cw: WILL NEED 18+ LOGGED IN X ACC! piv, fingering, groping, oral m!, use of cigarettes, light degrading, jealous/hate sex, tiny little fanfic ad in there, cowgirl/chokehold/missionary and more
a/n: gets good after 05. Trust. GoM + others
━━━━━ ᗰᗩᗪE ✦ ᖇEᘔITIO ━━━━━
01. Riding your upperclassman
02. 'Late night talks' with Nash
03. Every time you two try to watch a movie together.
04. I don't have anything to say just me on Nash fr 😛
05. How I imagine eye contact with Nash because he doesn't know how to look at someone without looking down on them.
06. He loves to fuck you high.
"You want some?...open your mouth."
"mmm—fuuck you look soo hot. naughty girl..."
07. You thought you hated him. And that he hated you. You've endured so much hostility he threw at you, making your university first year a living hell—all because of some old high school basketball team you used to manage. So why...why was he touching you like this, and why were you allowing him? fic here:(coming soon!)
08. Nash would have a stereotype that every girl living in Japan was just a modest, innocent girl. Oh, did he thank God he was wrong. (you don't have to be Japanese you just live there)
09. You hadn't even been in your boyfriend's house 2 minutes before he started touching you on his couch.
"wore that damn skirt f'me, huh?"
"Come here dressin' like that, expecting m' to behave."
10. He just shows up in your apartment whenever you post on your Instagram.
"flantin' your body like that...pound...f' all those pervs dreamin' of fuckin' ya like this...pound...ta see—you like gettin' me angry like this?
Malachi Liddell ♦ The Emperor ♦ He/Him ♦ 40 ♦ The Jabberwocks ♦ Heir Apparent
"Heavy is the head that wears the crown." Do you even lift, bro?
Malachi Liddell. Have you seen this boy? He's the angel of his lovesick mother's eyes, and the Jabberwock's future to his vengeful father's heart. He's just a boy of barely eight, last seen in his room at the Liddell's residence before drifting off to sleep. The housemaids, security, and remaining staff to the family of high society have all been questioned at great lengths with no leads yet to be uncovered. A reward is being offered for any information leading to Malachi's safe return.
Don't the police understand they're owned? This shouldn't be their top priority; this should be their only priority. Days go by without movement. Fuck their investigation. Mr. Liddell waits for no one. He knows who is responsible--the only group of people that would have the bollocks to take his own son from his own house. They had to! End of! They want blood? He will make it pour in the streets--anything to make them pay for laying a finger on Malachi's head.
London begins to reek of death in every shadow, even more than before. The losses grow, not just at the intended target, but those that are sent out for war. Days grow into weeks, weeks into months, and as time stretches on so does the chance that a little boy is still alive and well. Repayment for kidnapping topples into avenging a murder until a never-ending war finally reaches its climax, screeching to a halt with Malachi's miraculous return. It truly is nothing short of a miracle, a gift to end all gifts from the very enemies The Jabberwocks have sworn to destroy since the disappearance: the Jolly Rogers.
He's unharmed. Skinny. Dirty. But unharmed. The Jolly Rogers claim no responsibility for the original disappearance, as they've maintained from the beginning. If they had, wouldn't they have demanded something from the Jabberwocks for his return? Wouldn't he have been used as a bargaining chip rather than a ticking time bomb? And if that's not enough to convince the Liddells, they prove it by hand-delivering the captors who are responsible. Swiftly, the Jabberwocks terminate them, as close to an acceptance as the Jolly Rogers were ever likely to receive. Peace is a fairy tale, but the deluge of casualties over the incident ends there.
Malachi, Malachi, you caused quite a stir. Your mother hugs you tight and swears never to let you go while the paparazzi nearly blind you to capture the reunion. Neither of your parents notice that all your baby teeth have been replaced by your adult ones already. They're just relieved to see you. And after thirty years, who would ever question a thing about you?
There's always more to a story than what meets the eyes or the printed pages. The public saw a privileged boy from a well-connected family become lost for months and then be found thanks to a good tip. The underworld witnessed something different. Their lives were turned upside down for all those months--eight of them and sixteen days for anyone who was counting--and the ripples of the incident are only now settling into distant memories for the majority. Those that know the truth are a dying breed with one exception who continues to thrive on it: Malachi Liddell, a name that has replaced another from a lifetime ago.
No one will ever hear about Aiden Decker. He was a poor child birthed from an even poorer mother. There was no such thing to Aiden as a father figure, having his biological one left as a mystery, even in his identity. He grew up not being able to tell if even his mother knew who he was, much less where he was. Besides, it was a detail that mattered little in comparison to where you would sleep at night or where your next meal would come from. He vaguely remembered a time when he met his grandmother, a frail looking woman who refused to even open the door to them, just peered at them through the windows before the curtain blocked the view.
He was a child who grew up with no childhood, an adult straight from the womb who had to figure out a way to survive. His mother didn't help; she could barely help herself. At four years old, Aiden was aware of what the kindness of strangers could get him: warm meals, blankets, money, a fighting chance. At six, he could use it against them, learning sleight of hand when it came to pick-pocketing tourists. The next year, he would become dependent on it.
That's one memory that's still there, no matter how many years have elapsed or how hard Aiden's life has been pushed down to a murky abyss; he still remembers the first time he heard the sound of a gunshot, thinking to himself how it didn't sound like the kind in the movies. There was another thing Hollywood couldn't get right: the color of his mother's blood that ran down the alleyway.
All his life he was told to avoid the police. If he didn't, he would be taken away, locked up, never to see the light of day. That was what he was told, that was what was engraved in his blood, and it was the one rule that he stood by, even in the face of the person who marked him with it dead in the streets, helpless. He hid, just enough to be out of sight, but close enough to wait and watch to see what would become of his only family.
A gunshot should have raised alarm bells. Any moment now the police would arrive and investigate. They would find the killer of his mother and arrest them, throw them in the very same cell that was meant for him his mother had warned him about. But it didn't. It took hours for officers to arrive, and when they did, Aiden could hear one actually laughing while the other seemed annoyed about the mess "these people" were causing them to clean up after.
The next day, Aiden took to the newstand, poured over the paper. Josie Decker didn't even make the last page, overshadowed by some stupid little boy called Malachi Liddell. His even dumber parents made the front page and underneath was the word "reward" making the headline. The picture they had of him looked familiar, a similarity between himself and the boy of the hour, but it would be those eight months later that anything would come of it. Surely, wouldn't a proud family such as the Liddells know the difference between their golden child and a street rat?
The press never learned that Tessa Liddell, Malachi's mother, saw her son by chance most times. She had her hands full with shopping, attending parties, and contesting an aging clock. Ezekiel Liddell, the patriarch to a family and dynasty, was the Crimson Hand to the Jabberwocks. Malachi was too young to be involved in the business, just old enough to make connections with the children of other families the Liddells publically blended in with. He was his legacy first, his son second. In the time it took from Malachi's disappearance to his reemergence, the parents have genuinely not questioned any difference nor have noticed one. It helps when a convincing replica has been given to them.
It was not solely the work of the Jolly Rogers of that generation to fool the Liddells. Aiden Decker transformed himself without any help into Malachi Liddell. He took a better look of the boy than his parents ever could, even giving himself a distinctive burn mark on his hand he happened to notice from a photo that was found in old magazines. The first few days of meeting the Liddells, Aiden didn't talk, pretending to be too traumatized to speak, soaking up the posh accent he was not graced with. And as the years rolled by, Aiden Decker was dead and buried. He never even existed to begin with. He was always Malachi Liddell. That's all anyone would ever know.
He took the role seriously. This was his new life, and he would defend it to the death if he had to. As a teenager, he stepped into the business, shadowing his father. Even in his downtime, too young to legally play himself, he learned the games of the casino, besting even Ezekiel. You couldn't have a prouder father than one who had a son mastering the art of counting cards. Later, he attended military school, the most prestigious academy that taught royalty alongside a Liddell. He absorbed more than what was trained to him, cementing connections that would last a lifetime, bringing them home to be banked on by the Jabberwocks. It only served to expand the business he was destined to put his newly presented captain's title to use.
When London was returned to, he was more than equipped to be the new head of the Red Rose Casino, the fresh face for the public to enjoy that the Jabberwocks would one day have to be led by. That day was approaching sooner by the minute, and for anyone that might have doubted the strength of the scion, he had his ways of making his mark indelible.
The first to attempt to steal from the Red Rose Casino is missing a hand. The second is missing his sight. The third is just missing in general. Only the Jabberwocks themselves know that the fate of anyone who crosses them rests in Malachi's palm, rolled by a pair of dice like the life of the one on trial is just another game. To him, it's fitting. It's justice. The only kind that exists in the world he's seen since he was a child, and the kind that will continue to rule under him.
His reign is only just beginning, too, a crown in sight. Ezekiel Liddell, the powerful Crimson Hand, had suffered a heart attack. His health was in jeopardy, and although it was not fatal, it put his days of being the emperor on hold. It's up to Malachi, now, a man who doesn't know the meaning of abdication.
He'll come across as an idiot, but don't trust it.
Malachi thinks cops are worthless pigs and will never truly respect them. They’re meant to be bought, and that’s all they’re good for.
He's the best card player you'll ever meet. It comes with the territory, but Malachi has a particular knack for Blackjack, along with knowing some fun card tricks in general.
While against taking drugs personally, Malachi isn't above drugging another for various reasons, including information, blackmail, etc.
He’s a gracious host. He's inherited and made many connections in high society.
Expanding the business into stock manipulation is an interest of his. The stock market is just another form of legal gambling, after all.
Overview: You are Kise's S/O in the timeline where they had to face the Jabberwocks.
•-–-•
"The Jabberwocks?!" You stood up in your seat, walking towards your boyfriend who is casually drinking water acting like what he just said was not a big deal. "You got to be kidding me Ryou, you saw how they played agains-" Kise placed the glass down heavily as if he had the intention to break it.
You saw his eyes, you know this look.
You know this too well.
His eyes sparked with anger and excitement.
"I did, (y/n)-cchi. That is why I have to play, I'm not going to seat back and watch those fuckers mock us." You sighed, with him like this, no matter what you say or do to stop him, even if you break an arm or two, Kise will still have his way. Stubborn but that's one of his likeable trait, well, for you, that is.
When he sets his mind into something, he'll definitely succeed with a hundred percent rate.
Kise pouted upon seeing you worried for him.
"(y/n)-cchi, I'm getting sad that you don't trust me." He cried making you shake your head at his antics, typical Kise. You wrapped your arms around his big frame, looking up you said, "Of course I trust you stupid! I just don't want them to hurt you! They play dirty!" Kise grinned and lifted you up, his hand supported you by placing it under your soft thighs, gaining much protest from you. "Ryou! I'm heavy!" You groaned while trying to break away from his grasp. This just made Kise chuckled and he gave your lips a small peck.
"You're not heavy! Who says you heavy! I can carry you all day, (y/n)-cchi..." You rolled your eyes at his flirtatious state, you didn't noticed that Kise is already moving towards the bedroom.
"But I rather want to see under me.." He winked at you before pinning you down the bed.
"Ryouta, we are supposed to eat!" Kise bent down and nibbled on your neck, you gasped at the sudden touch. "I want to start with the dessert first, do you mind?"
Kise was about to kiss you when his phone beeped. Uttering several complaints he grabbed his phone and saw that Kuroko has texted him. After seeing the text, he bolted up from the bed. "Sorry, (y/n)-cchi! But Kuroko-cchi is asking me to go now! Such a cockblocker." You throw the pillow at him and of course, he caught it. "You and your damn reflexes, go dummy." Kise gave you a flying kiss before taking a quick shower.
Right as he was about to open the door, he turned at you with his puppy-dog eyes mode on. "You're coming to watch right?"
He shouldn't even have to ask, it was obvious. You will always be there to support him even if it hurts to see him in pain. You were there even before they became the well-know Generation of Miracles.
You started to like Kise ever since he blocked a ball during a volleyball tournament. After that, you became his fan, his first ever fan, giving him refreshments and going to every game.
As his fame rises though, it became a different story.
He became hard to reach.
You gave up on Kise but the feelings stayed. You realised that you weren't just there as a fan, you have already fallen for him. Watching him play for Kaijou, the feelings grew especially at the time when their team lost to Seirin, you decided to try again. Kise thought of you as just a fan but the more he saw you, the more he got used to you, part of it was because the two of you are already comfortable seeing how you were both schoolmates in Teiko and Kaijou. Kise began to see you as his friend during the incident when you helped him with his injuries due to being mobbed by girls. He then always looked for you, always wanted to be with you. It took a lot of nagging and punches from Kasamatsu for him to notice his feelings for you.
After that, you two started dating and the rest is history as here you are now, still happy with each other despite the downsides.
Given the situation, there's no reason for you to not watch his game. You flicked his forehead and Kise scrunched his nose in pain. Before he could even start to cry being the big baby he is, you gave him a deep kiss. Your hands found it's way to pat his golden locks of hair.
Kise melted against your touch, you always knew how to give him strength.
You pulled away, staring deeply into his eyes as he blinked in confusion. You beamed and said, "I'll make sure to cheer for you very loud while wearing your jersey!"
Kise wanted to thank all the gods and goddesses upon seeing your lovely smile. He really was lucky to have you. He gave you another tight hug and several kisses. With that, he left and vowed to not only avenge Kasamatsu but to make his girlfriend proud.
A week has passed and it sucks not having your incredibly chatty and clingy boyfriend. You missed him, a lot. Still, you're happy whenever he calls you and give you an update. Even if it's during a random time. You can't help but chuckle at how excited he is.
Right now, you're currently in Roppongi.
Your family is known to have different businesses and one of them is a famous bar which has been passed into your care. Like always, you're checking the status of the place, helping out and gathering reports. Kise didn't like your workplace as you can't deny, it is place where trouble can happen now and then.
Akashi gladly helped by partnering with you and you gave an opportunity to have the best security there is.
But the night just started and there are some foreigners demanded to have the most luxurious private room while eyeing one of your employee with lust.
"Y-Yes, come this way sir." Your employee, Shiro, escorted them. Your blood boiled when you saw them slap her butt and laughed.
You gritted your teeth as you began to walk towards them. "Excuse me, welcome to our bar. I'm the owner of this place."
"I'll be in charge of this, Shiro-san." You whispered and she muttered a soft thankyou before going back to the counter.
That's when you got a good look at them, you recognised these people. "Jabberwocks?!" You thought as you hide your disgust with a smile. You mentally cursed, out of all you could meet, why did it have to be them?
You tried to keep yourself calm as they continued to make flirty comments with you. There's this one guy who you felt the most uncomfortable, it's the one who had a silver colored hair. He kept trying to be more touchy but you abruptly opened the door to their room, stopping him from whatever he was planning to do.
"Here you go, ring the bell when you guys are ready to order." You bowed and closed the door, hearing their disgusting comments.
"Man, she got this big ass and breast! I'd fuck her all night long."
"Dibs on her, I want to know if those beautiful lips can do wonders."
"Okay, punching a customer is not good for business.." You tried to calm your mind, stomping your way to the counter. Shiro, your employee immediately apologised and you just gave her a reassuring smile.
"I'll deal with them, I won't let you guys in danger." Saying that was easier said than done. They continued making a ruckus, you decided it was time for them to go.
You took the tray and went to deliver their last order. "Excuse me.." You opened the door just to see them towering a familiar figure before he got kicked.
"Kuroko!" You dropped the tray and went to his aid. This is it, the last straw. You stood infront of Kuroko and glared at them. "Alright sir, you have to leave." You were about to grab the phone to call security, but the man who you learned to be called as, Silver grabbed your arm. "Oh, look at her get so feisty." He licked his lips, his face was inches away from yours.
You slapped him, hard. Silver did not expect you to be this aggressive. He dropped your arm and placed his hand on where you have just touched him. He smirked, you were in big trouble now.
"You know? I don't really pick on pretty girls, but someone's being such a bitch."
Your eyes widened, everything happened too fast. You couldn't dodge his fist, he was just, too much. You fell to the ground, coughing out blood. "Stay away from my (y/n)-cchi!" Kise cradled you, you can feel him shaking from anger. "Ryouta? Why are you.." You continue to cough, he got you good there.
You felt dizzy. You heard Kise's voice gradually became distant as your vision became blurry before passing out.
Everyone can sense the tension from the room as Kise stood up, carrying you gently. "She's your girl? She could do better." Kise clicked his tongue, he was ready to pounce on him but Midorima placed his hand on his shoulder.
"Athlete's should settle their scores through sports, right?" Akashi stated.
Kise can't deny that he was right.
You and Kuroko were brought to the hospital for a quick check up. The doctor just said you were knocked out unconscious due to the sudden impact in the heart area.
"Rest assured, everything is actually okay. She just need to stay hydrated." Kise thanked the doctor.
"Just you wait, (y/n)-cchi. I'll beat them up tomorrow. I promise." He held your hand and kiss you.
Kise was relunctant to leave you in the hospital but they had to go. His heart dropped knowing you won't be there to cheer on him, your smile when saying you 'll be there flashed through his mind.
Kise may be perceived as happy-go-lucky, immature, but promises are something he never breaks. Never.
"Fuck!" You were running at full force despite the judgement of the doctors. You have arrived late to the game as you had just woken up from the hospital. They wanted you to rest up but no, you can't let Kise be alone right now.
You immediately saw the rest of the team. "Everyone! I'm sorry I'm late!" You sat beside Kuroko, who was surprised to see you. Everyone was concerned but you didn't care. You didn't even bother to greet the rest of team as you noticed Kise's ragged breathing. He was tired, your heart ached at his form.
You stood up, it was now or never. You took a deep breath and screamed with allyour might.
"KISE RYOUTA I LOVE YOU!"
The whole court went quiet, all eyes were now on you. "Is that chick a lunatic?" Kise smirked, you're the only one who can give him strength at a time like this.
Kise was able to pass throughSilver's defence and dunk the ball. Kise searched for you, your eyes met his. He was now in the zone.
You continued to cheer and he continued to score. He was slowly catching up to the Jabberwocks! The crowd went wild, your heart was beating so loud from excitement. Kise is really a different person when in game.
When Kise dropped to his knees you dashed towards the court. "How lame.." He sighed, he felt a little ashamed that he didn't last too long especially when a certain someone is watching.
"Don't be ridiculous! You did great." Although it felt good to be complimented by Akashi, it did not compare to you running towards him with that goofy smile on yo ur face and hugging him tightly even if his whole body aches.
"(y/n)-cchi.." You rested your forehead against his before leaning to kiss him.
"I'm proud of you, Ryouta."
BONUS
"(y/n)-cchi! That hurts!" Kise complained for the nth time, it started to irritate you now. You got up from the seat, calling your father. "Hi papa! Have you considered my proposition?" You eyes Kise who gave you an innocent smile.
"Yeah, about that Jabberwocks? Good. Cut off all resources connected to them. Thanks papa." You placed your phone on the nightstand before cuddling with your dramatic boyfriend.
No one hurts your Kise Ryouta and gets away with it.
Hiii, I love your writing and your blog is super dope
If I could pop on and ask some general headcanons with Nash Gold Jr from knb? I was thinking it would be funny him with a manager reader for the generation of miracle (drama I know lol) and them reuniting some time later in the States and boom enemies to lovers on it's way
❝𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐄?❞ nash gold jr. headcannons + smut
cw: 4.2k+ wrds. enemies to ??, humiliation kìnk throughout, degradìng, mentions of alcohol/drūgs, freshman/senior relationship, nash is pretty mean. Smut at the end, cute scene at the bottom!
a/n: this took way too long mb.
━━━━━ ᗰᗩᗪE ✦ ᖇEᘔITIO ━━━━━
I imagine you did something during the Vorpal Swords vs. Jabberwock match that etched you into his memory forever. Maybe it was the way you were so compassionate towards those Japanese guys, or maybe you shoved him back when he tried to walk all over you for his own validation. May have even had something to do with how high your skirt hung and how tight that shirt clung that day.
Nash sat under the shade of an old campus tree. Recently escaped the rigorous grind of college basketball practice. He could’ve been half-asleep, high out of his mind, or simply not present in the moment. You might even call it peaceful, if not for the swarm of freshmen turning the courtyard into a circus in the name of Orientation Saturday.
He scanned the crowd, silently judging with lazy disinterest, until something caught at the corner of his eye. A glint. He had to double-take. Every ounce of consciousness hit him like a brick; he swore it was the most sober he’s ever been.
The familiarity of your face jolting his mind… Where had he seen you before? The moment it clicks, he bursts out laughing, unprompted and loud, drawing weird looks from Silver and Nick, the other two escapees, who figured he was riding a high a little too hard.
Nash Gold Jr. was one of the first names you heard from the senior girls in your dorm house, along with a few giggles and eye rolls. The name was familiar; in fact, you knew that your university had a boast-worthy basketball team, concluding the fact that some past Jabberwocks might be lurking around. But you didn't expect half the damn team, much less did you pray he wouldn’t be among
But the past was past; you doubted he even remembered you, and you were done with basketball. There was no reason for you two to cross paths. But fate…fate had a cruel sense of humor.
𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐃𝐈𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓?
Your first meeting with Nash wasn’t a cute reunion. It was in a cramped dorm common room, air heavy with a mix of perfume, sweat, and weed; the floor was sticky with alcohol and different fluids, the bass thumping so loud it was rattling your core. It was in a rush party.
You weren’t having the most fun, but your friends and roommates had begged you to attend. It was just a social event to get settled in quicker, your seniors promised. Having little faith in your friend’s ability to think whenever she was drunk, you agreed. Just to dance a bit and watch over your best friend
First, it was going how it should, dancing together, interacting with other people on campus, and wasting away little by little, but eventually the peak of any college party arrived, the time where everyone was drunk, mindlessly grinding on each other, and finding someone to end the night off with.
You were getting tired. Tired of the endless parade of guys sliding up behind you, slurring filthy promises. Each reeked of cheap alcohol. You were done. Ready to call it a night and get the hell out.
Your eyes darted, searching for your friend, but she wasn’t in sight. You spent ten minutes pushing and shoving through the crowd in search of her, with worry rising with each passing second. Soon, you found her, wedged, unable to move in Silver’s grip, looking straight at you, pleading, silently begging for you to help her. You did not hesitate.
You yanked your friend out of Jason’s grip, and she practically collapsed into your arms. Jason didn’t fight it, just laughed before giving a lazy kick in her direction. Relief washed through you; at least he backed off. If he wanted your friend, what could you have done against a man who stood nearly seven feet tall?
It was a clean save—until… you locked eyes with Nash. Even now, you still wonder if things would’ve been different had you just looked away.
Nash dragged you for stepping in. hero, cockblock…fridge, even your own father and your friend caught strays. It was so bad even Silver spoke up before hushing himself, choking on his own laughter.
“Jesus Nash, they're freshmen.”
“I don’t give a fuck? She wanted to play hero.”
You were spared when your senior dorm mate stepped in. Nash waved her off and walked away, but the damage had already been done. He had humiliated you. humiliation that branded you as ‘the girl Nash hates’ the whole of freshman year
And it wasn’t like this one event made the name stick. You would breathe—Nash would get annoyed.
The first few weeks after that, Nash completely ignores you. Telling himself he didn’t care about you. But the truth was, he felt something whenever you were around, something he couldn’t name. And because he couldn’t understand it, he called it hate. The more he tried to suppress it, the stronger it got, so he doubled down on the act. Convinced it was hate.
Then came forced proximity; somehow you kept brushing shoulders. Seminars, parties, events. You even ended up in his sister sorority, which meant he had to acknowledge your presence. In public, he tried to act indifferent to you, but whenever you put yourself out there, started making friends, or worse, dared to talk to another guy in his presence?! That's when all sorts of vulgarities come your way.
You found yourself wondering what the hell Nash had against you. He was playing with you, waiting for you to snap at him the way you had during the Last Game or for you to crumble under his constant teasing. Anything more than the glare you gave him.
While he waited, he started testing you, poking for reactions. A shoulder check in the hallways. Excessively humiliating whatever guy you were talking to during a streetball game (you have a type), unnecessarily towering over you in the library to grab a book, and pinning you there for too long.
He just wants you to snap, and when you finally do…oh boy…
It’s public. Dining hall, house party, seminar—somewhere he normally humiliates you. He crosses the line like he always does, dragging you a little too hard, thinking you’ll brush it off again.
But this time you don’t. You tear into his ego, obsession with a random freshman, and immaturity; you don’t even spare his mother. For the first time Nash is the one humiliated. You two go back and forth until Nash just storms off, not because of frustrations of not getting his way, but that tent in his jeans that grew more and more visible with each insult you threw at him.
From then on, you stopped being “Nash’s target” and became “Nash’s rival.” Every single setting you two appear at the same time, there’s always a fight. Nash instigates, you refuse to back down.
Back-to-back fights when you are within five centimeters of each other. It’s known by the whole campus; you and Nash can’t even exist in the same room. It’s hard to believe you even breathe the same air.
From seniors down to freshmen, the girls praised you for standing up to a dick like Nash. While boys who dick-ride their basketball god mock you—never to your face, of course. They were too scared of the girl who could go back-and-forth with Nash Gold himself.
Petty wars became a constant between you two because snarky comments weren’t enough. Nash ‘accidentally’ launching a basketball straight into your overpriced coffee, never making way for you when his gang blocks up the hallways, you ‘accidentally’ spilling drinks on his jersey.
Both friends are tired of it. Nick is tired of whispering ‘just fuck already,’ and your friends basically beg you to swallow your pride and admit you think he’s attractive.
Nash is still convincing himself the growing weight in his chest is hate. Every time his chest tightens when you walk into the gym, he tells himself it’s irritating. He notices too much, and when he gets jealous? He calls it rage. He was reaching his breaking point.
You tell yourself you can’t fall for him. Not when you know how selfish and arrogant he is. But every time he smirks at you, you try to frame it as condescension. You hate the way your stomach flips when he leans too close or how your pulse jumps when he calls you out.
You’re battling your own thoughts, struggling to hold onto your pride and shove away the dirt that creeps in whenever he gets too close. When his arm wraps around your waist to shove you out of the way, your mind betrays you. When his breath brushes your ear as he mutters some low insult, you hate the pulse weakening your knees. You tell yourself it’s disgust; it has to be. But the images that flash behind your closed eyelids while you shyly grind your pillow for relief say otherwise.
𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬?
Where the lie you both tell yourself breaks was again at a party. By this time the whole Jabberwock team, even the ones in distant universities that play friendly matches sometimes, are convinced you two want to fuck each other but are too big-headed with pride to admit it, while the rest of the school thinks the hate is real.
You’re dancing, forcing yourself to have fun, trying to swallow the tension shoved down your throat. The crowd stirs, eyes darting between you two, expecting a fight to spark at any second. But the alcohol makes it hard to care.
Nash sulks on a couch somewhere, swearing the reason he doesn’t want to dance isn’t because of your presence, swearing he didn’t even notice you, that he couldn’t care less. But every few seconds his eyes dart towards you, watching over your dancing figure, glaring at any guy who dares come closer, his gaze lingering whenever you go down low, only turning away with a scoff.
You? You’re forcing yourself to have the time of your life, dancing the night away doing your best to ignore Nash’s presence. Then came the party's high. Everyone’s drunk; seconds are getting more and more dangerous for a freshman to linger around here any longer.
It was driving Nash crazy. Why were you still here? You were smart enough to always leave with your group at this time. Why the fuck were you still out there? Why were you being so reckless tonight?
He’s spent the whole night protecting you, and he'd barely had time to enjoy the party himself. He’s been stealing your spiked drinks, blocking the way for those idiots who think they have a chance to sneak up on you, glaring at any guys who dare whisper about ‘catching you outside.’
But this? This was taking the fucking piss of him. Grinding on the well-known campus rapist? You had to be toying with him intentionally.
He doesn’t move. He stays planted in his seat, letting you dance, letting you laugh—because he knows if he gets up now, his fists won’t stop. His leg bounces, his eyes not leaving you, restraint crawling up veins all over his neck and temple. He’s like a land mine, waiting to explode as the pressure increases.
The reason for your carelessness? Ovulation. You weren’t usually like this during this week, but tonight the need hit harder than you expected. You only came to this party because you were desperate for a fuck. You told yourself it didn’t matter who, but deep down you knew. All that tension you’d been ignoring, pushing down every time he pressed too close, every time his palm found your waist to shove you aside—it hadn’t gone anywhere. It had been festering up until now.
The need had fogged your mind, made you reckless. To make matters worse, no men had even approached you tonight. A week ago, they would’ve been all over you when you had the sense to reject, eye-roll, and laugh in the face of any man who tried to get close to you. But now? Nothing. What extraterrestrial force was cockblocking you?
And then the first guy finally came up to you. A little late, but still, you tried. You didn’t even bother looking at his face. Tried to feel something other than his hard-on digging into your ass, other than the uncomfortable friction. But your body wouldn’t let you. It screamed that it wasn’t him. Him who? You know damn well.
With a heavy sigh, you gave up. Tonight wasn’t going to give you the release you were chasing. A better attempt waited at home with your toy and your favorite audios. But just as you shifted to leave, the grip on your waist tightened. He shoved you back down on him, rutting against you like a desperate mutt.
You finally got a good look at him and let out a shaky sigh. How could you have been so reckless? And then he had the audacity to lean into your ear, breath foul, whispering bullshit like, “Let’s take this to my place.” Practically shoving you toward the door, you felt the pit in your stomach drop. You thought you were fucked.
Seeing you push him away, only for him to yank you back, was the spark that lit Nash’s anger. He didn’t even remember standing, didn’t register shoving through the swarm of bodies. But people moved. Even drunk, even hazy, they saw the look in his eyes.
A single, heavy-handed punch from Nash—he dropped. Nash didn’t even spare him a glance. The crowd were too drunk in their own haze to register what just happened, only parting as Nash cut through them. His hand gripped around your wrist, ignoring your protests as he dragged you out the door without a word, your feet scrambling to keep up.
He doesn’t stop until the two of you are in a secluded, empty hallway. Only then does he finally let go of your arm and, for the first time, really look at you.
Anger. You saw so much of it in his eyes. All that frustration bubbling to the surface. And sure, it wasn’t directed at you… But how were you supposed to know that?
You could lie. You could say you snapped because you were mad at his arrogance, his nerve. But the truth?
You were hurt. Hurt by the way he looked at you—like you nearly disgust him. Hurt by the anger and the hate in his eyes, because for one terrifying second, he had shown he cared.
And now... now he’s staring at you the same way he always does.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
His jaw tensed. “What’s wrong with me? I just stopped that asshole from humping you like—”
Nash's frustration was boiling over. He was done. Done with the tension, the games. Whatever this thing was between the two of you, he’d finally choked on it.
“You were going to let him put his hands on you like that?” His voice cracked for a second; he sounded hurt that the possibility of you liking it had really scarred him—but only for a second, before he doubled down: “Why the hell would I just stand there and watch?”
“I didn’t need your help!” you snapped, “What? Now you want to play the hero?!”
He barked a flat laugh, dragging a hand down his face. “Yeah, sure. Handle yourself. You looked really in control when he had his hands all over you.”
Rage surged up your throat. You shoved him hard. “I don’t need you to save me! I don’t need you pretending like you give a damn about me now. Where was all this concern before?”
“Don't do that.”
“Do what, Nash?”
“I'm not trying to be a hero. I just—I couldn’t stand there and watch. I—" He cut himself off, jaw clenched tight, fists curling at his sides.
You didn’t let up. “You what, Nash?” Your voice cracked this time, hurt bleeding through the anger. “Spit it out. Or is this just another excuse?”
His ‘confession’ came out raw.
“You think I waste my time beefing with some random freshman for fun? You really don’t get it, do you? How else am I supposed to know where you are if people aren’t teasing me about it 24/7? Why the hell do you think I go to every party on this damn campus, and the second no one’s talking about us, I leave? Half the time, the only reason I even step foot in some overcrowded dorm room is to make sure you’re not there. What do you think it's for fun? I care. More than I should. More than I fucking want to.”
You just stared at him, stunned, racing to understand his words. His eyes… the anger had faded. Just left with the soft and vulnerable in his eyes, and god, did he look so beautiful and worn out and unguarded.
But no—he can’t be doing this! Not now. Not after everything. Who the hell gave him the right?
“You— no.” You've backed up a step. “You don’t get to do that. You can’t just—after all the shit you’ve put me through—no!”
𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐮𝐭? (begging and humiliation, lust-fueled, multiple orgasms, first time reader, corruption kink, fingering, piv, multiple round, rough n gentle sex, praises at the end)
First kiss wasn’t sweet and buttery. Nothing like one you'd coo yourself at night thinking about to fall asleep, but rather have it keeping you up at night, craving it again.
Nash kissed you to shut you up. You kissed him back to dampen the tension, still at the borderline of deciding whether to let your heart or your logic win
But then the way his lips fit perfectly against yours, the way his tongue just barely grazed the tip of yours — it was impossible to resist. It was an invitation. An invitation to make every bad decisions you were so desperate to avoid.
He pulled away, and you whimpered softly. “My dorm’s in the next building…” Yours was on the opposite side of campus. “…Do you want to…?”
His eyes searched yours for any sign of resistance, but you gave him nothing. No clear yes. No firm no.
You thought about it—would you let your pride win, walk away feeling ashamed, or give in to what you wanted and fall into the arms of your oppressor? It wasn’t much of a choice.
Nash hadn't even locked the door fully before you were already climbing on him, wrapping your legs around his pelvis and deepening the kiss.
He soon embraced the lustful kiss, slowly removing pieces of garment of yours and his as he strutted slowly to the bed.
You did most of the making out, all he did was kiss back focusing more on undoing the clip of your bra and the buckle of his belt. All he did was allow you to use his lips to get the relief you were so craving, unsurprised you chose the safest method of pleasure, a kiss.
He empathized with you. I mean, he felt it too: raw, uncultivated lust. If he were inexperienced, experiencing it for the first time, he’d probably be just as shy, sticking to making out and letting the other person initiate the acts you so desperately wanted.
Though he understood the blurred line of love and lust way better than you do, didn’t mean he's going to make it easier for you. He wasn’t a saint here to make your first time smooth and easy. He was a sexually frustrated man with needs.
Maybe if you hadn’t pushed him with your recklessness earlier, or if he had the willpower to resist his own need, you could’ve been spared. But even the Jabberwock was the villian in its own story.
He dropped you onto the mattress, his golden eye glowing in the dark. At this point, he was done playing. All those games he’d been toying with since the start of the year? Over. The final whistle had blown, and it seemed both of you had lost to your own desires.
Begging and humiliation. Though in the privacy of his room. Nash makes you beg for his fingers, lips not yet even allowing you to see in the monster confided to his boxers. He lets you confess all the times you had felt. The dirty thoughts you had, the way you had once moaned his name while playing with yourself. He lets you say all of them while begging on your knees for him to stop pulling away at the last second. (Dw he confesses a few boners of his own, but with no embarrassment unlike your flustered and desperate form)
Let's you cum by his fingers or tongue twice, before finally releasing his own hard, leaking with way too much precum. He sizes his length and your hole, right hand consciously rubbing itself as if to soothe it.
How the hell was he going to make it fit. Even his finger was clenched way too tight in you
“ever stuck somethin’ up there before?” An embarrassing question
You shake your head no. He's half quarter worried for you, other majority too excited to relive his blue balls to care.
He enters. He swears if he hadn't pulled out right when he did he would have came inside you just by feeling your warmth
You hiss and writhe, a bit wary to let him penetrate you for a second time.
“too fuckin’ tight…shit—”
He soothes you with words, establishing a safe word before entering again. He doesn't move, to let you breathe, accommodate him—and himself to stop mentally orgasming with each clench of your walls.
You moaned when the pleasure started to quick in, for him it was a telling sign he could move.
He fucks you into the mattress, holding the headboard as support, trapping you between him and it preventing another escape attempt. You enjoyed the feeling so full but it felt like he would split you in half with every thrust.
He got quiet, glowing gold eyes focused on your body movement, making sure he's hitting the right spot, not doing too deep while chasing his on pleasure
He lets you do whatever with your hands and legs but when you started interfering, pushing on his pelvis faltering his rhythm he pinned them together agaisnt the headboard. Your mistake because his grip was too tight, most likely going to cause marks around your wrists in the morning.
You came before him, unable to hold it while he was still thursts inside. ‘Almost’, he muttered still keeping his pace “fuck—”. He pulled out at the last second, semen oozing onto your stomach.
You were in an orgasm state—longest lasting and best you've had. He watched you swallow every wave for over a minute before you took even longer to come down from it.
Nash kissed you as you calmed the kiss was soft, gentle so you thought they were goodnight kisses. But he continued down lips targeting your neck as you pulled away to breath.
You moaned as he nippled into the subble skin, only to lick over it and suck on it.
“N-nash… aren't we mnph done…?”
He looks up at you, staring for a second, before going back down on you. He didnt respond but the look in his eyes told you.
The lust in his gaze has melt away, only left with the glowing adoration and love Left over. The feeling he had tried suppressing grown fully and on display now.
He was going another round, but a round full of praises and adoration. Instead of curses or degradation. He made love.
𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐮𝐬 - 𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠
The morning was full of unanswered questions, your phone buzzing nonstop with texts from friends asking where you were, and the one unspoken question that hung heavy in the room for both of you: ‘What are we?’
You were too exhausted to go back to whatever mess existed before last night and too attached to pretend nothing had changed. “You don’t have to think about it now,” Nash finally said, breaking the quiet.
You looked up from his bed, still wrapped in the sheets, fingers tapping across your screen as you typed out rushed excuses. He watched you calmly as he pulled sweatpants on, getting dressed for practice.
His thoughts were jumbling the same way yours were. That this wasn’t just lust anymore.
He hated the idea of leaving. He hated the idea of staying, too. Because staying would mean he would have to confront the part of him he wasn’t ready to address just yet. Not to you. Not even to himself.
“I'll get you—”
The sound of the door slamming open was the only warning you two had, but then, it was too late.
“The whole gang's been waiting for you….” The sentence died somewhere in his throat. The mechanics in his head backfired, wheels stopped turning, and his brain stopped responding. It was the smoke steaming from Silver’s ears that prompted Nick to peek into the room, his head edging over the door frame, above him, Allen and Zack.
Silence fills the room. They stare at you, dressed fully in Nash’s clothes, hair a mess, obviously been ravished, eyes dart to Nash, his neck full of hickeys, back filled with red slashes, clearly having been ravishing.
The silence stretches out till Nick’s hyena cry cackles through the air. “SO THAT'S THREE BANDS FROM EVERYONE.” He cackles, stumbling like a homeless man who had just won the lottery. Zack and Allen seem to be more disappointed in the lost money than anything else right now.
“No—you said five hundred, how did it become a band?” Allen quips, his question falling on deaf, greedy ears.
Jason's gears finally start turning again, apparently not fast enough. By the smile on Silver’s face, Nash knew he was coming to say something stupid, slamming the door shut on the four before he had a chance to let it out.
You think that was the first time you had seen Nash Gold Jr. red and flustered.
hiii, i know you said that writing m/m might be your weak spot, but i wanted to request this for a while and i believe you will rock it!!
ive been thinking about nash gold jr in a relationship with a man, since, to me, nash seems like an indulgent guy who eats what is served with pleasure, so if he really likes someone (and they like him back), he isnt worried about gender at all! and he secretly (or not so secretly) takes pride in being so desireable, high in demand for both men and women!! he is surely confident in his skills and his experience, and he knows how to make everything work out for his partner and himself!
however, nash being open-minded and experimentative doesnt mean people around him neccessarily support him, to some people his behavior and curiosity might translate as greed... society's opinions, jabberwocks' opinions, even his family' opinions, dont stop him from sleeping with whoever he wants to sleep with, its his own life and he lives it the way he likes...
but when nash decides he actually wants to commit to a man, romantically and sexually, it isnt as smooth of a ride as he hoped it would be, but he loves his man a little too much and he needs it to work out!!
i hope this request isnt too long or too detailed or maybe too boring, and i hope its within your writing range!! you can make it as angsty or as fluffy as you want to (there is potential for both), and you can include nsfw if this request is inspiring for you!! <3
- one of my fav requests had so much fun w this
𝐍𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐍
m.readerxnash jr.
𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫?
Nash was truly intrigued when he heard you liked him as something more than friends. He felt a little pride when the gossip reached him, laughing it off, but right after, he sat down to think about it.
He could lie and say he never saw you in that light. That every electric spark whenever your fingers brushed his, or the way his gaze lingered a little too long on your shirtless frame, was all just coincidences. But he knew the truth; he liked you back.
It was his first time thinking of a guy like that, and being raised a teenage boy in America, obviously, he knew of the jokes and teasing you’d both get, but truly? What people thought was the least of his worries.
His mind was more occupied with how he was going to approach this. On one hand, he felt pride; Nash Gold Jr: Ladies and gentlemen’s man. But on the other hand, he was nervous. After much thinking, he realised he truly did actually like you, but he was worried he might hurt you in some way. He knows his problems, a wandering eye, dismissing feelings that put him in the wrong—he doesn’t want to do that shit to you.
Regardless, he goes for it. He takes you out on non-traditional mini dates, although he never calls them that. They were simply ‘wanna go one on one on the court? cn try that new shop after’ texts. Then one night, when things escalate into a steamy make-out, he confesses and finally asks to put a label on this.
Not at all. Would kiss you with tongue to piss certain fuckers off. Such conflict would all come from you.
For example, if reader was closeted. For a short while, he’d play along with it,
He'd find perfectly private spots to hang out, sell the impeccable facade of ‘just friends’ in front of your parents. He loved the thrill of it. Loved how you’d act so innocent in front of your parents, like you weren’t just grinding on each other before they entered the room. But the first time you denied him in front of him, he realised he hated being hidden.
Nash is a boastful fucker. For his own man to be ashamed of him, it genuinely hurt him. He speaks to you about it, trying to compromise, but it just doesn’t work with him.
Sometimes he’s petty, intentionally slipping out details that suggested you two did a little more than talk, or he’d give you the cold shoulder, pouting, ‘Oh, now, you want to give affection.’
A secret relationship simply would not work with Nash; eventually, with his lack of will to hide it anymore, your parents will find out. No matter their response, he’s there to support you. He might feel a little bit guilty for causing such a ripple in your family, but he’s happy to see you with some dead weight cut off your back.
He doesn’t mind the jokes he would inevitably get from his surroundings, but pure mockery, which I doubt anyone from the team would do, would earn a glare, a snap-back, maybe even a petty prank, just to remind whoever that Nash Gold Jr is still Nash Gold Jr pussy or dick.
But that’s for mockery towards him; if it were mockery towards you, he would not let it slide.
Nash would ask them to repeat in a bark, watch them cower or bite back, and proceed to put his sharp tongue to good use.
Whoever would easily become the joke everyone laughs at instead of you.
But unfortunately for that person, Nash isn't all bark. If they continue to persistently over-tease, Nash would get physical, suddenly a fist lands on the idiot's face, and he's stumbling back, as the rest of the Jabberwocks team is either jumping in on the beating or egging Nash on.
I feel the Jabberwocks would treat you as Nash's guy, just as much as anyone would have been treated as Nash’s girl.
Also, wouldn't stand for disrespect towards you, like the one man who actually got to tame Nash? Oh, they praise you for it.
If you still feel shy or like you need to close yourself off, Nash would create an environment where you can feel free to be you.
𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐛𝐞?
Nash is touchy. Hands all over you every second of the day. But near more intimate places in private.
He is the face of public displays of affection; you cannot go out in public, and Nash’s hands aren't on you in some type of way.
He loves to flirt and leave you all flustered, and he’d love someone who would be bold enough to flirt back and tease him just as much as someone who’d hide their face in shame and embarassment.
Both stimulate his ego, whether by keeping it in check or inflating it.
He loves public teasing as much as he adores it in private- where he gets more handsy with you. (we’d get into that later…)
Number one hype man, supports you in whatever you do, from sports, which he’d go to practices with you, and makes you his gym buddy, to arts, which he knows nothing about, but still hypes you even if he doesn’t know what he’s looking at, but regardless, you would still be forced into his gym buddy.
Very attentive. He’d be able to pay attention to your reactions and emotions, able to tell when you’ve had a bad day or when you're hiding something.
He is loud with the relationship. Always talking about you. From bragging about you, to references, or just your name being mentioned because you are tied to many aspects of his life
If he were to be a basketball star, it wouldn’t take long for the media to know about you, with his PDA and sometimes mentioning you in interviews, or coming over to your court-side seat, and he’d never deny it if asked about it. It’s ‘yeah, I have a husband/boyfriend and?’
Nash has a wandering eye, but he’s working on it. He’d never act on it, but he’s someone who's grown up being a natural flirt. Though if you call him out, he would make an effort to stop. In a healthy-ish validating relationship, he would stop because he gets all the attention he needs from you.
Trust me, Nash knows his issues. He knows sometimes he can be hypocritical, but his jealousy, which is damn near possessive behavior, prevents his change. He can’t help how he feels when you talk a little too nicely about someone else. When he realizes he’s being hypocritical, he normally softens it to being petty, saying stuff like;
“Oh? You think he’s better than me?”
Voicing his insecurities in a petty jab but playful tone, so you recognize how it makes him feel, but also acknowledging and clowning himself by putting it in a joke-like form.
But when he’s like truly blinded by jealousy, an example, another guy/girl keeps trying to get comfortable with you or physically touches you, he doesn’t go silent. If the disgusted glare didn’t back the person off, Nash’s sharp ridicule surely would have them leaving with their head down.
Don’t even dare scold him about being ‘unnecessarily rude’, because you were about to get some too. Not a fight in public. He’d never do that to you because he knows how he gets, but in the car or at home, in a fit of rage, he’s saying words he can’t quite take back.
Fights with Nash Gold Jr would have you recalculating your worth in this world with anyone, with his boyfriend, he tries, he really does, but he can’t help it, suppressing his natural defense mechanism when it triggers. The fights are heated. He says things he didn’t mean and a few profanities that aren’t easy to forget.
But after letting it settle, he comes apologizing, doesn’t have to be a direct sorry, sometimes his ego is too big for that, but you’re able to read the lines. Especially during make-up sex, and he’s sultrily huffing out.
“…shit— don’t let me do that again.”
𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐛𝐞?
He’d be adventurous. He was someone who used to doubt he’d even enjoy sex with someone with his own autonomy, saying it would have been boring. But ever since he’s been with you, he's been anything but bored.
It opens his mind up so he’s always eager to know what he’s missing out on, willing to try new toys, new ways of stimulation. I imagine he’d send you some explicit something with the caption “Wanna try?” But it’s mostly one try stuff.
He'd be into kinks like overstimulation, light bondage, if he’s somehow convinced, roleplay, and a mix of praise and degradation.
But I’m sure he realizes your limits. He’d be able to see them through maybe emotional cues or by physical cues like signs of discomfort or how you look at him. After all, his bellial eye is very sharp.
Okay, back to what I mean by he loves private teasing. I mean, you'd be sitting on the couch playing a game, watching a show, working on a project, and he's in your ear begging to jerk you off.
It’s his favorite thing to do because of its casual convenience. You could both be busy, but as long as you are within arm's length of him, you are always susceptible to having your cock stroked by him. It’s an easy and low-effort way to have you squirming.
He’s naturally competitive. As in he’s always trying to get more moans out of you, how much longer he can go, making sure he’s winning and you're horribly losing a game you don’t know you’re playing.
Loves risky sex. locker room, and your bedroom, while your conservative parents are home, he lives on the thrill.
I feel like he would genuinely love to be praised and have his ego boosted. Not a matter of him being cocky, but him needing validation.
He's rough when he seeks validation. Back when it was still a secret, the need for validation occurred when it was forbidden sex that triggered those moments; now, jealousy triggers those moments.
he's a bit of a generous lover, but not without his selfish moments.
Dirty talk. Nash has such a way with words; it's even better in the bedroom.
Wouldn't fuck without reason, it's a connection between you two... but most of the time the reason would be the fact he can't keep his dick in his pants.
:: NASH GOLD JR. — AS A SINGLE DAD angsty-fluff headcanons
syn: basic headcannons on Nash as a single father. through pregnacy, raising and grieving
:: NASH GOLD JR. TWITTER LINKS nsfw
cw: A COLLECTION OF PRN LINKS piv, fingering, groping, oral m!, use of cigarettes, light degrading, jealous/hate sex, tiny little fanfic ad in there, cowgirl/chokehold/missionary and more
:: ❝𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐄?❞ headcannons + smut
rq: general headcanons with Nash Gold Jr? I was thinking it would be funny him with a manager reader from the generation of miracle (drama I know lol) and them reuniting some time later in the States and boom enemies to lovers on it's way
:: 𝐍𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐍 m.readerxnash
A list of general and nsfw headcannons through Nash and his man's relationship
In spite of his not-inconsiderable wealth, Rafael only owns one watch, and is rarely seen without it. It belonged to his father when he was alive, and his grandfather before him, and as such has tremendous sentimental value.
He does not like nicknames. The number of people that can get away with calling him 'Raff' you could count on one hand, and two of those are his younger sisters.
Rafael is the sort of man that never seems to go home. He owns a beautiful flat overlooking Regents Park, but there's nothing to suggest that he actually lives there - it's almost clinical, kept meticulously clean, with hardly any personal effects to speak of.
His last proper date was so long ago, he genuinely can't remember when it was - or the woman's name.
He would rather have a starter than a dessert.
Once you have Rafael's loyalty, you will have it forever. The only caveat to this is if something you do directly impacts the safety or wellbeing of his step-mother or younger sisters, who he loves more than anything else.
