⁺˚*･☾nyra☽･*˚⁺

In honor of this lovely show ending!

Steven Grant ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

Steven’s cheeks flush instantly when you settle yourself on his lap mid-reading session. One minute he’s softly mumbling facts about ancient Egyptian love poems, and the next, he’s holding the book mid-air with his brain buffering like a Windows 98 computer.

“U-uhm… did you, I mean—do you want more room? I can—”

You shush him with a smile, curling into his chest.

He melts.

His hands hover awkwardly before finally resting lightly on your hips. You swear he’s trembling just slightly, trying so hard to stay respectful while also completely losing it inside.

“Right, yes, lap is… available. Entirely yours. Always.”

You lean in close to whisper something teasing in his ear, and the poor man makes a noise. Something between a whimper and a gasp. He’s not going to recover.

Marc Spector⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

You straddle his lap after a sparring session—sweaty, smug, victorious (even though you technically lost). He’s still catching his breath, hands on your thighs like they belong there, giving you that signature “I know exactly what you’re doing” smirk.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low and gritty, eyes dark with heat. “You keep climbing into my lap like that, and you’re gonna get more than just a breather.”

You arch a brow, challenging him. “Promise?”

He grins—wolfish, cocky.

Big hands slide over your waist like he owns it, like he’s memorized you a hundred times before.

“Don’t tempt me unless you’re ready to cash in.”

And yeah. You might’ve been planning to tempt him all along.

Jake Lockley ⋆⭒˚.⋆

You don’t even ask, you just drop into his lap in the backseat of the cab after a long night, unbothered by the leather and the dim glow of city lights. His arms wrap around you before you even settle, possessive and easy, like this is second nature.

Jake leans in close, breath warm against your ear.

“Mi cielo… you know what you’re doing to me, don’t you?”

You hum innocently, letting your hips shift just enough to feel the sharp inhale he tries to hide.

His gloved hand slides up your back, slow, firm. You can feel the tension in him, the restraint. He could flip the script in a second, and you both know it.

“You sit in my lap like you own it, cariño.”

You grin. “Don’t I?”

His smile is dangerous.