he reached out and pressed the back of his hand to your forehead. Not even realizing, you leaned into his touch with a quiet sigh. His hand felt so wonderfully cool against your sizzling skin. Your eyes fluttered closed at the sensation.

"You've definitely got a fever," he mumbled, pulling out the thermometer he'd brought with him. "Here, I need to take your temperature."

You parted your mouth slightly, feeling the small object stick under your tongue. When it beeped he let out a small sigh and you squinted your eyes back open with a small moan. Why did the lights have to stab your eyes like that? Your head felt swollen and even while sitting your equilibrium seemed to tilt back and forth, drawing the nausea back.

"What'd it say," you managed to slur out.

"102," Izuku whispered and dropped the stick into the sink to wash later. "Think you can swallow some of these?" he asked, holding out a few pills in his hand.

Nodding, you took the two pills and tossed them back, drowning them with the rest of the water. It was only getting harder to keep your eyes open now that your body had run ragged emptying itself.

"Let's get you back to bed." Standing up, he held out his hands which you feebly took hold of, although your grip strength was less than desirable. After a moment he switched tactics and swept his hands around your waist and legs, pulling you into his arms bridal style.

"Sorry f'r waking you," you muttered, resting your head against his chest. "Sorry f'r being gross."

"You're not gross," he smiled down at you, switching off the light as he stepped out of the bathroom. "You're just sick."

"Same thing," you lamented, head lolling to the side.

Izuku leaned down and deposited you gently on the bed, pulling the covers back over you. All too quickly, the room turned rigidly cold and chills racked your body. The sudden transition had you curling in on yourself, teeth chattering as Izuku set a hand on your forehead, swiping back your sweaty hair.

"I'll be right back." Leaving your side for a moment, he came back with a cool rag, laying it across your clammy skin. "Do you want some more water?"

"No, I'm just tired." Gripping the blanket around you, you blearily opened your eyes to look at him in the semi-darkness of your shared room. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry, I want to help," he offered you a gentle smile as he sat on the side of the bed, adjusting the cloth on your forehead.

 You gave him a delirious look.  "Even when I'm puking my guts out?"

"Even when you're puking your guts out," Izuku chuckled, fingers trailing from the cloth down to stroke your flushed cheek.

"What a hero," you clumsily mirrored his smile, raking your fingers through his until you held his hand as tightly as you could.

The darkness hid the blush that bloomed across his freckled cheeks, but even in your fevered state, you knew exactly how he reacted. He always shied away from your compliments in the cutest manner. It would've been a lot funnier if you were lucid enough to appreciate his bashfulness. Leaning down, he pressed a light kiss to the exposed part of your forehead and carefully slipped into the covers next to you, rubbing small slow circles on your back. In his arms, you felt a sense of safety that lured you back into sleep.

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