#That man is also intriguing me‚ way more than I expected

[wtfaniii]

Hear me out- VIP reader and Frontman In-ho

Reader goes up to In-ho and is all like “I’m bored, can you entertain me?” And bro goes “You shouldn’t be bored, and I’m not really on the table for entertainment, but I’ll see what I can do” then ensues actions n shit. Really most of this is dealers choice in everything that happens, I just want more VIP reader content <3333

Uhhh I love it!!! I hope I understood what you expected from this!

A better show

Fem reader VIP x Front man

Summary: You are looking for better entertainment than just shows where low-class people die.

Warning: Nothing explicit but some innuendo, flirting, some submission.

N/A: I've only written smut once in my life HAHAHA, I hope you like this.

Money buys happiness.

Or at least that's what everyone around you had told you for as long as could remember.

You were disgustingly rich and beautiful but few dared to approach you for fear of rejection or your bodyguards.

You wanted action so when they talked to you about financing some deadly games for entertainment you accepted, however, this was only your third year attending as a spectator and fell asleep during the second half hour, if it weren't for the wonderful liquor they served you would surely be snoring.

Once again, you were a spectator as the players played lut, you were bored but the only thing that made you come back every year to that place and wear a heavy gold-plated honey badger mask was to enjoy the presence of a certain masked man dressed in black.

There was something about him posture and voice that captivated you, you could even swear that from time to time he saw you too.

And you were right, In-ho looked at you sometimes, she was the only woman who was part of the VIPs and your bored expression throughout the show seemed intriguing to him.

All these men were disgusting and to him you were a beautiful flower growing in a pond of dirty water.

Even though he had never seen your face even once.

Although of course, you also had a certain selfish and classist character, you had only learned what you were taught since you were a little kid.

They both looked at each other and you, with a smile that showed your white teeth, snapped your fingers and gestured for him to come closer.

However, he sent one of his employees to which you quickly denied —No, you —You pointed the finger at him specifically and he had no choice but to obey you.

Maybe the alcohol was taking its toll on your system but this time you were feeling bolder than usual, just to be sure, you took one last big sip from your glass as he stopped next to you.

—¿Do you need anything? —he asked cautiously.

That deep voice and the scent of him perfume made you sigh and squeeze your legs together.

Yeah... you'd definitely had enough alcohol for tonight.

—I'm bored, ¿can you make this night more entertaining for me?

From the way you looked at him and the pout on your lips, In-ho immediately knew what you meant, but he decided to play with fire a little, nothing in this life is easy.

—¡Uh!... It seems our dear badger wants some honey —said the man with the lion mask using a playful and funny tone.

You ignored him, you were now too focused on getting what you wanted to get angry over a few rude words.

—I apologize if this bores you, but I'm in no position to entertain, I just maintain order and make sure the guests are happy.

From your posture he could tell that you didn't like that answer but he also knew that you wouldn't give up.

—I'm a guest and I'm not happy —You faked a smile—I'd be happy if you sat down with me, believe me, I'll make sure you don't get into trouble.

The silence in the room lasted a few seconds, In-ho felt the gaze of the other guests on you but that didn't stop him from continuing to challenge you.

—I repeat, the entertainment is not my responsibility, but if you agree, I will look for way to... satisfy you.

Front man walked to his podium and made some motions for someone to take charge while he took care of you.

After a few minutes he turned to you and extended his hand with chivalry and elegance.

—¿Would you like to accompany me to a more private place?

You smiled under the mask and took him gloved hand as you stood up.

—Gentlemen, I say goodbye for tonight, you guys keep enjoying the trivial spectacle.

You said calmly, despite the exotic environment you were in you still maintained your education and manners.

—¡Have fun! —the man in the buffalo mask exclaimed, followed by a loud laugh.

"They are idiots" you thought, letting yourself be guided by the handsome masked man.

You two took a few more steps until you reached a somewhat colorful room with a huge sofa in the center.

—After you —he said softly, giving a small bow and leaving a chaste kiss on the back of your hand.

You could only feel the cold material his mask was made of but you kept quiet, the simple act made your heart warm, it was ironic how you called him just for some fun but this man could make you shiver with a couple of non-sexual actions, it was just him.

Once you walked in and looked around at the bright colors you heard him close and lock the door, then you felt his presence behind you.

He very delicately placed his hands on your shoulders and pulled down your golden robe a little, revealing the bare skin of your neck, collarbone and shoulders.

In-ho paid attention to your breathing, that way he would know if he was doing it right or not, he took off one of his gloves to allow you to feel his skin touch you.

—¿Can you take off your mask? —You murmured curiously.

—I'm afraid that would be impossible, our identities are protected for security reasons.

You sighed and turned on your heels to stand in front of him, not allowing him to say or do anything you placed your own hands on golden mask and removed it revealing your face.

Once you dropped the mask to the ground In-ho remained silent, observing your features.

You were younger than he had thought, your eyes looked at him with desire but at the same time confidence and longed for affection, ¿how bad did your life have to be to look for affection in a stranger with a mask?

When you put your hands on his covered face and tried to remove the mask, he stopped you and walked away from you to the couch and grab a black cloth bandage.

—If you want me to take off the mask, you'll have to cover your eyes.

It wasn't a fair deal but you accepted it just because you were starting to get wet just from him attitude.

[...]

The soft sound of your breathing as he kissed the skin of your neck was the only thing that could be heard in the room, In-ho was sitting on the couch without his top clothes on, his lips leaving a trail of wet marks on your neck and his hands resting on your hip.

You felt so vulnerable and surrendered to him as you straddled him lap, naked and blindfolded.

You were used to having control over everything, giving orders and other things but this feeling of knowing that someone else could have control over you, could move you or manipulate you was new, it was exciting.

You let out a gasp as you felt the leader's fingers move closer to your core, teasing you a little.

—You're very anxious, ¿how long have you been waiting for this?

The mockery in his words made you shudder, you moved your hips against him searching for friction but he held you firmly with his other hand.

—Don't move —He whispered in your ear —You asked me to entertain you and that's what I'm going to do.

Seeing your red cheeks and your half-open mouth made In-ho feel his pants tighter than usual, yet he remained calm and continued playing with your center, enjoying the lewd sounds you gave him.

Their lips met in a hungry kiss and you finally had the chance to move your hands a little, which went from being on him chest to descending towards the belt of him pants.

With a few deft movements you got rid of him belt and pulled down his pants with a little effort.

He moaned lowly as he felt your hand caress him, if you could see him you would have seen the lust in his dark eyes and dilated pupils.

—I need you, now —You almost begged, it was pathetic how you begged for more from this man whose face you hadn't even seen.

—Ask me to give you what you want.

He still wanted to continue playing with you a little but he was also as eager as you so as soon as you said "Please" he lifted you up a little and positioned you so he could enter you without any effort because of how wet you were.

In-ho closed his eyes and a soft growl escaped his lips as he guided your movements on him, he would have loved to look into your eyes as you rode him like this but his identity was above that, or at least for now.

Besides, a certain part of him was also excited to be a secret from you.

With his free hand he grabbed your hair, made a small knot and tilted your head back to have access to your neck once again, while you increased the pace of your jumps he was in charge of leaving red marks on your skin.

When he felt you tense up he made you stop and without letting you go he turned you both around so that you ended up on the couch, this time he on top of you.

He began to thrust into you, at first it was slow, letting you feel every inch of him and then he was a little rougher, slowly increasing the speed and strength, your screams of pleasure were music to his ears, your nails scratching his back was another of his favorite sensations.

He placed your legs on his shoulders forcing you to take him completely which made you arch back and moan even louder.

—You are such a beautiful mess... —Lust and desire dripped from his words, he wasn't lying, having you like this under him and causing your screams was almost enough to make him finish inside you but he refrained from doing so, he wanted to keep taking you —You will be completely mine for this night.

He put one of his hands on your neck and squeezed lightly, cutting off your air flow and causing you to moan muffledly. The speed of his thrusts slowed down a little only to pick it up again and after a few seconds you reached your climax.

—¡Oh fuck! —You screamed as soon as you finished and your legs shook, however a soft squeal left your lips when you felt him hot sperm fill you.

It felt so good, this was definitely better than those crappy, boring games.

In-ho was breathing heavily and his face was completely red but he still didn't want to let you go, he had already tasted you and now he wanted more.

They both wanted to continue.

So you didn't refuse when he pulled out of you and made you get off the couch just to kneel in front of him.

—I have never knelt before any man —You said confidently and with an arrogant smile on the side.

—There's always a first time —He wrapped his hand in your hair and settled back with his legs spread on the couch —Now open that pretty little mouth.

You obeyed him without objection and when he could feel your warm mouth around his member it made him throw his head back with a moan.

It would be a long and entertaining night.

Now you can make sure you don't miss any year of these games and he'll be more than happy to give you that pleasure you longed for.

[fragmentedblade]

There's something very unsettling and kind of creepy going on with Ruan Mei (appreciative)

[writersdrug]

I need, need need neeeeed to know who you would picture bar owner price with 😩 picturing bar owner price has me week in the knees. I need more, how would he be around the bar when he was there? Supporting, bossy,silly? The possibilities are endless. 🥰

I'm loving how people are requesting things for the rest of the 141!!

Bar Owner!Price isn't there every day, and most often not during the actual shift. He's there some mornings, already at his desk on the floor above the pub, setting up the next inventory order and dealing out everyone's tips before Simon climbs down from his flat on the third floor. They both grunt at each other, tired and in need of a hot breakfast and some tea.

He helps set up for the shift - he likes being in the kitchen with Soap. He feels bad the man is back there all by himself, even though he says he doesn't mind it. "I get to cuss 'n bitch all I want back 'ere, sir." Still, Price spends a majority of his time back there with him, prepping burger patties and making sure everything is stocked and ready. Gets on his case about updating the menu, but Soap insists the customers like it the way it is.

Price makes an appearance on the floor every now and then, opting to help run food or bartend on the busier nights. He checks in with the regulars, leaning his forearms on the bar with his sleeves rolled to his elbows, laughing and chatting with them and occasionally offering to refill their drinks. Simon grumbles quietly about him being in the way, but Price doesn't take it to heart.

He doesn't stay late. John isn't that old, but he likes to be back at home by a decent hour. One ruined sleep schedule and he's a shot for the rest of the week. He likes to get back to his flat, make himself a sandwich and pour himself some whiskey, and be on on his sofa and reading his book no later than ten in the evening. Routines have always been a part of his military career, and what can he say? Old habits really fo die hard.

Then you came along.

You didn't just rock Simon's world - you'd gotten Price, too. Though introductions could have been smoother (you nearly beat him with a keg when he came in through the back door and scared you), he's grown fond of you. First, as a hard worker and go-getter; then, as a pretty little waitress with a dazzling smile that likes to keep him on his toes. You love poking fun at him, calling him "bossman" or "barmaster" (doesn't make sense to him, since he's hardly behind the bar - but he finds it cute). You tease him for the way he runs your food, then gets stuck at the table for five minutes just chatting up the customers. You ask him things like, "Who do you prefer, Cardi B or Nicki Minaj?" And laugh when he just stares at you with a furrowed brow. He'll happily let you tease him for being an "old" man just to hear your laughter.

Then Simon sent that photo in the group chat, and Price felt something stir in his chest: looking at you, posing all prettily for your picture, working to push your little idea out there and bring in a crowd. He's impressed, but he's also intrigued. He's got his sights on you, and he's dying to figure out more about his waitress.

"'S the post making any headway?" He asks one night, leaning on the bar next to where you sit. Your tips are finished, money waded into the pocket of your apron as you scroll on your phone, sipping on a screwdriver.

"Kinda..." You mumble, a pout on your face, creasing the skin between your eyebrows. "People are seeing it, and there are a few likes, but no one's really engaging. Not sure if this will do well."

Price hums thoughtfully, looking at your lips while you stare at your screen. He's holding back the urge to lean in and take a whiff of your perfume, afraid it might seem just a bit too strange. "Have you tried promoting it?"

You look at him, laying your phone on the bar top. "Well... I could, but..." You wanted to finish with 'it would cost money'. But then, you'd be insinuating that you expected him to pay you. You could boost the post yourself, but you'd rather not spend money on something that might flop.

"'S there a problem?" Price asked, leaning in closer to you.

"I mean... promoting a post costs some money. Like, for it to be advertised to five hundred people, you'd pay around one fifty. And I think, depending on how far you wanted the post to reach - like, literally, how big of a geographic area - that would cost even more."

Price chuckles. "You do realize how much business you've brought in since you've joined the team, hmm?"

That makes your cheeks warm, pressing your lips into a line to avoid grinning like an idiot at the compliment. "I mean... sure..."

"Go upstairs to the office and get my wallet." he says, standing up from his seat at the bar.

You watch with a stupefied expression as he walks to the POS and prints some blank receipt paper. "You- you mean it? Are you sure?"

He sits on a barstool near the kitchen door. "Wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it. Hurry up- before I change my mind."

You don't need to be told twice. You drop your phone onto the bar and bolt towards the stairs - you stop yourself, running back to where Price sits and hugging him from behind. He lets out a surprise grunt as you do your best to smother him.

"You're the best boss ever!" you squeal. Then, just like that - you're off to the office upstairs. He preens over the compliment as he hears you leaping two steps at a time.

"Be careful." he calls over his shoulder. He sits there a moment, staring at the paper in front of him. He's surprised he hadn't accidentally thrown you off of him purely out of instinct, but he can't say he isn't absolutely delighted by the hug. It lingers in his mind, his chest still remembering your arms around him. He shakes his head, reaching forward to grab a pen from behind the bar.

His eyes meet Simon's - the man is glaring daggers, his head framed by the window in the kitchen door, mask hanging from his ear. His lips are pulled down into quite possibly the angriest frown Price has ever seen. His nostrils flare as he exhales - Price wonders what sort of insults are flying through the bartender's head right now.

He glares right back. If Simon wants something, he'll give it to him. But he'll make him ask for it, like any normal human being. John isn't going to surrender just because Ghost is huffing and puffing, expecting his boss to back away from you just because he's stomping his foot and looking menacing. But how can he be sure that Simon really wants you, more than he thinks Price deserves you, if the lad won't say anything? It's only reasonable, right?

"If you want something, Simon, say something." Price calls out, never backing down from Simon's jealous gaze.

He huffs again and disappears from the kitchen window. Price can hear shuffling and banging, followed by Soap's irritated voice: "Oi, I got it! Get yourself outta my kitchen n' go your own shite, 'fore you break my stuff."

Price sighs, scribbling down some numbers on the paper in front of him. He'll cave, eventually.

[quixoticprince]

Yayyy!! Yippee!! I finally get to make one of these!! Art without the text under the cut and some long-winded elaborations:

How long I've been playing: well, it hasn't been a straight 11 years, rather off and on - but I have drawings of these guys dating back to when I was 14, so I'll give it to me. And man I had no business reading the fanfics I was reading back then It's also crazy how this was a super influential media for me in so many ways. It's the reason I ever made a tumblr, it changed the direction of my drawings for a long while, my broken sense of humor (gmod animation memes and yt poops were the brainrot back then), tf2 Sniper changed my god damned gender (rather, it was the inspiration for me to start socially transitioning at 15). This is part of my personal lore that I tend to not admit to 😓

Your main: I've always been completely ass at the game, and I can play flexibly, but I enjoy playing Sniper, and more recently as Heavy. Whenever I'm sitting around somewhere, occasionally throwing sandwiches and attracting Medics, I feel like this:

Favorite character: When I was younger it was definitely Medic, and I think you can tell that he's still up there based on how much I've drawn him! However, since getting back into it, I've felt quite a shift in focus towards Heavy, very strongly. It's unfortunate that he's side-lined in a lot of fanwork, and I think I'm also complicit in this so far - but for me it's cuz, how tf2 works is that it's going to prioritize humor over character and consistency haha, and Medic is just so loud and insane that he's really easy to make fun stuff with. Heavy is a more serious and grounded character, not to say that he's not funny or that he doesn't have his own cartoon slapstick moments! But that aspect of him is what is really really intriguing to me. I love his quiet, stoic, and intimidating character, I like how loud and boisterous he is when filled with bloodlust in contrast! I love his bird story and him getting into wrestling as a child from Poker Night. I love his back story setting, there's so much to extrapolate from a young boy in Russia growing up during WWII, what his parents must have been through before that from the aftermaths of the revolution, all the way to his fathers execution and his imprisonment. I love his strong relationship with his family, his role as an older brother, as a protector, as a man - the way that he performs these roles - and because I personally see him as bisexual - how his orientation intersects with all that! He is incredibly fascinating to me and I wish that he was played around with more to see a lot more corners and angles of these things that I listed! There's way more that I want to say here too but this is getting very long 😅

Character I relate to: It's so interesting that a lot of the characters have very strong, tho maybe dysfunctional, families. Heavy, Demo, and Sniper in particular really speak to me in that relation. From Heavy being an eldest brother (I am also an eldest sibling) the parentification that comes with that, especially with him probably being like 10 years older than his sisters from the looks of it. Demo and Sniper both struggle living up to their parents expectations (although there's a lot of love there from everyone), being disappointments in one way or another (not gonna deep dive into that lol), and the general alienation both of them feel. From Sniper not knowing why he's not like other Australians to Demo being "a black Scottish cyclops." And well, I'm Filipino, I'm queer, and mentally ill so - there's a lot to project there!

Class you want to play as: I find Medic incredibly stressful to play as but I find the idea of battle medics incredibly funny. However I usually find myself rushing around madly trying to cater to everyone, and I'd like to just not give a shit and just start stabbing people with a saw lol

Favorite ship: "I just like the dynamic" - The dynamic:

No but fr, they're really compelling to me, I'd probably need a longer more thought out post as to what I like about them and I was already going crazy up there ^ Overall tho I like that they're practically built for each other in terms of mechanics, really plays into my desire to spiral into intense codependency haha. I also think that Medic's drive to cheat death and hide behind meat shields plays really well into Heavy's desire to be a meat shield and a protector, and how nice it is in turn, that Medic can grant this man who's been around death, starvation, and war invulnerability. (He outsmart boolet, yknow?) They're also depicted together a lot and I like how much they enjoy each others company, and bring a lot of joy to each other. It's beautiful to me :'^)

Character you like to draw: What can I say! Medic is handsome! He is very fun to draw and easy to make memes and shit posts out of!

[seiwas]

grow on me like a dog loved fondly: prologue | kamo choso

wc: 1.0k

summary: your regular to the flower shop is more than what he seems. 

contains: written with f!reader in mind but can be read as gn!, animal shelter employee choso x flower shop owner reader, implied that reader is shorter than choso, flowers, small talk.

a/n: the promised choso drabble! depending on how this is received, i intend for this to be the prologue to a longer choso fic i have in mind!

You have a regular on the weekends. 

Business in the flower shop tends to be slow during winter, with less occasions having the need for flowers and even less buds blooming during the season. 

But even with the expected decline in customers, Saturdays always guarantee one—

The bells attached to the store doors jingle, allowing in a gust of cool air that tickles your cheeks from where you’re crouched down. The peonies in your hands were delivered just yesterday, the ends of the stems needing a slight trim to keep them fresh for longer. 

You turn, standing up to face your visitor. A purple scarf is wrapped high around his neck, with white fleece running down the length of his arms—a sort of undershirt to the short-sleeved uniform worn atop it. The outfit is familiar enough, but what truly distinguishes him are the two spiky pigtails on the sides of his head. 

There are a few things you’ve managed to pick up from four-line exchanges with your regular (six if you’re lucky): 1) he works at the animal shelter a few streets away, 2) the flowers he buys are for the front desk, a weekly replacement he deems necessary to keep the place looking alive, and 3) who he is, his name—

—‘Choso’, if the tag on his uniform says anything. 

The tag that is now, also, just a hand’s reach away from you. 

You look up, pocketing your plant nippers. The peonies dangle between your fingers. 

“W-welcome!” you stutter, focusing on the thin metal chain running across his nose. 

It’s new, an addition that intrigues you more about the man in front of you. 

The look he gives you is lazy, gaze deadpan, almost empty. Anyone else might find it snobbish and off-putting, but you’ve gotten used to it—an almost magenta puffiness that surrounds his eyes, bags of fatigue that usually hang underneath. 

He continues to stare, unmoving. 

Considering all your previous interactions, you’ve realized, he isn’t scary or rude or anything of that sort—he’s just awkward. 

A bit quiet and unbothered, maybe, but still just awkward. You don’t think he’s ever started an interaction with you first. 

“Is there any flower in particular that you’re looking for?” you ask, motioning around your store. 

The selection is limited this season—a few camellias and clusters of Japanese primrose with an abundance of peonies and daffodils. 

His head turns as he glances around the store, pigtails bobbing slightly with each movement. When he faces you again, he shrugs, voice deep and firm as he asks, “Do you have any recommendations?” 

It’s an odd feeling, borderline awkward and nervous; you have no idea why your mind is blanking. 

“Um,” you clear your throat, tucking the peonies between your fingers into your apron pocket, “daffodils are bright and friendly, good for entryways and front desks, I think.” 

He eyes the daffodils to your right, buckets of stems holding yellow and white. The store stays quiet for what feels like a good minute before he nods, agreeing to your suggestion. 

“The usual?” two clusters, wrapped in newspaper. 

Your question echoes throughout the shop, lingering while you pick at which daffodils look best. 

“Yes, but two of them.” he answers in monotone, before adding on, a soft hesitancy, “Please.” 

You smile to yourself, picking more daffodils for another bunch. 

Both of you make your way to the cashier, another bout of silence surrounding you as you crumple newspaper and pull at tape. He always watches, you notice, his focus set on your practiced handling of stems and leaves. 

You look up momentarily, seeing that he keeps his head down, “The pigtails are cool.” 

He doesn’t say anything, and for a while you’re afraid you might have offended him, but he responds, voice low; it’s soft, gentle in a way you never expected it to be. 

“Thank you.” you catch him shifting his weight from your periphery, hands digging deeper into his pockets, “The dogs think they’re chew toys when I wear it this way.” 

You most certainly were not expecting that, either. 

This is the most initiative he’s taken to add onto the conversation.

You grin, chuckling under your breath, “That must be fun.” 

It’s faint, but you think you hear him laugh a little. 

When the flowers are completely wrapped, you set them aside, making your way behind the cash register. You punch in the cost, ready to bill him before he speaks again. 

“Actually, would you happen to do deliveries?” he seems shy asking it, barely looking you in the eye. 

“Yes!” You nod, grabbing a pen and paper to hand over to him, “Just write down your contact details, the address you want it delivered to, and when you’d like it to be delivered.” 

Another thing you’ve realized, is that despite appearances and what he seems to be, Choso handles objects gently; the pen and paper you’d just given him were taken lightly from your fingertips. Even the strokes of his penmanship are slow, the tip of the pen barely creating an indent on the small sheet. 

“Will you be having both of these delivered?” you ask, holding up the bundles of daffodils. 

“Just one.” he answers promptly, before adding on again, “Thank you.” 

And you know you shouldn’t ask, shouldn’t be so nosy, but—

“What’s the occasion?”—

Flowers are rarely in demand during the winter season. 

—“If you don’t mind me asking,” you follow-up quickly. 

The immediate quiet makes you think you might have gotten too comfortable again, made him feel weird about your questions—but he answers.

“My brothers,” he finishes the final curves of his writing, “they’re coming to visit.” 

The piece of paper is handed to you, and you hum, acknowledging his response. You go over his details, reciting it to him to double-check. But when you land on his address, your eyes go wide, a little ‘oh!’ slipping out. 

He furrows his brows, confused. 

You definitely, most certainly did not expect this. 

“Sorry,” you shake your head, your cheeks heating up in embarrassment, “Just—“ you chuckle, “I think we might be neighbors.” 

thank you notes: @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat for sending me lil prompts that somehow birthed into this!! + @yemmuishomeforthementallyunwell for feeding the choso brainrot 🥹 + @mysugu @soumies for being my angels, lights of my life!! listening to me ramble abt this and helping me pick music, hash out plot, pick title, everything! ily

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[sansaorgana]

— TAMED

PAIRING — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader

SUMMARY — You're a cat lover and Feyd-Rautha reminds you of one. You want him and you believe you can tame him.

REQUEST — (1)

AUTHOR’S NOTE — This is not exactly what the request was about but it includes Feyd having to deal with his wife's pet (I chose a cat because I'm a cat person myself). You see, I was a bit tired of my Readers being afraid and scared and I was also tired of the arranged marriage trope, which is one of my favourites, but everyone needs a break, huh? 😅

WARNINGS — harm to animals mentioned, brief mentions of Feyd's traumatic past, Reader being absolutely spoiled

WORD COUNT — 4,230

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

TAMED

“I want him,” you announced as you put your binoculars down and your lips curled into a smirk.

Your parents looked at each other, confused. You were in the stands as the guests invited to watch Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen’s gladiator fight. It was his birthday and his uncle made sure all the leaders of the befriended worlds were watching the display of violence and power. The display that made your parents absolutely terrified but you… You were amazed and aroused. The way young Feyd-Rautha defeated his enemies was like a brutal dance; a raw ritual. He was a feral feline and you were known to be a cat lover.

“Excuse me?” Your father asked.

“I want him. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen,” you repeated without even looking at him. Your eyes were focused only on the man in the arena who was raising his knife in a gesture of victory.

“These people are insane,” your mother hissed.

“You keep telling me it’s time for me to find a husband. I want him,” you pouted. You were determined – but not desperate.

“I can talk to Baron Harkonnen. But I am sure he would rather marry his nephew and heir to one of the Imperial Princesses,” your father informed you as your mother gasped at his words. She opposed the idea of this match completely.

“I understand,” you nodded. “Just do whatever it takes so if you fail, I will know you couldn’t possibly do more.”

He reluctantly agreed as he squeezed your cheek as if you were still a little girl. But perhaps it was a good thing that in his eyes you still were one. Because he would do anything to make you happy and fulfil your every whim.

You spotted your father talking to Baron Harkonnen during his nephew’s birthday party but you didn’t want to just stand in the corner and wait for the men to make decisions in your name. Despite your mother’s protests, you approached Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen and bowed slightly in sign of respect. He tilted his head, reminding you of a curious cat. You giggled and he squinted his eyes.

“Na-Baron, I couldn’t wait to meet you in person after seeing you fight in the arena,” you admitted.

“Lady (Y/N),” he greeted you coldly. “I wouldn’t expect such interests from a lady like you.”

“And I expected you would know more about the female nature,” you teased him and visibly angered him although he was trying to be on his best behaviour around guests. “Don’t you know that ladies love violence? The interesting ones at least,” you shrugged your arms.

“I don’t care what ladies like,” he answered. “I always get what I want either way.”

“I’m sure you do,” your eyes sparkled at a possibility of being one of the things he would want to claim for himself.

Most noble women were scared and disgusted after hearing all the stories about Feyd-Rautha and his sexual appetite, his psychotic nature. They would approach him only when needed and tried to stay away as far as possible. You were the very rare breed of women who would actually take interest in him and that intrigued him as he looked you up and down.

You gave him one last smile and walked back to your worried mother who was about to scold you for your reckless behaviour. However, for the rest of the night you kept glancing at the young na-baron and he was looking back. 

When you left the party, earlier than most people, you made sure to announce loud and clear that you were about to retire to your chambers. Then you looked deep into his eyes and walked out, followed by a servant. You dismissed her when you were in the guest wing and you continued your journey alone and as slow as possible.

You looked around but Feyd-Rautha seemed not to be following you. At least you could not see nor hear him and for a moment you thought you failed. After all, you were not a skilled seductress, you only did what your heart was telling you to do – your heart and your experience with the animals you loved the most. Cats.

And just like a cat and a skilled assassin that he was, Feyd silently emerged from the darkness when you were just about to open the doors leading to your bedroom. He was standing right behind you and his ominous presence sent a shiver down your spine.

“What are you doing, na-baron?” You swallowed thickly and shivered.

“Don’t pretend,” he whispered in his raspy voice. “You’re not the first spoiled noble lady who wants to use me for pleasure,” he told you. “What is it? Are you bored? Or engaged to an awful lord and you ant to find out what it’s like to have fun before you are forced to spend the rest of your life with him? Honestly, I don’t care,” he admitted and turned you around to face him. His touch was rough and for a second you genuinely felt scared when he trapped you between the doors and his muscular body.

The way he was staring down at you felt as if he was penetrating your soul. Only that his eyes were empty. He was gazing into you but you couldn't gaze back because he didn’t have a soul. There was an endless coldness in his pupils. And so much pain.

“It’s a misunderstanding,” you whispered, almost inaudibly, as the tips of your noses brushed against each other. “I am not one of those women. The only man who can take me will be my husband,” you tried to sound convincing and stern but with a small dose of innocence. He blinked slowly, surprised by your confession.

“I thought you wanted me to follow you,” he insisted.

“No,” you lied. “I was only looking at you because I find you interesting,” you looked down. “But it’s sad what you’ve just told me, my Lord,” you added.

“Why?” Feyd was confused as he took a step back.

“I don’t know… I just think you’re so much more than a toy to use for pleasure,” you looked up again to meet his gaze. “I don’t think you should let those ladies treat you like that. I know you keep telling yourself you like it but it’s not you always getting what you want. It’s them always getting what they want until there is nothing left of you, is it not, na-baron?” You batted your eyelashes and he took another step back, like a predator realising that the prey he had caught was poisonous. “Good night, my Lord… and happy birthday,” you gave him a soft smile and disappeared behind the doors leading to your bedroom.

You couldn’t sleep all night, clutching on the bedsheets and hoping for the best outcome. In the morning your father told you that The Baron was slowly starting to like the idea of your marriage union with his nephew. Apparently, he changed his mind after a conversation with Feyd-Rautha in the early morning.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” your father warned you at the sight of your wide smile.

“Oh, papa, I always do,” you assured him, already excited about your new pet kitty.

You stayed on Giedi Prime for a month for the courting process but Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen had the privilege of being able to call off the engagement at any moment. That, however, did not happen. He was growing more and more fond of you each day. You were watching him train and walking all around the fortress as he was telling you about his family’s history and culture. You were the most fascinated by the war stories and weapons, always eager to learn more. Always eager to let him steal a kiss here and there, let his hands wander but always stepping back when it would get too heated. You didn’t want him to use you and then discard you. No, he had to be patient for the real reward. Just like cats would lose interest if you let them catch the mouse too quickly.

What you noticed about him, though, was how much he avoided the intimate physical touch. He didn’t mind his opponents striking him or choking him, violating his body in any way, really. But the delicacy was making him flinch and startle to the point of aggression. He wouldn’t lash out at you but he would do that often at the servants. When it was you trying to caress him, he was clenching his jaw and shooting you a deadly glance. The more you knew about him, the more convinced you were that he was just a cat in a human form.

When a month passed, you were scared he would send you away. But instead of doing so, he sent a tailor and a bunch of servants to your room. It was time for you to make all the required fittings for your wedding dress. You sent out the invitations, too. And in the letter addressed to your parents, you mentioned all the things you wanted them to bring you to Giedi Prime.

One of them was your favourite kitty Mephisto.

On the first day of your marriage you were unpacking the boxes from home as Feyd was sitting up in bed and watching you. It was the only day he allowed himself to skip the daily training as the activities between a husband and a wife could count as one, too. However, you required a break and wanted to finally reunite with your favourite items… and your favourite pet.

Feyd’s eyes widened at the sight of a hairless cat in the arms of the servant girl.

“What is that monstrosity?” He asked you.

“That’s Mephisto! My cat!” You took him from the girl’s arms and cuddled him. “Oh, mummy’s been missing you, baby,” you cooed to him and he started to purr.

“You can’t be serious, wife,” Feyd moved closer to inspect the creature with his eyes. Mephisto hissed and you giggled. “That is a cat?”

“You’ve never seen one?” You asked.

“I have. But not like that. It’s ugly,” Feyd scrunched his nose.

“Why ugly?” You gasped and held Mephisto’s head lovingly as if you were protecting him from your husband’s harsh words.

“Cats have fur. This one is so…”

“Bald?” You teased and he closed his mouth, realising the irony. “I have plenty of cats back home but I was aware I couldn’t bring them all here. I chose Mephisto because he is my favourite. We had tough beginnings. He didn’t trust me and he was scratching me a lot. He’s a mean-mean baby,” you leaned in to kiss the cat and Feyd winced as he found it disgusting.

“Do whatever but I don’t want this creature in my chambers,” Feyd stated.

“You’re insane! Mephisto will never leave these chambers. I don’t want him to get lost or hurt in the fortress. Also, he always sleeps with me,” you protested.

Feyd took a deep breath in as he closed his eyes, trying to calm himself down.

“If he scratches one thing… I will throw him out of the balcony door,” he threatened.

“If you do that, I will never speak to you again. And certainly I won’t ever share the bed with you, husband. Mephisto is like a child to me. You can’t threaten me this way. It does nothing but anger me,” you pointed out and cuddled the cat. “Aw, Mephisto, look, daddy’s angry.”

“I am not this thing’s… father,” Feyd drawled through gritted teeth as he stood up to put a robe on. “After all, I think I will go train today.”

“Then go,” you shrugged your arms. “I will cuddle with Mephisto in the meantime because I haven’t seen him in a month.”

Feyd shot you an angry glance.

“You’re not jealous, are you?” You looked up as that sudden realisation hit you.

“No,” he snorted. “Of this thing? Please,” he sneered at you and left the chambers.

“We have lots of work with your new daddy, Mephisto,” you chuckled to the kitty and kissed its head. He meowed at you.

Feyd-Rautha absolutely despised your cat. He hated that you allowed that creature to sleep in bed with you and you were always holding him in your arms. When Feyd was working on paperwork – which he hated – Mephisto would often jump on his desk and bother him. Many times when you were out of the room, Feyd had the urge to grab the creature and throw it out of the balcony or even snap its neck but when he actually extended his hands to catch the cat, the urge disappeared.

First of all, he didn’t want to hurt you. And that was a brand new feeling for him because never before had he cared about someone’s feelings like that. And second of all, the moment the cat was in his arms, Mephisto would start to purr and rub his head on Feyd’s hand or chest. Even though at first he found it disgusting, he quickly started to enjoy it. There was something comforting in the cat’s touch. It was not human and yet so pure. As time passed, he was allowing Mephisto to nap on his lap as he worked on the papers. Of course he would quickly put the cat away whenever someone was coming. He didn’t want anyone to see him so weak.

But he was jealous of the cat, too. He was jealous of the kisses and attention he was getting. The belly rubs and scratches behind the ear. The way Mephisto would curl up and sleep on your chest. Feyd craved it from you, too, but he didn’t know how to allow himself to ask for it. It would be humiliating, he thought, but also dangerous. He wanted to trust you but he was not able to. And whenever you tried to touch him gently, he was haunted by the memories he didn’t want to remember. He didn’t cuddle you at night and he didn’t allow you to do the same. While performing the marital duties, he had a feeling they would be even better if he allowed himself a little gentleness but he just couldn’t let his guard down. Not even around you.

For a long time, Mephisto was the only creature that saw the soft side of your husband. When they were alone in your chambers, Feyd would let him not only nap on him but he would also carry him in his arms and pet him. Sometimes he was starting fights for the cat to scratch and bite him and for Feyd it was great fun. They created a bond that you had no idea about. You kept thinking that your husband despised Mephisto and he didn’t mind you thinking this way.

So, when you spotted a scratch on Feyd’s desk one day, you panicked. You quickly covered it with a few papers laying aside and fixed your hair right before your husband walked inside the chambers that afternoon.

“What are you doing here so early?” You asked as he squinted his eyes at you, suspiciously.

“I have to work on the papers, answer some stupid letters,” Feyd sighed and approached you. He put his hands on your waist and inspected your suspicious face. “Is everything alright, wife?” He asked.

“Yes, my dear, perfectly fine,” you faked a smile. “I have to go and work on the preparations for the event next week,” you reminded him and he nodded before leaning in to give you a possessive kiss. He would give you them a few times a day to remind you to whom you belonged. Not that you minded. After all, you had been wanting this from the moment you had seen him in the arena.

“See you later, then, wife,” Feyd sat by the desk and your heart skipped a beat when you spotted him picking up one of the papers you had used to cover the scratch with. However, he didn’t seem to notice the damage done to his desk. You sighed with relief and left the chambers, hoping that Feyd would continue to be blind when it came to that scratch.

But when you came back to your bedroom two hours later, it was empty. You didn’t expect to see Feyd because he had his other duties to perform on that day. What worried you was the fact you couldn’t find your cat. After crawling all over the floor like a madwoman, trying to see if he was not hiding under any furniture, you just burst into tears in the middle of the carpet. You were sure that Feyd had spotted the scratch and gotten rid of your cat. After all, he had threatened to do so on the very first day of your marriage.

You pulled your knees to your chest and rested your forehead on them as you sobbed, hugging yourself. You could only blame yourself. Your parents had been warning you about the Harkonnens but you still wanted a man like Feyd-Rautha as your husband. Hoping to tame him as it would boost your spoiled ego even further to do that. And now your innocent little kitty was a victim of his fury. Was Mephisto still alive? You hoped so. But even if… how would he survive on Giedi Prime? He would not. And you would not either without him. He was your anchor.

You didn’t want to complain about your husband’s homeplanet because you chose him to be your husband yourself. And some part of you loved him – even though at the moment you weren’t so sure anymore – but it was not a friendly place. And it was not pleasant. It was cold and scary and colourless. Mephisto was reminding you of home. Of your other kittens, of your parents, of the real sunlight. He was also letting you love him like your husband would never do. And he was loving you back… unconditionally. And now he was gone. Your little baby.

You couldn’t tell for how long you had been sobbing like this. It could be hours. When Feyd came back to your chambers, he froze at the sight of you in such a position on the carpet.

“What happened, wife?” He asked as he stood above you. You didn’t answer, too angry at him. He sighed and crouched down to be on your level. “Are you hurt?” 

“Yes, I am,” you finally looked at him, furiously. He seemed to be surprised. “I am hurt by what you have done. And now you’re going to pretend that you don’t know what I’m talking about, right? Go to hell. I hate you,” you snapped and hid your face again.

“I don’t understand. Can you explain this to me?” He asked, slowly, trying not to snap back at you.

“Mephisto! You got rid of him!” You sobbed.

“What? I have not…” He stuttered and put his arms on your shoulders to make you look up again. So you did but you were as angry as before.

“Don’t lie to me. You hated that cat and you just threw him away because he scratched your desk. Congratulations, Feyd-Rautha, you got rid of an innocent animal, you won with a sinless little baby; my baby. Are you proud of yourself? Was it a satisfying victory to hurt a little kitty?”

Feyd didn’t answer, he was staring at you as if you were crazy.

“It really feels as if you killed my baby,” you told him. “And I will never forgive you.”

“What are you talking about? I didn’t touch him. What happened?” Feyd shook your arms.

“He’s not here. I don’t know what you’ve done to him but he’s not here,” you sniffled.

“I didn’t do anything!” He protested.

“I don’t believe you!” You moved back, you hated to feel his touch on you. You clumsily stood up and curled on the bed. “I don’t want to see you. Go away. I wanted to love you but you’re rotten to the core. You’re just evil. Unlovable,” you muttered.

You couldn’t know how hurtful your words were. But Feyd didn’t blame you because you couldn’t know his true feelings. And he focused more on Mephisto anyway. He was worried about the kitty, too. So, after a while of staring at you without a word, he put his hand on his hip and looked around, as if he would magically find the cat. He even looked under the bed as your sobs filled the room.

Without a word, Feyd left the bedroom and you hugged your own arms as the pillow under your head was getting wet from your tears. 

It was dark already and you were half asleep when the doors opened again. It brought you back from the state of slumber but you felt too hopeless to even lift a hand to turn on the light. You recognised Feyd’s silhouette approaching you so you decided to ignore him completely. Nothing could fix this damage. Never.

You felt him sitting on the edge of the bed while turning the bedside lamp on. You squinted your eyes at the sudden brightness.

“I found him,” Feyd’s whisper made your eyes open as you sat up rapidly, utterly shocked at the sight of Mephisto in your husband’s arms.

“Wh-what?” You asked. At first, your sleepy and foggy brain refused to believe that the cat was really your Mephisto.

“He was hiding in the dungeons,” Feyd explained. “I searched through the whole fortress to find him. Hired half of the guards to help me. My uncle found it hilarious,” Feyd handed you the kitty and you sobbed out of relief. Mephisto was stinking but he was alive and healthy. You hugged him tight to your chest. “One of the servants was not cautious enough and left the doors ajar when she was cleaning here.”

“Which one?” You asked, angrily.

“It doesn’t matter. I have dealt with her already,” Feyd assured you and you nodded.

You suddenly began to feel guilty for the way you had treated your husband before. Now, when Mephisto was back in your arms and it was all thanks to Feyd…

“I didn’t expect you to care so much,” you admitted, not wanting to look up and meet his gaze. Your hands focused on caressing the cat. “That you didn’t want me to be sad.”

“You’re my wife of free choice. I don’t want my wife to be sad,” Feyd nodded. “And I wanted the cat back,” he added. You eventually looked up at him, surprised by his confession.

“You hate him,” you reminded him.

“Not at all,” Feyd smirked nervously and you didn’t say anything to that. You had no idea that he actually liked the cat. You still had a lot to learn when it came to the ways in which your husband would show his affection.

“I was cruel to you,” you whispered. “I am sorry.”

“You had your reasons to be,” he only said. “And you were not wrong about me.”

“I was,” you moved to the side gently, making a space in bed for him to lay there, too.

So he did, without a word. And one of his hands actually caressed Mephisto’s head. The cat began to purr and you realised they had already had a bond that you had just not noticed before.

Hesitantly, you dared to raise one of your hands, too. You gently brushed Feyd’s forehead and then his cheek. He didn’t startle this time and you happily began to explore every curve of his beautiful face with your fingertips.

“You’re funny,” you giggled and he looked up, curiously. “You’re the scariest Harkonnen but you’re also the prettiest,” you admitted and he blushed a little. You had never expected to see him blush. “And look at you, you allow me to touch you.”

“It feels good when you do that,” Feyd closed his eyes just like Mephisto had his own pair shut close. You swore, if your husband was an actual animal, he would start purring under your touch.

You felt proud of yourself to tame him. You had known from the moment you had seen him that you would succeed. But it was not the pride that made your heart swell. It was love. There was something about Feyd-Rautha that just made you want to treat him like a kitty, too. Scratch him behind his ear and let him sleep on your chest. Most ladies would call you insane for that but you knew him in a way they would never know him. You leaned in to place a kiss upon Mephisto’s forehead and then you did the same to Feyd-Rautha.

“I’m sorry I have doubted you,” you whispered to him. “You would never hurt me, am I right?”

He only hummed in response, moving even closer to your body. You smiled to yourself.

“I have tamed you, husband, have I not?”

But he didn’t reply. He was already asleep, snoring lightly. You had never seen his face so relaxed and carefree before. He didn’t have to say anything for you to know the answer.

And as much as you loved Mephisto like your own little baby… You had a new favourite pet now.

MASTERLIST

[marwhoa]

request: You write the turtles boys so well! I literally can't stop smiling when I read your fics - they're so sweet and endearing. I was wondering, only if it strikes your interest of course, if you'd consider writing about the boys being jealous of each other when the reader spends time with them one on one? Like, maybe a slot for Leo where he thinks reader finds Donnie funnier? Or one for mikey, where he thinks that reader likes how big raph is? Or for raph, where he thinks reader is more enamored with Leo? Or Donnie, where he worries that Mikey is flirting with reader? Of course they're all misunderstandings, and maybe it could end all fluffy with confessions and comforting their respective boy? If not, don't worry, but if so, thank you! 1 look forward to whatever you put out next.

🝮 “ green with envy ”

rise!boys x y/n

author’s note: screaming profusely !!! eeeee !!! So hey yeah here’s a fic, this took a while because it sat in my notes for days before I finally posted it, my bad. This was kinda hard cause I’m not experienced in the realm of jealousy—hopefully y’all like it? ᗡ: also does envy even fit this scenario? Lmao I just be naming these fics any thing, can y’all tell?

word count: 6.1k

┆ ── ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ — Leo 💌

Leo never expected he could ever become… jealous, not him—no, no, NEVER him. He had too much pride, too much confidence. There should have never been any room for doubt in his ability to keep you focused and adoring on him, and him alone.

But, perhaps he had given himself too much credit? Or, maybe he had given his twin too little credit.

It wasn’t as though you were his. Just friends, and technically that meant you belonged to the whole family, not just him. But, no one could blame him for coveting you. From how starry-eyed you looked at him to how genuinely you laughed at his jokes, Leo found out too late that he had been falling for you, and here he was still falling. The way your nose crinkled when you laughed, or how your face lit up during Mikey’s dinner times, even down to the wheezing laugh you would give into if he pushed his jokes on too long, all of it spelled out lovely disaster for his heart.

But, fear not, he thought. He was the face man and the funniest turtle, surely there was no competition? No one could be better than him at getting you to make the faces you did.

Or well, it should’ve been no one. He wasn’t even all that funny, but Donnie managed to get you to keel over to some stuff he said—and he didn’t even intend for them to be jokes! A natural comic, can you believe the nerve of this guy?

So, yeah, Leo never expected himself to be jealous, and especially never towards his own brother, but god the way you were showing that tickled-silly expression to Donnie, wiping tears as he confusedly asked what was so funny? It had him gripping the arm of their couch, digging his nails into them. He wasn’t going to take this any longer! Sure Donnie meant no harm and would never try to swoop in and steal the prize he had his eye on, but Leo couldn’t help but still be… aggravated.

The pent-up annoyance was dispelled by the red-slider leaping over the couch, sassily walking over and snaking his arm across your waist.

“ Yeah, whatever, Donnie is sooo funny, but hey, Y/N, let me show you something better! ”

Never mind the fact that he had nothing planned as he twirled his katana in his other hand, slicing the air until a blue portal shimmered into existence. You glanced back and waved good bye to Donnie, fully intrigued by whatever it was Leo wanted to show you.

“ Oh—okay! What is it? ”

“ Who am I to ruin a surprise? ”

He cocked a brow at your question, tugging you through the portal and stepping out into the courtyard of the Witch’s city. While amazed, you wondered just what this had to do with anything—but, of course that was a comment you would keep to yourself until having fully exhausted the excitement of exploring not just any random town, but rather a town of witches!

“ Oh, Leo, finally! I’ve been begging you to bring me here for weeks! ”

Before he could even say anything, you were quickly rushing up to the nearest shop and sparking up conversation. Such a busy bee, but it was just another aspect of you he was captivated by. However, with such an impromptu visit to a rather overwhelming area, he found chances to spark conversation and get you to laugh to be stretched few and far between.

“ Oh wow, this store really doesn’t leave mushroom for walk-through, huh? ”

He gestured to a potions-ingredients shop, which, you guessed it, specialized in all things fungal-based. His shoulders drooped as you continued ahead, not even hearing him. That joke was gold! Huffing, Leo caught up with you and laced his fingers around your wrist, effortlessly stopping you in your tracks.

“ Mm? Leo? ”

You stared up at him with such a look of focus, all your attention finally fully on him, and he had to fight his legs not to reduce to jelly instantly. Instead, he took a deep breath, cocked his head, and insisted you follow him.

Down weaving alleys, through crowds of people, eventually you reached a park unlike any seen on the surface. The paths were lined with thick, luscious plants cultivated through the town’s magic. Foliage swayed with no wind, as though dancing like silk fabric to whatever music only they heard.

Your attention only left the plants when you heard Leo start clearing his throat and then flashing you a look that you recognized all too well. A grin was already tugging at your lips, and Leo finally felt like he was the only one in your world again. His hands held onto his belt and he kicked out his legs, faking as though he were tipping a hat. It seemed like some western cowboy impersonation?

“ What in carnation? ”

There you went, first with a light and short laugh.

“ Well I do say, I took a leaf of faith bringing you here,”

Which then melded into a series, topped with a “ Wait, Leo, hush—please! ”, all stuttered and peppered through your increasing laughter.

“—but, beleaf it or not—“

He wasn’t even able to finish the entire spiel before you were holding onto him, laughing with such a melodious voice. Which, of course, devolved into your trademark wheeze n’snort after dragging on too long.

“ Pwffhaaha!! Leo, wha-what’s with you today? ”

You wiped away a tear, and suddenly Leo was finally brought back to reality. Your hand on his forearm lingered, and he was just completely beside himself with how the glowing willows beside the garden softened your face ever-so-perfectly.

“ Y/N… ”

His voice was so uncharacteristically soft that it had you a tad bit spooked, hand gripping a teensy tighter. Your head cocked slightly in confusion.

“ I.. Ugh, okay, it’s—it’s dumb! But—“

He dragged his hands down his face, groaning exhaustedly.

“ I thought, maybe, you might’ve… Liked Donnie, more than me. ”

“ Huh? Why would you think that, I love all of you guys? ”

“ Yeah, but I love you, and—“

The shock painted on your face had him holding his breath. Alarms went off in his head, telling him he maybe should have held his tongue, not jumped ahead so quickly. The two of you searched each other’s eyes in silence, you recovering from what he said, and him preparing himself for what you would say. Soon enough, your face twisted into a confusion tinged with a bit of playfulness.

“ Wait a second.. You’re jealous, aren’t you? Of Donnie? What for? ”

“ What? What do you mean what for? You, you’ve been laughing at everything he said all day, don’t you think he’s funnier? Don’t you like him more?! ”

If it weren’t his dumb puns and act earlier, it was this that would do you in.

“ Leo, you dummy! Sure I was laughing, but that doesn’t mean I like him more than you, I just, well… ”

It was your turn to be a bit bashful as your eyes looked everywhere except him.

“ I, well.. You’re my favorite, Leo, not Donnie.. ”

As you batted your eyes at him, hoping he would connect the dots thoroughly, your answer was given in the form of his beaming expression as he swept you into his arms, spinning.

“ Ah-hah! So you do like me—and I’m the funnier turtle!? ”

“ Oh no, I shouldn’t have said anything, now you’re too powerful! ”

Playfully you cried, leaning back with your hand dramatically draped across your forehead. Leo chuckled at your antics leaning in to lay his head against your stomach as he tightened his hold firmly.

This was definitely something he would rub in his brother’s face later on—and said brother would be profusely confused by what brought it on???

┆ ── ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ — Mikey 💌

Mikey was the last turtle you ever considered could suffer from the classic ailment of “ jealousy ”, and you couldn’t help but feel both ashamed yet intrigued.

While you weren’t too sure what it was that had got him so riled up, you were observant enough to see the way his eyes lit up with a startling emotion. At first it was impossible to pinpoint, just a glimpse of something indiscernible yet startling that crept into his blue hues at the oddest of times.

The first time you had seen that frightful emotion peek its head was during a date. The two of you had decided to hit a bar late at night, him donning a cloaking brooch, of course.

When you arrived, the loud music was entrancing, luring you both onto the dance floor to get lost in each other’s arms. The music coiled around you both, closing the gap to a suffocatingly tight end, as if either of you couldn’t stand any sort of distance apart. The floor vibrated, from both the booming speakers and the music reverberating the whole building alongside the dancing bodies around you both.

Mikey beamed with the brightest smile, and you just knew he was laughing, albeit drowned out from the ambiance. You were both having the time of your lives. Absorbed into a bubble fit for only the two of you, eyes locked on each other, neither party was ready for the stranger’s hands that snaked around your waist, pulling you in without any mind paid to you already having a devoted dance partner.

Chills set in and you turned to Mikey instantly, locking eyes, but the look in his eyes was enough to have your voice hitch in your throat.

That night ended with you both getting kicked out after Mikey wailed on the guy, but after a while, you both laughed and talked all about the fight on the way home.

The next time you saw that look was when you were hanging out with Leo while waiting for Mikey to return back from patrol. He had invited you over, and you planned to do it after wrapping up a few things, so he figured he could finish a patrol and be ready for you when you got done.

Unfortunately for him, you happened to finish your escapade much too early, and thus were at the lair awaiting his return. Leo happened to pass by, so you roped him into a conversation to bide the time. When Mikey did eventually come home, he stepped in to see you nearly keeled over in laughter.

You had been laughing so hard that when you noticed Mikey, you gave a weak wave and continued dying. He was curious what the joke was, but Leo simply shook his head and left, his own laugh dwindling down the hall. Once you recovered and were on your feet, you caught that same scary emotion swirling in his eyes. He tightened his lips and only softened when he turned to you.

More and more questions arose as you came to experience this look time and time again in all kinds of situations, but the one that finally made all the clicks pop into place was his outburst after you were with Raph.

He had been taking care of some villains on patrol with Mikey when you had ended up in the wrong place, wrong time. Their battle had turned to a violent one, with the villain bashed straight into a wall. Debris crumbled down right as you turned the corner, eyes shooting up to see parts of the building falling towards you. There was no time to move, so you just closed your eyes shut right and braced yourself.

But, no pain ever came, just a bit of dust. You opened your eyes, seeing a huge shadow casted over your body, and when you looked up?

It was Raph, who blocked the falling debris with his mighty shell.

“ Raph! “

You yelped, heart thundering in your chest, and Mikey misunderstood the shimmer in your eyes as Raph rose to full height, throwing the concrete off and away. He misinterpreted why you hugged him so tightly when he scooped you up, taking you away from the damage and ushering you to run the other way.

When you’re focusing on the wrong things, it’s easy to get the signs wrong, and boy had the ache in Mikey’s heart got everything so totally wrong. You liked Raph, didn’t you? Why else would you look at him like that? Did you like it when folks were bigger than you, unlike him who simply had an inch or two on you?

How could he be so stupid?

So, that’s how you ended up where you were now, seconds from entering your apartment when Mikey met you with a sour look on his face. You noticed that same glint in his eyes, still trying to piece together what it meant.

“ Why didn’t you tell me? ”

His voice wavered, and you responded with a hum of confusion. Inviting him in, he closed the door behind you both. His lips tugged down as he searched everywhere for the words to say. Finally, he found them and settled back on you as you were putting things down and unwinding.

“ With Raph! You like him, don’t you?! ”

“ Wha? ”

“ You—You! ”

He seemed frustrated, wracking his brain until finally he threw his hands out and shouted.

“ DO YOU LOVE RAPH MORE BECAUSE HE’S SO BIG?! ”

Silence blanketed you both as you processed his words. Finally, you placed a word on the emotion you always saw in his eyes. Struggling not to laugh at the absurdity, you snorted and shook your head.

“ Jealousy! That’s wh—wait, no, Mikey, no, I don’t ‘Love Raph cause he’s big’ ”

“ Then why do you like him more!? ”

“ Where is this coming from, Mikey, I don’t like Raph like that—I like you. ”

You stepped closer, and Mikey let you in. Your hands reached up, cupping his cheeks, and he leaned into them with such a desperation that you felt bad for finding this whole situation so silly.

“ Just, you always seem so happy when he’s around, and whenever he saves you instead, you always.. ”

His eyes were elsewhere as he spoke, almost as though he were seeing the absurdity in it all now with a clearer mind.

“ Ahh, mhmm, yup, alright so Mikey usually people are very happy when they’re saved from danger—and I mean, I probably look happy cause I’m friends with him too, but I’m dating you, silly. ”

You booped his snoot, smiling as his eyes lit up with the love you were accustomed to seeing them full of.

┆ ── ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ — Raph 💌

If there was any one of the brothers full of insecurities, it would come as no surprise as the spotlight shone upon the red turtle, atop the winner’s pedestal. As someone who once led his brothers in the face of battle, who grew up with the elder sibling curse of forced parenthood, it came as no shock that there were a couple of problems sprinkled into his character.

While he had spent much of his life up to this point recovering and healing from what dared chip at his exterior, there was more than a few bits of stubborn grime that lingered on his surface. It ate away at him, leaving behind vulnerabilities.

Then you came along, and throughout the honeymoon period he experienced nothing but delights. Never had the negative Nancy in his brain perked up to talk her shit, misleading him in circles until he was a mess of unbundled, tangled up rope.

You were a light, something that seemed to power wash the grime away, cake over it with your delicate touch and sweet words. Much smaller than he, you were probably one of the kindest humans he met, someone he cherished more than life itself.

And that, in and of itself, was a vulnerability. You were his weakness, and the shrewd dark spots in his brain couldn’t wait for the rose-colored glass to shatter and let them sink their teeth into this beauteous opportunity.

The sensible part of him knew your kindness knew no ends, that it wasn’t limited or excluded to simply him or a select few. In fact, your sweet demeanor shared with his brothers? It was a breath of relief—it was an understatement to say he had been nervous to introduce you to the family. You were okay with him because he saved you, but his brothers and father weren’t present. They hadn’t been the heroes slamming down against concrete, scaring away the silverfish that preyed upon you one fateful night.

Turns out the trash-eaters had a hankering for good food, and you, all alone, on your way back home with a doggy-bag from Cleo’s Beach Shack, served to be the perfect target.

The night had been quiet, albeit suspiciously so, but your full tummy and weary limbs had their guard fully down. You daydreamed of the bed awaiting you at home, arms beckoning you forth with pillowy softness.

That delightful image was disturbed by the sudden rustling and clank you heard from behind. Turning, your eyes shooed away dreamland and were alert. An empty can rolled from a bush, tinking into someone’s trash can at the curb. Not a soul in sight, so surely it must have been one of New York’s infamous rats? Y’know, that creature that is practically extinct in this city, like there’s no way you would ever see them—definitely not at the metro nor the coffee shop, and surely never this residential street with primo rat hot-spots such as unsupervised trash cans full of food waste.

Yeah, of course, must have been a rat. You’re so paranoid, just hurry on home, nothing bad will happen. Nothing bad ever happens to pretty little guys like you, alone on dimly lit streets, lined with houses whose doors are locked to high hell.

Nothing bad, especially not like the cold metal that clamped firmly on your ankle. Never anything as worse as the chilling growl from whatever tripped you up, glaring with red eyes and flicking a long, sharp-looking tail.

“ Oh sh—“

Your voice feebly complained, raising into a scream to the heavens above as it lunged towards you.

Or well, towards your to-go bag, but who’s paying attention to the little things like that when your life is flashing before your eyes?

Thankfully, the end never came. There was the sound of a growling struggle after a tremor shook your shivering frame, and as you opened your eyes to peek at whatever held up your attacker, a silhouette towered over you. He casted a long shadow over you, which should have been intimidating as hell, but instead it left you feeling…

Safer?

In his hand laid two identical buggers, squirming and chomping with animalistic hunger. This had to have been worse than the rats, you’d take the rats any day, at least they weren’t massive.

… well okay, they are, but this is a whole ‘nother level.

The most shocking part was this giant hero taking a step back, assuming the position of a pitcher, and launching the creatures into the distance. There may have been a glint shining, and was that the cheer of an audience you were hearing? No, that was your imagination, obviously.

But you were not imagining this guy in front of you. Much too tall to be human, unless it was some basketball lead who somehow had balls of steel to save a stranger.

Every warning sign imaginable was washed away without a trace as your savior turned around and shot a shaky smile, warm as a summer sun.

“ S-Sorry about that, are ya okay? ”

He spoke with the timidness of someone a fourth his size, and you couldn’t help but be completely charmed to death.

From that day you would see him more and more, to the point that it felt as if maybe he had been appointed your personal body guard. Ah, but, you didn’t really mind, did you? You loved his company and his toothy grins. You adored his warm, gentle hugs, and it was too sweet how you could feel his hands tremble as they held yours ever so delicately.

So yeah, he worried to introduce you to his family, but the way you brightened up the room instantly had him starstruck. You’re perfect, that’s it. That’s the tweet.

The rosey glass shattered after a few lingering months of dating. His insecurities reared their heads, resting sharp grips on his shoulders as they whispered in his ears all kinds of falsities. You liked his brothers, but maybe you liked his brothers? Why else would you be so nice to them?

And, maybe that’s why you were smiling at Leo like that? Raph is right here, so why were you talking to his brother? He couldn’t even focus enough to heard you both holding the most mundane conversation ever about some shop that opened up over on Moore’s. He steeped in the tea of jealousy, filling his senses to the brim with worry.

The worst part about it was that if you liked Leo, he couldn’t even blame you. Leo was like water, while Raph was stone. Raph stood still, he could be bossy at times, while Leo was a spunky little river that would keep you on your toes. Leo was never boring, and he could keep a smile on your face for as long as the day lasted..

But he didn’t want any of that to be true. None of it.

The conversation was stopped by a meek voice asking for your time, attention shifting from Brother Blue to your beloved, clad in what became your favorite color in these past few months.

“ Y/N, can we talk? ”

Ignoring Leo’s nudge and teasing “ ooooooohs ”, you nodded with a smile, following Raph with a pep in your step.

“ Of course, dear. ”

That lead to the silence you currently shared—with him leaning against the wall of his room, gaze fixated on some smudges on the floor. That should be cleaned up, he thought, trying to not think of how you were sat on his bed, awaiting whatever it was he needed off his chest.

“ Raph? ”

You were the first to talk, already well acquainted with your love’s tiptoeing when it came to any sort of conversation that might be unsavory. You watched as he twisted his expression, tightening his lips—whatever it was, it was bothering him profusely, and you couldn’t help the pang gripping your heart..

“ Raph…? ”

Again, your voice seemed weaker this time. That was what gave him the drive to speak, he couldn’t handle leaving you in such a state, he needed to know if these worries of his were dumb!

“ Do you like Leo? ”

“ What. ”

Your response was so fast and curt, the product of being completely taken off guard with a left hook. There were plenty of other ideas you had for the direction of this conversation, such as having beaten his leftovers last week or how you have his favorite hoodie in your laundry basket right now. Maybe even the secret trips to Donnie’s, who was currently helping you get together a gift for Raph’s birthday next month. A particularly low worry even fretted that this might be a conversation about your relationship and how it should end.

But, instead it’s about Leo? What an easy question to answer!

“ Sorry, I didn’t mean that, I mean to say no. ”

Raph’s shoulders loosened and a breath of relief slipped out of him—when had he even started holding his breath?? Never mind that. You snorted at the absurd thought of liking Leo of all people.

“ Why would I like Leo? Raph, c’mere. ”

You held your hands out, and the way his hands fell into yours spelled out a desperation to be close to you. With a gentle tug, he climbed onto his bed, and you melted into his chest. A storm was brewing in his chest, his heart thundering nervously.

“ Ya just, Raph don’t know, something—he, just… Raph was worried, s’all. Afraid ya preferred him over a… ”

While he was searching for whatever word to insult himself with, you captured his attention with a gentle peck on the lips. Your fingers gently held his chin, turning his focus to lay fully on you.

“ Over a charming, handsome hero? ”

There was that adorable smile, peppering his lips as a light laugh erupted from his chest.

“ You think I’d prefer Leo, who is a risky little ticking time bomb, over my knight in shining armor? ”

He whispered a rebuttal, something along the lines of “ he really is, huh? ”

“ Oh Raph-a-doodle, never could I want anyone other than you. ”

Leaning up, you pressed your forehead against his and gazed into his eyes. They searched yours for a hint of deceit, for anything to latch onto and spiral about, but all he found was warmth.

Thus, the jealousy flame died out, and he plummeted backwards against his bed, dragging you down with him. He gave a heavy exhale as you giggled atop his plastron, scolding him for being so silly.

┆ ── ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ — Donnie 💌

The green of jealousy was a hue you never expected to be painted across the purple canvas you called your boyfriend, but surely there is a chance for any reality to blossom true, right?

Jealousy had sewn seeds far before either of you could catch on, oblivious to the roots which spiraled and narrowed vision to see only one option as opposed to the myriad of other reasonings. You had poured love into your dearest Donnie, so much so that you couldn’t even fathom any room for jealousy. How could he ever be jealous? Surely he knows full and well just how you look at him? Obviously he knows just how only he can pluck the strings of your heart, strumming love with each touch, in a way unlike any other.

Why, if you were Excalibur, then he was your King Arthur.

So, yeah, may the gods above forgive you for not considering a jealous Donnie as a reality to worry about—though, is it really too worrying? Your boyfriend being jealous? Kind of interesting, doesn’t it just trip up your heart into a flurry of skips?

No? Just me?

Anyways, you had missed entirely the shifting of his gaze when Mikey would enter the room. The low growl, the holding of his breath, none of it had appeared in your mind as you laughed along with whatever silly antics the youngest brother would get up to. Sometimes you would even entertain him! I mean, he is your boyfriend’s little brother, so it’s only right that you laugh at his jokes, get along with him, and all that good stuff.

But, jealousy was the type to hold someone still, to draw their gaze upon one stiff perspective and allow no other reasoning. For a man of science, even he was not above the laws of insecurity in relationships, so when he saw how bouncy his brother was around you, never did he contemplate the obvious. Nary a thought shall he consider that it was simply his brother getting along with his brother’s girlfriend, nor did he consider maybe you were being nice. No, the sour, bitter green dipped his head in the nastiness of jealousy, and all he could consider in this moment was that you must have liked his brother more.

Or maybe, his brother liked you and intended to steal you away? Why else would you laugh so heartily at whatever nonsense his brother spouted? Whatever reason was there for the times he would find you in the kitchen, fixing up dinner alongside Mikey? What else could explain you returning home with topside art supplies and personalized tips to his youngest brother?

Obviously the jealous mind of Donatello Hamato was going to omit one important factor: you did this with all his brothers. If they told a good joke, you would laugh. If Mikey made dinner, you were guaranteed to be in the kitchen helping by fixing you and Donnie’s plates to your liking. If there was something on the surface any of the brothers needed, you would totally put it on your errand run, delivering it during your next visit.

But, jealousy cares not for easy explanations. It craves the most dramatic interpretations, and in this case?

The juiciest interpretation was that Mikey had set his eyes on you, Donnie’s prized lover, and you had fallen for him hook, line, and sinker.

No, no, no, Donnie says, not on his watch would he let you be swept off your feet by anyone else.

“ Y/N. ”

Donnie leaned forward, fingers firmly locking with yours and giving an urgent tug. There was a thickness layered in his eyes that left Mikey shrinking away, confused as to what he could’ve done wrong.

“ Let’s go,”

Straightening up, he couldn’t help the grin widening on his face in a “ I’ve won ” type of manner. You simply waved to his brother.

“ You haven’t forgotten why you’re here, have you? ”

The look in his eyes caused your heart to skip, unprepared for such a heavy gaze that you hadn’t yet experienced. A nervous smile rose on your expression as you looked anywhere but the face giving you a look that would serve to make you fall even harder.

“ Of course not, Dee. ”

Donnie noted your refusal to eye contact, and instead of assuming it was one of your usual bashful moments caused by yours truly, his thoughts were plagued with theories of Mikey somehow worming his way into the heart Donnie swore was his.

“ Right. ”

He muttered in a curt fashion, leading you both to his lab.

The uncomfortable awkwardness blanketing the atmosphere had not gone unnoticed as you followed him, thumb stroking loving little hearts upon the upside of his palm. Usually he would meet this with a firm squeeze, but you could recognize when your genius had his mind up in the clouds. He wasn’t even paying attention to you, was he?! And to think you came all this way to entertain his experiments, hoping to get a kiss or two, only to be met with unnecessary coldness?

What the heck, man?

“ Prepare to behold the wondrous creations of the genius, Donatello. ”

Whatever stink he had been brewing in just seconds prior had evaporated as he unveiled his newest creation: an air-fryer that could quite literally create anything from thin air.

You tried to ignore the distant shout of the youngest brother, something along the lines of “ Hey! Where’s the air-fryer?! ”

Donnie had not ignored it, nor had he dismissed the stifled laughter from you that he surely knew the cause of. His hands clenched, wrapping into crossed arms as he leaned his weight into the table.

“ Annoyed sigh. ”

While rolling his eyes, he muttered an annotation to the peeved groan slipping his lips. There it was again, you noted with a narrowed gaze, that odd discontentment he’d been soaking in this night.

“ Alright, spill it. ”

You mirrored his lean, relying on one of the structural pillars in his lab to hold your weight. Your fingers thumped impatiently against your bicep as your eyes soaked in Donnie’s body language. He seemed to stiffen, either nervously or defensively, you didn’t know.

“ Spill what? ”

He spoke with such an accusatory tone that you were almost ticked off. You held your tongue, hoping to keep this civil and not devolving into mindless argument.

“ Spill wh—?! ”

Sputtering, your hands gestured wildly before quite literally framing him. He knew what you meant, he wasn’t dumb!

“ Whatever is making you so, so—so THIS! ”

His brow raised, and he almost seemed insulted as you threw your hands up with a frustrated growl.

“ Why are you so upset with me right now? What did I do? ”

That seemed to do the charm of dragging out what you’ve been looking for, the explanation, as he straightened his posture and pushed off the table.

“ Oh save me the innocent act, Y/N,”

Confusion painted your face, and for a moment he physically faltered, unsure to continue after such a clear display of hurt across your pretty face. After a second, his mouth tugged into a frown, shaking off the hesitation to continue his claim,

“ I know you like Mikey, so just do us both a favor and go scurry along after him. ”

Donnie waved his hand off, pointing to the door. Whatever look you had on your face at that moment must have embodied just how deeply the pain in your heart crawled, right on down to your very core, because he seemed to balk at his own words. A bit of regret wrapped around him as he muttered something too low for you to hear.

Tightening your lips, you straightened this time and took a few steps to close the gap between you and him.

“ You will not talk to me like that, and what’s this about me liking Mikey? Your little brother? ME? You think I like him?! ”

There was no way, right? He couldn’t be serious? You, liking Mi—he might as well have been your brother too! You could never like him over Donnie?! What an outrageous claim, you thought, standing your ground in front of Donnie. This could have been avoided if he had just not been such, such a…

“ Obviously! Why else would you be bringing him gifts and helping him out in the kitchen? ”

You opened your mouth to speak, only to be interrupted as he continued with an accusatory finger pointing no where specific.

“ And I’ll have you know that I have read about ‘Cooking together’ and I know how much of an intimate bonding experience it is! ”

The childish stomp he gave, throwing his fists against his sides stiffly, served to diminish almost all the frustration bubbling up. You snorted at the sight, causing him to loosen up, confusedly tripping over his words to sputter out a “ Wh-What, what is this, what’s so funny? ”

“ … You’re a riot, Dee. ”

Wiping away the tiny tears pricking from such a hearty laugh, your eyes met his with less of anger and more of the warmth he was far too familiar of.

“ Since apparently I’m the only one of us with some sense, I’ll have YOU know that I do that for all of y’all! ”

Sheepishly, he seemed to curl into himself as you poked your index finger right into his plastron to emphasize the “ you ”.

“ I bring you gifts all the time—April, Raph, Leo, hell, even Splinter, too! ”

Jealousy was starting to burn away, leaving behind the bashful shame as he started to finally contemplate the more reasonable explanations for your behavior. Silently he condemned himself for starting up this whole dumb debacle with such a blatant disregard to the facts.

“ And of COURSE I help Mikey with cooking. You have a specific palette that he doesn’t always remember fully, so it’s up to me to make sure you get a fulfilling meal you’ll actually eat, dummy! ”

Ah, now that was the part that did him in, something he didn’t even know. Just as you were going to continue, he stepped closer.

“ Wait, you do? ”

“ I do—do what? I said a lot of things, Donnie, be specific. ”

Derailed, you stumbled over your claims, lost suddenly at which point he had cling to.

“ I thought Michael was just inconsistent in his preparation of my dishes, but since you say that, I do recall my meals being much better when you were around. ”

His hands had found their way upon your shoulders as he spoke, gaze flitting all across the lab as he collected his thoughts.

“ I had suspected meals were just better when you were around because, well.. ”

You softened as his gaze fell onto you.

“ Because you were there.. ”

Silence fell upon you both, except more comfortably this time. He exhaled deeply, marked with his trademark “ relieved sigh ” then smiled at you.

“ Oh Y/N, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to drag you into such a ridiculous argument. I was just… ”

“ You were just… Jealous? ”

Your teasing gaze was searing through him, so much so he shut his eyes tightly and groaned annoyedly.

“ As much as I would wish to not admit it, yes. I may have been experiencing,”

He waved his hand in the air, as if collecting his words.

“ Jealousy, towards your interactions with Miguel.. ”

Donnie was relieved as you laughed away all his worries, leaning in to plant a kiss on his lips. The moment lingered for a few, as if desperately needed to mend this situation, stopping only when you pulled away.

“ Alright, you’re forgiven… For now—BUT! Next time just talk to me, dummy, you got me all riled up for no reason. ”

With that, you gave a playful shove that had him gasping as though he were insulted, and quick to rush to his experiment’s side with more questions than he could keep up with.

Not like he hated an attentive and questioning audience, though. Much appreciated.

[blooky8]

its 3:30am..... i did some.......... Gaming

no but why did you have to motivate me to play isat now of all times. its 11 pm my sleep schedule is ruined i NEED to go to bed (you didnt actually do anything but i did get motivated because of your blog so i think you should know about that😔)

you wanna play isat you wanna play isat sooooo bad you want to sacrifice your sleep schedule to play my silly little timeloop game

[sunny-mercya]

First-Aid

Poly! Billy Loomis & Stu Macher x Male Reader

Fandom -> Scream 1996

Requested by -> @silentlycoris

Masterlist

»My daddy is a nurse and he once told, always help when someone needs help.«

That had been your sole and only explanation you had given Billy and Stu, when they asked you—after you ushered them inside your house—why you treated their injuries when they're Strangers to you.

It was a night to be remembered of how they both had meet you—it happened after one of their very first testing out kills, just measly murdering back then, wanting to see how it goes—testing the waters—and if they improve on anything.

What neither of them had calculated, that one of their test subjects of killing had been a bodybuilder and the man—much larger in height and more muscular in shape—did put up an good back fight, which did ended in him being dead anyways—but also Billy and Stu getting injured.

In the unholy hours of night, when they wandered out of the alley—in a town a few miles away from Woodsboro—tracking a walk of two hours back home, Stu whined all the way—till they reached the first line of houses of Woodsboro—like a small child, about to have a tantrum any moment, Billy's ear off—complaining about the pain and the blood and how stupid that idea was.

Billy, rubbing his temples—trying to ease his splitting headache—scoffed loudly at his friend, telling him to just shut his mouth and suck it up—jaw clenching in building annoyance.

There just some minor issues of injuries, nothing big to whine about and neither is there a need for going into the hospital—wouldn't be really a good idea—as they could bandaging themselves up just as good.

When passing a few houses—looking so ominous looming without any real streetlights—Billy and Stu flinched visibly, out of surprise, when a Dog started to bark and came—from the small bits of garden they passed—running towards them, sniffing as they're fresh butchered meat—than again, with blood on them, they might be.

»Dallas! Dallas my boy whats wrong?« you came jogging out the door, clothed in baggy pyjamas, when Dallas didn't returned and continued with his barking outside.

Once close enough, you raised your eyebrows at the two strangers—not expecting on your tonights Bingo list of nothing spectacular happenings, to have these strangers—covered in blood, you assumed at least, with the nonexistent light out here it was hard to tell—passing by your house and getting jumped by Dallas.

»Are you....you two alright? You look a bit beaten.« you waged with yourself to ask such, personal, question—whatever happened was not your job to snoop in.

»Your dog's named Dallas?« asked Stu, pushing Billy a bit away to get near to you, ignoring your question completely and his momentary whining of pain—too intrigued on your dogs name, wanting to know why choose such a name.

»Uhm yeah, it was the only name which seemed to fit and click, when he had been just a pup years ago.«

Normally, Dallas would've barked up a storm and snarling his teeth at anyone—who isn't your dad or a very close friend—when they come far too near into your personal comfort bubble zone—and this tall strangers before you, had already crossed such bounds, but Dallas seemed to be okay with it.

»Stu. You're towering again. Stop that, you skyscraper.« Billy pulled Stu, by his hoodie, away from you—giving you a small nod.

»You two seriously seemed to be injured and I don't wanna overstep here any line, but just come inside and I'll patch you two up.«

With that being said, you grabbed them both by their hand and dragged them back inside.

~~~

»I hope you brought me some pizza and Fanta as a payment for me patching you two up, once again.« you said teasingly, when Billy and Stu came through the kitchen backdoor—calling out for you and Stu being overexcited to see Dallas again, although you three had seen each other this morning and afternoon already.

»You getting real pricy here, babe.« Billy grins, licking over his lips as he goes into the living room and setting down onto the couch.

»Oh really? With the amount of medical supplies you and Stu are wasting, because of your little secret what the ever-fuck, I should actually raise my prices of payment much higher than it is.«

Your voice was laced with amusement, getting the wipes of disinfectants, cooling creams and gauzes out—already inspecting Billy's minor injuries.

Ever since the night you first have patched them up, Billy and Stu dropped by two days after—saying their thanks and gifting you chocolate and dog-treats.

Then they keep visiting you, getting to know you better and better over the long summer and persuading—trying at least—to transfer to their highschool instead of going to the one in Flintstocks.

And somehow this blooming friendship, over the last two years, turned into Billy and Stu dropping by also in the late nights—whenever they're finished with their whatsoever secret kinda hobby—to get patched up by you as posses the medical knowledge and you're—by Billy and Stu's teasingly opinion—their favourite nurse.

»[Nickname]! I wanna be patched up first! Billy went first last time already!« Stu whines, he was good at such antics.

You sometimes teased, that Stu reminds you of a overgrown puppy which way too much energy—rivalling against Dallas, when it comes to your attention and affection.

»Well, then how about moving your ass here into the living room, Stu honey?« chuckling, you called back to him—sharing a knowing smile of amusement with Billy.

Like being said, you're indeed their favourite Nurse.

[achilles-rage]

Good Luck Charm: Chapter 1

college football player!buck x plus size!eader

summary: you're having a bad day and you run into an attractive guy in the hallway on your way to class. your frustration gets the better of you and you snap at him, but he’s intrigued by your attitude, and goes out of his way to keep talking to you.

word count: 2.6k

series masterlist

A/N: i'm so excited to release the first chapter of my new multi part fic! i definitely started in the middle of this fic and then worked my way back, so this isn't my fav chapter, but if you wanna see them freak nasty in future chapters keep reading!1! i also tried to make the reader race inclusive, but please let me know if there's anything i did wrong so i can correct it!

warnings: both characters are a little mean to each other (oops), slight enemies to lovers??, a touch of slowburn??, no use of y/n, fem!reader, race inclusive!reader

You huff as you walk into the arts building on campus, tripping as your foot hits the doorframe. It’s not enough for you to fall, but it’s enough to piss you off ever more than you already are.

You’re running late, and it seems like everything is going wrong today. First, your alarm hadn’t gone off, meaning you basically had to run to campus for your 9am lecture. You walked in late, which wasn’t really a big deal, the professor paid you no mind as you walked in. It did matter, however, that you had to trip over bags and feet to the middle of an aisle, squeezing yourself into the last seat available in the lecture hall. Then, when you went to get yourself a little treat between classes at the Starbucks on campus, some guy bumped into you and made you spill half your drink on your shirt, meaning you had to race home to shower and change before going back to campus for your later class, which is where you’re heading now.

It’s your last year of college, so while you know your way around campus, it’s the first day of classes, and you’ve never had a class in the lecture hall your next class is in.

Your head is down as you look at your phone, pace slowing slightly as you triple check what room number you’re looking for when you feel a large body hit your shoulder.

“Watch it.” you hear a deep voice say as you look up from your phone, blinking slowly for a moment before something in you snaps.

You whirl around, jaw clenched as you make eye contact with perhaps the most attractive guy you’ve ever seen, not that you notice that through your rage. On any other day, you would’ve apologized and been on your way, but today, you have had enough, your patience gone.

“You ran into me.” you bark back, barely having time to think about what you’re saying. You feel a little bad as you see his eyes widen, but your thoughts are so clouded by frustration at how the day was playing out that you didn’t care. Deep down, you know he’s probably right, you weren’t watching where you were going. But he didn’t have to be a dick about it, right?

“I’m sorry, excuse me, princess.” he says sarcastically after a moment, as his surprised expression is replaced with a smirk. He hadn’t expected you to respond the way that you had, and this intrigues him. He crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes trailing down your figure, taking you in.

“Thank you! Was that so hard?” you reply in the same tone, matching his stance and crossing your arms over your chest, not even noticing the way “princess” rolled off his tongue so smoothly. You also don’t notice the way his eyes roam over your body, taking in your soft curves, the way your chest moves to keep up with the quick beating in your chest.

“Someone’s feisty, huh?” you roll your eyes at this, wanting nothing more than to be done with the incredibly handsome man and go to class. You’re already late enough, you really don’t need this.

“Only when someone deserves it.” you reply sharply, jutting your hip out as you tilt your head to the side, glaring at him.

You’re met with a scoff, and he fights back a laugh at the way you’re looking at him. You’ve got an attitude, but he’s got to admit, you’re gorgeous. The way you’re glaring at him kind of makes him want to push you against the wall and kiss your attitude away, but he also kind of likes the way you’re not backing down. He wants to keep you here. Willing to do anything to keep you standing here, he steps closer to you, licking his lips as he looks down at you, that smirk still on his face.

“You should lose the attitude, princess.” he teases, a playful glint in his eye as he sees the way you react when his words hit you. His words have the desired effect. You aren’t going anywhere. 

“Or what?” you hiss, your jaw clenching at his words. You’re really not in the mood to be told off by a man who thought the world revolved around him. On any other day, you’d already be on your way, but now, you just want to slap the stupid smirk right off his stupid attractive face. And what the hell was up with the nickname?

“Or I’ll make you.” he challenges, gauging your reaction, hoping he hadn’t crossed a line. With the way you hadn’t walked away yet, he has a feeling that you weren’t going to tell him to go to hell.

You pause for a moment, suddenly taking in the look in his eyes. He was arguing with you, sure, but you had only just realized how he was looking down at you, almost flirting with you. For a moment, you’re overcome with nerves, realizing that your temper has gotten you into a situation you never thought you’d be in.

“I’d rather die.” you get out. You bite the inside of your cheek as you hold eye contact, trying to keep up with the attitude that had been blinding you earlier.

You watch as his tongue slowly traces the inside of his cheek, his lips parting as he chuckles softly. He notices the way your breath stills for a moment and you blink slowly, how his words had momentarily snapped you out of your angry haze. 

He’s so close to you that you can almost feel the heat radiating off of him, but you refuse to back down, already this far into the argument.

“You might say that now, princess, but you haven’t seen me when I’m nice. I’m sure you’d like me if you dropped the attitude.” he states, eyes trailing down your figure again, taking in your cleavage peeking out from your shirt slightly, the way your clothes fall on your soft belly and thick thighs.

“That’s never gonna happen.” you say, letting out a shaky breath as you try not to look away. The class you’re currently missing comes to mind as your glare falters for a moment, and you’re suddenly very aware of how close you’re standing to a stranger in the middle of the hallway.

“Don’t be so sure, princess.” he teases, licking his lips again as his eyes study your face. 

What the hell are you doing? You shouldn’t be talking to this man. You have class, and you took your frustration out on him when he mostly didn’t deserve it. You swallow, biting the inside of your cheek as your face grows hot. You have to get out of here before this goes any worse than it already has. If you don’t walk away now, you’d realize how cute he is.

“I have to go to class.” you tell him softly, a hint of coldness still in your voice as you turn on your heel, walking down the hallway and out of sight.

He watches as you walk away, his eyes shamelessly trailing down to your ass as you go. He chuckles at your hasty departure as he bites a lip. If he met you at a party, he’s sure he would’ve already made you a flustered mess for him, but you didn’t seem like the type of girl who’d be at one of his team’s parties. The way you rushed off to class like that? While part of your exit was to end the conversation, there was a hint of nervousness in your eyes that tells him you truly were late to class, and not very happy about it. He wants to see you again, wants to try to get you to lower your guard so he can get to know you at a time where your temper isn’t getting the better of you.

You let out a long sigh as soon as you get far enough away from him, and you can feel that your hands are shaking ever so slightly. Why did you do that? You should’ve just apologized and kept walking because now you were really late for class, and you had basically yelled at a guy when you were pretty sure you had run into him. He was attractive, and built. You think he’s on the football team. Your roommate has a type, and you think you remember seeing his face when she showed you the entire team roster while she forced you to play drunken smash or pass during the summer.

Now that you think of it, what the fuck? Why did he immediately tell you to watch it? And then, why did he just come onto you like that? Did he just immediately assume that you would fold and apologize if he laid on the charm? You shake your head at the thought, scoffing as you pull out your phone again, realizing you had gone the complete wrong way as you stormed away from him. You turn again, hoping he was gone when you walk back to where you ran into each other, and to your delight, he was. 

You finally find your lecture hall and quickly slip in, silently celebrating when you realize that the doors were at the back of the room rather than the front, meaning you wouldn’t disturb the class. You scan the lecture hall, seeing an empty seat on an aisle a few rows from the back, and you silently make your way over. You sit down and pull your laptop out of your bag, quickly opening the class homepage to follow along as the professor goes over the syllabus.

You’re so focused on not drawing attention to yourself that you don’t notice him in the back row, eyes immediately on you as you sneak past him.

He smirks to himself, noticing the difference in your demeanor as you walk past him, head ducked, as if not to disturb anyone further by your lateness. With the way you snapped at him before, he half expects you to walk in with your head up, daring anyone to act annoyed with you as you make your way to your seat.

He keeps finding his eyes darting to the back of your head as class goes on, trying to think of a way to talk to you again, hoping you wouldn’t roll your eyes and keep walking if he tried.

You try to catch up on what the professor is saying about the syllabus, trying to add assignment and test dates to your calendar as she speaks. As the professor wraps up the class, you continue working away, trying to finish adding the dates, knowing you would forget to do it once you got home.

He stays in his seat when class ends, eyes glued to you as you keep typing on your laptop for a minute or two while the people around you start filing out. He puts his laptop away haphazardly, his eyes still trained on you as you do the same. He stands up at the same time you do and walks over to the door, standing in front of it.

You see him as he reaches the door, rolling your eyes as he blocks the way. All you want is to get home and crawl into bed, you really don’t want to deal with him right now.

“Where are you going, princess?” he teases, that stupid smirk returning to his face as he hears your sigh. He keeps far enough in front of the door that you could slip out if you really wanted to. He doesn’t want to scare you, he just wants more time with you.

“Home.” you reply shortly, crossing your arms over your chest. The way he looks down at you has you on edge again. He’s too smug for your liking, and now that your brain had time to process, you couldn’t not notice his blue eyes, his large arms. Your action doesn’t go unnoticed by him, as his eyes are immediately drawn to the way your arms push your chest up slightly.

“No more classes to run off to? No more rushing around and running into strangers?” he teases, giving you a once over.

“I didn’t run into you.” you tell him matter of factly, but your voice is not as loud as it once was. You know he’s right, but it’s far too late to change your mind. Why wouldn’t he let this go? You’re already embarrassed about the way you acted, you really don’t need him to keep reminding you.

“Ah, but you did. You were looking at your phone, trying to find your class, probably. You stormed off in the wrong direction and had to double back, didn’t you?” he says in an amused tone, chuckling softly as you raise your brows. You’re slightly surprised he’s smart enough to put two and two together.

“I might’ve apologized if you weren’t being a dick. Do you think the world revolves around you?” you fight back, waves of embarrassment hitting you as you realize that he had noticed you went the wrong way.

He doesn’t answer as his lips part slightly, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek. He takes a step ever so slightly closer to you, looking down at you with a glint in his eyes.

“You got a boyfriend?” he asks after a moment. He’s both amused and confused at your reaction to this. It’s as if you’re unsure if you should continue arguing with him, or give in and walk away, but that’s what has him so intrigued. He wants to know what you would be like behind closed doors, how you would react to his touch as his hands make their way down your body.

You scoff, shaking your head as you maneuver around him and out the door. The nerve of this guy. Why did he have to be so infuriating? And hot?

He raises his hands in mock surrender as you step around him, his gaze following you as you walk down the hall. 

As you make your way out of the building, you feel yourself let out a shaky breath, biting your lip as your brain is overcome with thoughts of him. You try to get your mind off of him, taking your phone out of your pocket to text your roommate and ask her if she wants to do a movie night tonight. She immediately responds with a yes, asking what movie you had in mind, but your brain feels so foggy that you can’t even think of the endless list of movies you’ve been wanting to watch.

Instead, you think of the way he looked down at you, how his eyes trailed down your body, drinking you in. You think about the way you could see his biceps flexing under his shirt as he crossed his arms. You think about what he called you. Princess. It was weird at first, but as you keep thinking about it, you can’t help the way it makes your stomach flip. Why did he ask you if you had a boyfriend? He couldn’t have been interested in anything more than pissing you off. You shake your head to yourself as you try to clear your head, finally making it back to your apartment complex.

And him? He walks the whole way home thinking about you as well. He can’t wait to see you next week in class, hoping that you’ll have more classes together. He’s hooked, and he’s desperate to break down your walls and learn more about you.

next chapter

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[sanakiras]

DISTRACTION

PAIRING — xu minghao x reader

WORD COUNT — 1.5k

SYNOPSIS — you can’t help staring at your best friends’s hands. when he pushes you to tell him why, things in your relationship take a turn.

TAGS — minghao in a suit, explicit sexual content, pure self-indulgence, porn with no plot, fem!reader

NOTE — there’s something sooo attractive about a man having long fingers. also i just have a crush on the8. no i will not elaborate. might delete this later bc i don’t like it. oh well. enjoy :o

lately, whenever being around your best friend, you’ve been... distracted.

for some reason, you’ve always liked it when men have long fingers. obviously the best known reason for that is a lewd one, but for you, it’s more than that. long fingers are hypnotizing to you.

of course it was minghao’s face that drew you in first. plump lips, eyes that could both kill and make you melt under their gaze, a strong jaw, dark hair often slicked back with a pair of sunglasses sitting on top.

then you noticed his figure. minghao is tall — long legs, long arms, long torso. what intrigued you about him was the control he has over it, alongside his flexibility. his movement is always swift, sharp and coordinated. not one to stumble over his own feet.

he became a close friend to you in no-time. within the first months of meeting him, you developed an admiration towards him, and that continued to grow into a crush you feel nothing if not insecure about.

because despite knowing him well, he’s far from an open book.

he’s not once given you the idea that he likes you the same way you like him, and now that he’s become such a good friend of yours, the last thing you’d want is to lose the friendship you’ve built with him.

so you keep it to yourself.

or, well, you try.

his current outfit makes that ridiculously hard. you’ve never seen him in a suit before.

while you weren’t all that excited for the black-tie event hosted by your faculty, just the sight of him has changed your mood like a whole day’s worth of caffeine.

and when he walks over to you, all you can do is admire him. the fabric suits his body like a glove, with several silver rings adorning his fingers and his frequently worn small hoop earrings to match them. the beautifully subtle black eye pencil brings out the colors of his eyes and styled hair.

“you look like a dream,” is the first thing to come out of his mouth when he steps before you, the tone of his voice as gentle as the smile he gives you.

heat rushes to your cheeks. “so do you. never expected to see you in a suit, but you clean up nice.”

he chuckles at your sarcasm. “thank you.”

as he tells you about — whatever it is, you honestly hardly remember a thing of the conversation — you suddenly come to the deafening conclusion that you’re nowhere near as subtle with your glances as you thought you were, which certainly bursts your bubble a bit.

“you keep doing that.” he muses, tilting his head as he looks at you with curiosity.

“what?”

“staring at my hands.”

“i’m not—i don’t stare.”

“what else would you call it? constant-looking?”

“hilarious. really.”

when you don’t say anything else, he purses his lips, hoping to get a little more out of you. you’ve got to give him credits for his determination. “so, what’s so interesting about my hands?”

with a simple shrug of your shoulders, you pretend to be casual, like he didn’t catch you staring at him. “they’re not interesting, just… nice.”

“nice?”

“can’t we just drop this? and by ‘we’ i mean you.”

he chuckles, shaking his head. “we’re friends. you can tell me, i won’t judge.”

“you? not judging anyone? that’d be almost suspicious.”

the retort makes him smile to the point it hurts his jaw. “i won’t judge you.”

a sigh rolls past your lips. “it’s no big deal, i just… like it when people have nice hands.”

“and why’s that?”

“does everything you like need to have a reason?”

"no, i guess not."

a playfulness that stirs doubt in you flashes behind his eyes, and you’re forced to put a halt to the conversation when one of your fellow faculty members walks up to the two of you with a glass of champagne, which you could not be happier with.

all you can do is hope minghao won’t bring up the topic again, the redness in your cheeks betraying you.

unfortunately, he does eventually bring it up again, once he’s gotten you home.

what his exact words were is difficult to remember, but now that he’s pushed you back onto your bed, you can’t find it in you to give a damn.

your brain feels foggy and a thin layer of sweat begins to form on your neck while he uses his hands to unbutton the white dress shirt, his impatience getting the best of him for once.

even though you’re busy pulling your top off, it’s hard to divert your gaze from his hands and chest, which brings him to tilt his head at you. “you’re staring again.”

“if you don’t want me to stare, don’t give me a reason to.”

“oh, so this whole thing is really just my fault?” he taunts, getting so annoyed with the damn buttons on his shirt not working with him that he leaves the bottom half like it already was, only the upper half of his chest peeking through.

once he lays his eyes on your half-naked form, you spot a growing desperation and impatience in his features, which is rare on him.

much to your surprise, he’s eager and quick, refusing to waste a single second. his hands have already pulled you towards him by your thighs before you can even comprehend it.

the thin silver necklace touches your warm skin when he leans down to kiss you, the last thing you’d imagined you’d be doing tonight — and it’s better than you anticipated.

he pries your legs open with a nudge of his knee, and just when you want to look down to his hand on your skin, he pushes two fingers into you, curling it upwards.

your hands immediately fly to his upper arms in response to the sudden intrusion, but it only makes you crave more.

his lips latch onto your cheeks, jaw and neck, placing wet kisses everywhere he can reach while his long fingers move in and out of you.

“just two and you’re already so tight — you can take another one, though, can’t you?”

how sweet of him to pose it as a question, an offer.

you both know damn well he’s gonna keep going either way.

minghao doesn’t know what it is about you that just utterly sets him off. it might be your constant pessimism, your snarky delivery of sarcastic little comments, the way you needlessly tease him all the time — or maybe it’s that whenever he sees you, he wants nothing more for you to get the fuck on top of him, moaning his name.

who knows.

“why don’t you just try me?” you ask rhetorically, accidentally clenching around his digits when he moves them again.

minghao chuckles, baffled that you’ve still got such an attitude, even when you’re at his mercy. he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it, though. “right. maybe i should just do that.”

a third finger prodding into your hole makes you whine the loudest you have so far. he smirks a little when noticing the way you’re fighting so hard to maintain your composure, and the noise of your squelching wetness begins to become embarrassingly loud.

but it isn’t enough for him.

usually, it’s not at all like him to be insatiable or greedy. but all he can think of right now is that he wants more — to be closer with you, deeper.

he feels his own lust in every motion, every thrust of his fingers, every twitch of his cock. it makes him wonder if he’s ever wanted something, no, someone this badly.

his next move goes unnoticed by you since you’ve got your eyes closed and head back, but then you feel it, and it’s like you snap awake, an electric jolt making you jerk forward.

when you look down, he eagerly runs his tongue up and down your pussy, fingers remaining buried inside you.

“oh my god—” you stutter out, hand clutching onto the pillow but quickly moving down to grab his hair.

lost in your own pleasure, you push his head down, the lower half of his face coated in your arousal — fuck, he wants to do this for hours.

he proceeds to curl his fingers again, and he must’ve hit a good spot, because your legs are beginning to tremble, moans shorter and higher-pitched. “fuck, hao, it’s too much, i’m too close—”

“are you?” he rhetorically asks, pushing his digits as deep as possible, sucking on your clit, hollowing his cheeks. even when you try to close your legs, he firmly keeps them open.

your hips buck into his face when you cum, knees shaking, and he presses his thumb on your pussy, which makes your eyes roll back.

propping yourself up on your elbows, you suddenly feel his fingers slowly sliding out of you, and just that feeling alone already turns you on again. he sits across from you, still between your legs, and his fingers are completely coated in the sticky wetness that’s still dripping down your cunt.

he pushes them in his mouth, licking them clean, some of your arousal remaining on his lips.

“please say you’ll let me do that again.”

® SANAKIRAS — do not repost, remake or copy my work in any way whatsoever. translations are not allowed.

[reallyromealone]

How about part 4 to bakugos brother. The plot has thicken. 🙃🫰🏼

Title: bakugos brother

Fandom: bnha

Characters: bnha ensemble

Fic type: series

Chapter: 4

Pairings: kirishima x male reader

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, angst, reader is awkward, broken sibling relationship, reader is siblings to Katsuki, hurt to comfort, neglectful parents

Notes:

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

(Name) And Kirishima went upstairs as Aizawa sat in the livingroom with the Bakugo parents, (name) looking surprisingly nervous as he went to his room.

"Whatever he did we will pay for" Mrs. Bakugo started and Aizawa raised his hand to stop her "I'm actually here on behalf of U.A to extend an invitation for your son to attend the general studies program as we have recently opened a spot in that class post sports festival" Aizawa began and watched their reactions carefully, Mr. Bakugo seemed curious and a bit excited at the concept of his son having the experience but Mrs Bakugo seemed... Less thrilled "would that affect Katsuki?" She asked simply and Aizawa raised an eyebrow at her statement.

"The two would be in completely different programs, how on earth would that affect Katsuki?" Mr Bakugo said simply and the blond woman glared without any bite at her husband "Principal Nedzu is particularly interested in his intelligence quirk and would like to talk about it when we do the transfer if you are willing to agree"

And the color drained from their faces.

(Name) And Kirishima cuddled on (name)s beanbag chair, a massive thing that was (name)s first purchase as (name) watched kirishima play a phone game "so you're just building and adventuring?" (Name) Seemed intrigued but also deeply confused at the game "yeah, it's a sandbox game-- you can do basically anything"

"Are there animals?"

"Oh a bunch, they actually just updated the dogs so they have more variety"

"Show me"

"And how would he be able to afford it?" Mrs Bakugo said coldly and Aizawa resisted the urge to roll his eyes "U.A has offered (name) a full scholarship" Mr Bakugo seemed excited at this "really?!" The man seemed over the moon at this but his wife less thrilled "I told you to let him apply!" He said almost angrily and Aizawa looked between them "but the chances of katsu--"" you need one parents approval right?" He cut her off to look at Aizawa who nodded "then you have my approval"

"Masaru!" Mrs Bakugo said angrily and the man looked at her seriously "if we don't do this for our son, we will fail more than we already have"

"Kirishima, time to go" Aizawa said simply and looked at (name) "I expect to see you at U.A Monday with your things packed" the pro said and it took the teens a second to process it all before kirishima grinned at his boyfriend "Yo! We get to hang out all the time now!"

"I get to go?"

"Yup, now better pack, you got a week before you start, Nedzu wants a meeting first thing tomorrow"

"YOU GUYS ARENT GONNA BELEIVE THIS!" Kirishima shouted as he walked into the livingroom area and the others looked confused "my boyfriend got into U.A!" He boasted and Bakugo turned to look at his best friend confused "what." Bakugo said flatly and Kirishima grinned "yeah man! Your brother's gonna be in gen Ed!" Everyone looked at bakugos reaction curiously as many emotions passed his face before just grunting and turning back to his phone.

(Name)s week at home was tense with his mom but his dad always had his back, always making sure he was cared for and the parent who made an effort, he was (name)s rock.

"Just don't get in your brother's way"

Words he heard constantly up until his dad drove him to U.A, giving him an envelope with money "I'll be sending you weekly allowances... I know you have money of your own but that's your money, this is for any emergency things you need" he said softly and (name) took the envelope quietly "I'm sorry that I haven't been enough for you, I know I could do more"

"Mom's a hard person, I know you feel guilt but I know that she doesn't make it easy and you have been there when it counts and stuck up for me so I could be here... I love you dad"

"I love you too kid, now go be stronger than I am"

The two embraced before the man helped (name) get everything into his dorm, kirishima showing up to help "so you're the boy my son's seeing! A pleasure to meet you" (name) smiled as the two greeted and got along very well "yeah! I'm also bakubros best friend!" He said excitedly and Mr. Bakugo had a small sliver of hope that this young man could bridge the two siblings... It was wishful thinking but he always had hope.

Hope that somehow the relationship his wife ruined would be fixed.

(Name) Didn't sleep well the first night, awkward in the new environment and the sudden shift from what he was used to.

Tomorrow he would get an introduction course under Nedzu, the rat wanted to do some tests to truly know what level he was at to gauge where they should move towards education wise.

Things were awkward during lunch as (name) sat alone, everyone hearing about Nedzu's private student and avoided him as such but (name) just played chess on his little travel chess set in the corner, periodically eating his food.

He had an hour to kill, might as well look for any weaknesses in his plays.

"There you are!" (Name) Looked up to see his boyfriend and other 1A students who looked curiously "Aizawa said we got to have lunch at the same time!" The Bakugo siblings locked eyes and (name) offered a seat to his boyfriend who plopped beside him with a grin "so you play chess, what's that like?" The pink girl named Mina asked excitedly and (name) was shy as he responded "a lot of travelling, I been throughout Japan for openings" he said softly "how many have you won?" A blond boy named denki asked and (name) looked a little more confident "I haven't lost, so maybe 50, I have been playing professionally since I was 9"

"Whoa... What do you get if you win?" He asked and (name) thought "the U.A open won me about 100k... But that was the open to let me qualify to international opens but my dad worries I might be too young for that" he said simply and the others looked shocked at the price and did the math "damn you're rich"

Katsuki didn't know this, how many games his brother went to between school and such or how good he was at it, he didn't think about it much but now...

... He kind of felt envious that his best friend knew more about his brother than he did.

The bakusquad asked all sorts of questions throughout lunch and eventually a few more 1A students joined and Momo even planned a chess match between her and (name) for fun.

And for the first time, Katsuki saw his brother look genuinely happy talking to people, typically he didn't talk to people.

It was nice to see.

[3d-wifey]

PLEASE PLEASE I NEED A READER WHO'S JUST AS MUCH OF A FERAL FREAK AS LOGAN JUST IDC WHAT HER MUTATION IS, JUST MAKE IT ANIMALISTIC SO THEY CAN HAVE FREAK NASTY SMUT

Back to the Kitty (Cus She's Kinda Pretty)

Pairing: Logan James "The Wolverine" Howlett x Lynx!reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: smut heehee, uh munch logan supremacy, hybrid au (?), NSFW, NSFT

A/N: This has been my man since 2000 and I was only born in 2004, I'm so happy he's fucking FINALLY GETTING LOVE GOD DAMN. Reader is implied to be black but you can still read it if you aren't, as always. Also, it's been shown in canon again and again that Logan is weak to the whims of a pretty woman, especially early Logan, so dont give me no goddamn lip about this being unrealistic.

Tags: @yvy1s @innercreationflower

Logan stares at the wooden door long after Summers leaves. He scoffs, irritated. Something about the Boy Scout rubs him the wrong way. He rolls his eyes. "Prick."

"I see you've met Scott." Logan spins around, and sees… No one. There couldn't be another telepath rummaging around in his head. Between one blink and the next, a woman appears on what's supposed to be his bed. "He's not so bad once you get to know him. Then again, he's not so good either. He's a real mixed bag."

Logan gapes at the relaxed figure lounging on his bed. His senses snap to attention—your scent is all over his room as if it's always been there.

Your heartbeat is fast but steady. He sniffs. Your scent, cool like snow, makes him nostalgic for the Canadian wilderness. It’s tinged with something familiar—an intrinsic note of his own scent. Something he caught on that Sabertooth freak earlier. Animalistic. 

Feral.

As he takes in your appearance, memories of the wilderness flash through his mind. He'd heard stories about people, people like them living off the grid, protecting wildlife and using their powers to evade detection. Maybe you were one of them. A guardian of the wild, hidden from civilization up till now. Maybe he was too.

"What the hell is going on here?" Logan grits his teeth, sick and tired of surprises. You tilt your head, pointed ears twitching, the black tufts catching his attention.

You're lying on your stomach, facing him. Your knees are bent, ankles crossed and swinging.

"You teleport in here or something?" He takes cautious steps towards you, spotting the sharply curved claws in place of toenails—easy weapons. One good kick could slit his throat.

A mix of gray and beige fur trails up from the front of your feet, all the way up your thighs to disappear past the leg of your shorts. It's the same shade as the hair on your head.

"Nope." You barely acknowledge him, grooming the fur along your forearm like one of those big cats. He lingers on the movement, intrigued. The slight tilt of your head, long pink tongue peaking out as it travels the length of your forearm to your knuckles and then back again, holds his attention. "I've been here the whole time.”

“I would’ve smelled you." 

“But ‘ya didn’t,” you chuckle and it feels like you’re rubbing it in his face.

“That's impossible.” He scoffs, shaking his head. 

Sharp, amber eyes lock onto him, reflective and cat-like. He freezes, instincts on edge, the hair on his nape standing as vertical pupils assess him coolly. 

Logan’s eyes flicker away to the exit—only for a split second. But when he looks back, the bed is empty. He whips around to the door, heart pounding in confusion because it's…it's still closed.

Where—? 

“How the hell—”

His jaw doesn't drop but it's a near damn thing. This is freaky, freakier than the regular freakiness he's come to expect after walking into this school.

"Still here." You purr from behind him, the sound of your voice sending a shiver down his spine. He turns back, and there you are again, lounging like you never moved. He takes a deep breath, trying, and failing, to steady himself. 

"You mind explaining how you're doing that?" He asks, hoping he sounds more annoyed than unsettled. He can tell by the playful glint in your eye that he doesn't. 

“And if I do mind?” You say, but he doesn’t rise to the bait, which is what this all is, he realizes. You smirk. "I told you, boy. I've been here the whole time. Long enough to see you strike out with Jeanie."

Logan scowls more at the mention of Jean than being called ‘boy’. Just what he needs—another reminder of the happy couple. 

But how had he missed you? Jean wasn't that distracting. It gnaws at him. He doesn’t like it, the idea of his senses betraying him.

"Yeah, well, it's not exactly easy getting a read on you when you’re playing hide and seek."

You tilt your head, studying him. "Maybe you’re just not looking hard enough."

"Or maybe…” He steps closer, his instincts screaming at him to stay on guard despite your eyes compelling him to do otherwise. “You're just really good at hiding."

Your eyes meet his, a challenge in your gaze that he's not sure he's the right guy to take on. "Then I guess you'll have to get better at seeking.”

Logan's mind races as he processes the confrontation. He isn't used to feeling off balance, the one on the back foot. Usually, he's the one doing the intimidating, the one making others question their next move. 

But with you, it's different. There's a raw, untamed energy about you that draws him in and sets him on edge at the same time. You're not just another mutant, he knows that much. Like none he's ever met before; you're something more, something savage that mirrors the part of himself he tries to keep under control. The part that craves the hunt, the chase.

He comes to stand near the bed, slowly reaching out to check if you're real or just some kind of projection. You stare up at him, amused, and allow his calloused hand to meet the warm skin of your shoulder.

"I don't understand," Logan mutters and it feels like admitting defeat.

"I didn't want you to see me. So you didn't." You shrug, and even that looks graceful. It takes him a second to get there, but it dawns on him in much the same way your sudden appearance did. Some kind of mental camouflage. Not like prey blending in to hide, but a predator lying in wait before striking.

"But I couldn't even smell you anymore." It's one thing to trick his mind, but it should be impossible to trick his nose. He bares his teeth. "I've had enough of people messing with my head."

You say nothing. Instead, you grin, baring your own teeth right back and revealing elongated canines that glint under the low light. His eyes are drawn to their sharp edges. They're sharper than his own. How easily could you sink them into something? He wagers it wouldn't take much effort at all.

"Down, boy." You cackle, not even doing his ego the service of pretending to be threatened. "Unless you wanna see whose bite is really worse than their bark." You raise a brow at him expectantly.

He scowls, crossing his arms. He's not backing down, but something about this whole encounter is throwing him off. Your self-assuredness is doing something to him, and he's not sure what to make of it.

He regards you warily, taking slow measured steps around the bed. "So… What’s your deal? You’re not a teleporter or a telepath? Great. Then what the hell are you?"

"Hm," You hum deep in your chest, resting your chin on your palm as you track his movements. He figures you aren't gonna maul him in his own room. "Don't worry, your nose isn't failing you," you snort, and his confidence in you not being a telepath drops significantly. "I cloaked myself. Completely. Not even the professor can find me if I don't want him to. I can even trick all that fancy tracking technology. So don't feel too bad."

It's a bunch of smoke and mirrors. Well, it's better than you messing with his head. Impressive too.

"Huh. How 'bout that." He licks his lips and holds out a hand. "Name's Logan."

"I heard." You take his hand in your surprisingly strong grip, turning it palm down instead of shaking it. "I was curious about the new guy. Wanted to see if you'd be worth holding my attention." You drag a feather-light finger along his knuckles, circling them, then rubbing the almost perpetually red divots where his claws are hidden. For whatever reason, he lets you. The barely there touch makes the hair on his arm stand up, fingers twitching in your hold. He only just fights back the desire to lean into it.

"S’that so?" He smirks. "And what do you think now that you've seen me?"

"Well, first impressions, I'm not disappointed." Those stunning eyes rove over him, lingering on the sweatpants he borrowed. He preens under your gaze, understanding Scott even less now. Don't get him wrong, Jean seems like a great girl. But how could he possibly see a woman like you and leave you to your lonesome? Hell, his loss is Logan's gain. Slim couldn't handle you anyway. "But the rest depends."

"On?"

"You. I've been so bored here. Keeping clean, prowling the straight and narrow. What do you say, Logan?" You purr, bringing your free hand up to ghost over his leg, and the muscles in his thigh flex under your touch. "You think you can keep me entertained?"

He arches a brow. "You got a name?" He husks, at some point coming close enough to stand over you.

"No," you reply, his brows furrowing in response. Though he guesses he's got no room to judge. He only knows his name because of his dog tags. "The kids just call me Lynx, for whatever that's worth. Guess it stuck.”

"I can see why." He looks you over, taking you and all your curves in as you rise up to your knees to sit on your haunches. You're wearing a tank. A very thin tank. He can see the shape and heft of your tits, and even though you feel far from cold, he can see the white fabric rubbing against your hard nipples. The name fits you, but Minx would've been his suggestion. "And... What exactly do you do around here? Other than skulking in other people's rooms." He asks, not masking his curiosity.

You pull him onto the bed beside you. He doesn't bounce but the springs squeak under his weight.

He can’t picture you teaching those little brats anything. Maybe you could teach them how to gut a man like a pig, but something tells Logan that might just offend the professor’s sensibilities.

Your top lip pulls up into a snarl, a predator's smile, it draws him in instead of warning him away.

"I'm not too good at the whole guiding the minds of our future thing. For now, I have to hone my powers and learn how to integrate back into proper society." If the wording wasn't enough to tell Logan you're copying Chuck word for word, then the accent you put on does the trick.

Your grip on his hand tightens, pressing a hidden pressure point. Logan’s breath catches as his claws unsheathe, the metallic sound slicing through the air. His eyes lock onto yours, trying to read the intention behind this sudden, intimate maneuver. He smells it instead—musky, semi-sweet—and heat pools low in his stomach, hardening him against his thigh.

You shift, straddling him with feline grace, knees on either side of his hips. His free hand instinctively grips your waist to steady you, though it's clear you don't need his help.

Your long tongue runs along his knuckles—warm, wet, and a little rough. He exhales heavily at the sensation.

His mouth drops open with a pant, watching closely. You trail the muscle up the blades—he shouldn't feel it so viscerally, but he does. He can practically feel the flicks of your tongue in his damn spine—and he smells the rich iron in the air before he sees crimson bleed along his claws.

He can smell you getting wetter too. Whether it's from the blood or the sharpness of his claws is anyone's guess. Logan's hold on you tightens, his hand sliding to your lower back as he pulls you closer, a low growl rumbling in his chest

He watches, fascinated, as your split tongue knits itself back together. It's bizarre, witnessing such rapid healing on someone else. The sight stirs something primal within him.

Blood drips down your chin, a stark contrast against your skin. 

He wants to follow it. So he does, pushing into your space to chase it up your chin and into your mouth.

You gasp, soft and sweet, at the contact, your hands threading through his hair, pulling him closer. Running, thankfully, dull nails along his scalp. The metallic taste mingles with the warmth of your mouth as he kisses you deeply, a groan sitting low in his throat.

The kiss, meanwhile, isn't soft or sweet. It's biting and bitter with the taste of your blood, mixing with his own when you bite his bottom lip, fangs piercing the meat as easily as he predicted they would. It makes his head hazy with some kind of bloodlust. Or maybe just regular lust. The two are more intertwined now than ever before. At least as far as Logan can remember, which admittedly isn't saying much. He's got no idea how to begin separating them and he doesn’t want to.

He doesn’t remember the last time he's tasted blood other than his own. It makes him groan as he squeezes the fat around your hips in a bruising grip—hard enough to make you moan. He knows you can handle it, handle him.

You pull away, a string of pink saliva connecting your lips to his.

Something kicks Logan into gear, and, without really thinking about the movement, he leans back down, his lips brushing against your chin to lap up the rest of the blood.

"You showed me yours; only fair I show you mine." You unsheathe your own claws, as pretty and deadly as you are. They're about two inches long and even sharper than those teeth.

"Now, how the hell did they manage to domesticate a wild thing like you?" In this pristine and civilized place, you stand out even more than he does. For a creature like you, it must be akin to captivity.

You laugh, though it sounds closer to a chuff. "I was out in the wilderness, hiding the lynxes from poachers and loggers." You say, hooking a claw in the zipper of his hoodie and tugging it down, exposing his bare chest and stomach to your exploring hands. "Saved as many as I could. Spent years out there like that."

“And the professor found you?" Logan asks, intrigued despite himself and despite all the blood in his head rushing to his dick.

"Eventually," you nod, a hint of a smirk playing on your lips, what he's beginning to think is their natural state. "But not before a lot of poachers ended up dead, wondering why they couldn't find a single lynx."

"You hid them," Logan says, tilting his head back. You don't hesitate to take the bait, swooping down to stitch your lips to his neck. You bite more than you suck, breaking skin as you go and not letting how fast the wounds disappear deter you from making more. He grunts, bucking hips coaxed by your own.

"You're not the only one hiding out from the metal man." Your lips drag against his skin as you speak. Lips and teeth and tongue and—

"Fuck." He hisses. His hips buck again and you meet the movement head-on, swiveling your hips like you're riding a bull.

Magneto wants you too then, Logan thinks, dazed.

"So what?" He breathes, dragging the both of you further up the bed, "Now you're fighting the good fight for animals and mutants?"

"Something like that. Don't tell Xavier, but it really just came down to Jean and Oruro being more persuasive than that big brute Magneto sent for me."

He laughs. "I can believe it."

"Now," you grind your hips down, hitting the perfect angle, "do you wanna hear my life story, or do you wanna fuck me?" You say with a grunt. And when you put it like that, the choice is pretty fucking clear.

He twists around, switching your position with you on your back and him hovering over you.

You've got a mischievous look in your lidded eyes as you hump each other through your clothes, sinking your nails into his ass. He flinches, thrusting against you hard enough to push you up the bed, and snarls in your face.

You laugh as he flips you onto your stomach and yanks your hips up. Moans sprinkle through when he presses up against your ass, dick grinding into you. He can feel how hot you are through your thin shorts. You're soaked, enough to turn the fabric of his sweats a darker gray.

Just the smell of you is straining the cotton around his dick, he wants—no needs more. So he leans down, gripping your shorts and ripping a hole down the middle, finding you wetter than he imagined.

You gasp, peeking over your shoulder at him, but he's already on the move. 

He mumbles a gruff fuck as he watches your pussy clench around nothing. He goes to pull himself out but thinks of a better idea.

He wants your cunt in his mouth and he tells you as much. You smirk, more fang than gum, and sway your hips side to side, like you're daring him to take what he wants. He does.

He buries his nose in your snatch and takes a whiff, you moan, grinding back against his face, leaving slick on his nose and cheeks. He lets you, encourages it, even, by gripping your hips and growling deep in his chest. Fur soft where his facial hair is rough, sticking in wet peaks from how much your cunt is drooling.

He sticks his tongue out, not as long as yours, but long enough to get the job done as he buries it into you. Coaxing out more slick and cum as your fluttering warmth squeezes him. 

“Logan,” You moan into his pillow, likely leaving it wet with licking and biting, the same way he's planning on leaving the blanket under you wet with your cum. He grinds against the bed, letting his own need build steadily in his gut and up his spine, the animalistic urge to devour you stronger than anything else.

The taste of you, as heady as you smell, settles heavily on his tongue and down his throat as you rock back and forth, twisting and whining like the wild thing you are.

He leans back just enough to take one of your pussy lips into his mouth, sucking as you take in hitching breaths above him, moving to the other side to give it the same treatment, before circling back to your clit.

He spits on your fluttering hole, licking it back up, and spitting again and he almost thinks you came then and there from how loud you get.

Your thighs are shaking and you're wet enough for him to skip to two fingers right away. He pushes his spit, and his scent, deep into you, stretching you around his thick fingers as he bites at the back of your thighs. You arch your back like a, well, like a cat in heat.

He fucks you on his fingers hard enough that your body shakes with each thrust. He feels the rapid build-up inside of you, shaking and fluttering as he mumbles against your clit about how good you taste and smell, how wet you are for him. 

He feels you come as much as he sees it, your body locking up before abruptly loosening. He pets your flank, “Atta girl.” His voice is rougher than before as you twitch. Soaking his fingers as you lazily hump his hand, making little gasps and whines that he would have thought of as wounded if he didn’t feel how tightly your walls are gripping him.

You lift your head, something satisfied yet still challenging in your amber eyes that makes his hands go to pull his pants down, using your slick to stroke himself, and he knows his pillow will be littered with puncture marks from your teeth and claws, the thought is enough to make him twitch in his hand, a bead of pre that he swipes with his thumb.

He pauses before offering his finger to you, knowing he made the right choice of staying here when you wrap plump lips around his thumb, hollowing your cheeks and sucking like it's his dick.

You pull back, just enough to lick the mixture of the both of you off of his palm, mumbling a demand. “Fuck me, Logan.”

And who is he to deny you when you’re looking at him like that? Wet and wild, curves and claws wrapped up in golden fur like a gift, just for him.

He smirks, “Yes, ma’am.”

[novaursa]

Legacy (golden roses)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: alliances

- Next part: bloodlines

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The courtyard of the Red Keep was alive with the hustle of the Tyrells' arrival, banners of gold roses fluttering in the breeze alongside the proud crimson of House Lannister. Courtiers and knights lined the pathway, their gazes expectant as the great doors opened to reveal the noble house of Highgarden entering in all their splendor.

You stood dutifully beside Tywin, your arm linked with his, feeling the weight of the moment as much as the eyes of the court upon you. The Tyrells had arrived not just as allies but as future family—ties carefully woven by marriage, ambition, and politics. Tywin stood with the silent authority he was known for, and though he offered no smile, there was a look of satisfaction on his face as he watched the procession.

Beside you, Cersei’s face was set in a tight, forced smile, her eyes hard as she focused on Margaery Tyrell, who walked beside her father, Lord Mace. The young Tyrell lady was as radiant as the tales told—her dress a flowing green that shimmered with gold embroidery, a crown of roses nestled in her hair. She met Joffrey’s gaze with a soft, deferential smile, her demeanor both charming and composed, a true lady of her house.

But more than once, you felt the lingering stares of the Tyrells drifting your way, assessing you, this unexpected Targaryen figure who now stood in Lannister red, her arm linked with the Hand of the King. The glances held curiosity, perhaps even intrigue—a dragon among lions, standing at Tywin’s side as his dutiful wife. You could feel the weight of their silent questions: Was your presence a calculated move? A symbol of Lannister dominance? Or perhaps a reminder that, in King’s Landing, alliances shifted as quickly as the winds.

As the Tyrells approached, Margaery stepped forward, her gaze drifting toward you before she greeted Joffrey with a graceful curtsy. “Your Grace,” she murmured, her voice soft yet clear, each word measured. “It is an honor to finally be here, standing before the crown.”

Joffrey looked down at her, a smirk playing on his lips, clearly pleased with the attention. “Lady Margaery,” he replied, his tone dripping with self-satisfaction. “The honor is ours, I assure you. The realm has awaited your arrival with eager anticipation.”

Cersei’s jaw tightened, but she kept her silence, her gaze drifting toward Margaery with a thinly veiled disdain. You could feel the animosity rolling off her in waves, her displeasure at this new contender for influence beside her son far greater than any resentment she might hold toward you. She cast you a glance, and for a fleeting moment, there was almost a shared understanding between you—both of you had places in Joffrey’s court, yet the power each held was very different.

Lord Mace Tyrell, standing beside his daughter, offered a jovial smile to Tywin. “Lord Tywin,” he greeted, inclining his head. “It brings me great pride to see our houses joined in strength.”

Tywin gave a curt nod, his tone brisk and commanding. “Lord Mace,” he replied. “We are pleased to welcome House Tyrell to King’s Landing. Your support is invaluable to the realm.”

Mace’s gaze flickered toward you, his curiosity clear despite his polite smile. “And, of course, Lady Y/N,” he added, his tone carefully respectful. “It is a rare honor to see a Targaryen within these walls again, though under new colors.”

You returned his gaze evenly, meeting his curiosity with a practiced, serene smile. “The honor is mine, Lord Tyrell. House Lannister’s strength is renowned, and together with Highgarden, I believe the realm will know a time of prosperity it has not seen in years.”

Margaery’s gaze shifted toward you, her expression warm yet watchful. “Lady Y/N,” she said softly, her tone as pleasant as it was probing. “I’ve heard much of your grace and strength. It is heartening to see that the court of King’s Landing has such a presence.”

You inclined your head graciously, noting the calculation behind her polite words. “Thank you, Lady Margaery,” you replied, choosing each word with care. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet the Rose of Highgarden, whose charm and beauty are known throughout the realm.”

She smiled, though her eyes held an unspoken challenge, a silent acknowledgment of the power struggles that permeated every corner of the court. In this subtle exchange, you understood that Margaery was more than a pretty face—she was a strategist in her own right, a lady prepared to wield influence where it mattered.

Tywin’s voice cut through the exchange, his tone brooking no delay. “Come,” he said, gesturing toward the entrance. “We have arranged accommodations for your family, Lord Mace. The feast in honor of our alliance will be held tonight.”

As he spoke, Tywin’s hand rested lightly over yours, a possessive gesture that subtly reinforced his claim on you—a reminder to everyone present that you, Targaryen princess, now bore the name Lannister.

Margaery’s gaze lingered on your joined hands, a glint of curiosity and perhaps even admiration flashing in her eyes before she turned her attention back to Joffrey, who was watching her with a mixture of infatuation and arrogance. You could almost sense Cersei’s irritation growing with every passing moment, her forced smile barely concealing her resentment as she watched Margaery skillfully manage Joffrey’s attention.

The procession moved forward, and as you walked beside Tywin, the weight of the Tyrells’ scrutiny followed. They assessed you with every glance, silently acknowledging the depth of your role here—a Targaryen who, though removed from her throne, had found a new seat of influence at Tywin Lannister’s side.

The murmur of noble voices filled the grand hall as lords and ladies from every corner of the realm mingled with the newly arrived Tyrells. You stayed close to Tywin, his hand resting lightly on yours, a subtle but unmistakable sign of your new life. The weight of his touch reminded the court, and perhaps yourself, of the role you now held beside him.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed two figures weaving through the crowd with purpose: Ser Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers, and his grandmother, Lady Olenna, the indomitable Queen of Thorns. They moved with a confident grace, both observing everything around them with a sharp, assessing gaze.

Loras reached you first, bowing respectfully to Tywin before straightening with a courteous nod in your direction. "Lord Tywin, Lady Y/N," he greeted, his voice polished and respectful. "I wanted to personally offer my greetings on behalf of House Tyrell. We are honored to join forces with such… formidable allies."

Tywin inclined his head, his gaze steady. “Ser Loras, it is we who are pleased. Your family’s strength and influence have been indispensable to the realm.”

Loras's eyes shifted to you, a flicker of interest visible beneath his calm exterior. “Lady Y/N, it’s rare to see a Targaryen gracing the court of the Iron Throne once more.” He smiled, a faint note of admiration in his tone. “I’ve heard tales of your poise and strength.”

You met his gaze with a composed smile, acknowledging his compliment gracefully. “Thank you, Ser Loras. House Tyrell’s reputation precedes it, and I am honored to stand with allies of such renown and nobility.”

Before Loras could respond, Lady Olenna stepped forward, her sharp eyes fixed intently on you as though you were a particularly interesting puzzle she intended to solve. She was smaller than her grandson, but her presence seemed to command the space around her, and she offered Tywin a curt nod before shifting her attention to you.

“Well, well,” Olenna said, her voice wry and tinged with amusement. “So this is the Targaryen girl Tywin’s gone and married. I must say, seeing a dragon in Lannister colors is quite the spectacle. Tell me, dear, how does it feel?”

Her directness startled some of the nearby courtiers, but you managed to maintain your composure, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “It feels… different,” you replied with quiet honesty, choosing your words carefully. “But House Lannister has proven to be a house of strength, and I am honored to be a part of it.”

Olenna’s sharp gaze flickered to Tywin, her expression skeptical. “Strength, indeed. Lord Tywin has built his reputation on it, after all.” She glanced back at you, her gaze softening just slightly. “But I wonder, dear… do you find such strength comforting? Or is it simply another cage?”

You felt the weight of her words, the quiet insinuation lingering in the air. But Tywin’s hand tightened ever so slightly over yours, a silent reminder that you were no pawn, at least not in the way others might think. You turned to Olenna, your eyes steady. “Strength is a complex thing, Lady Olenna. It can be a shield or a cage, depending on how one wields it. I choose to see it as an opportunity.”

Olenna’s eyes gleamed with something resembling approval. “Well said,” she replied, her voice laced with a hint of admiration. “Perhaps there’s more to you than meets the eye, Lady Y/N. Though I suspect that with Tywin as your husband, there would have to be.”

Tywin inclined his head, his gaze cool but respectful. “Lady Olenna, I assure you, my wife is as capable as she is perceptive.”

Olenna’s sharp eyes twinkled with mischief, her lips curving into a sly smile. “Oh, I never doubted that for a moment, Lord Tywin.” She looked between the two of you, her gaze lingering on the way he held you close, as though assessing every nuance of your relationship. “You’ve chosen well, I’ll grant you that. But know this,” she added, her voice lowering, “if there’s anything Lady Y/N requires, anything at all, House Tyrell is more than willing to oblige.”

Tywin’s gaze turned steely, though his tone remained polite. “I appreciate your… concern, Lady Olenna. But I assure you, my wife’s needs are well looked after.”

Olenna raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk on her face as she met his gaze unflinchingly. “Of course, Lord Tywin. But you’ll forgive me if I remain… attentive to matters that interest me.”

With that, she gave a final nod, her expression a mixture of amusement and satisfaction as she turned to leave, Loras following her with a slight, apologetic glance in your direction.

As the Tyrells walked away, Tywin’s grip on your hand relaxed slightly, though he remained silent, his gaze following them as they disappeared into the crowd.

You took a breath, glancing up at him with a hint of amusement. “They’re… certainly a force to be reckoned with,” you murmured.

Tywin looked down at you, his expression firm but softened by a glint of approval. “Yes, but they are also valuable allies. And they see that value in you as well.” He straightened, his gaze sharpening. “Lady Olenna may be testing us, but she won’t find us lacking.”

The following day dawned bright and clear, the air in the gardens of the Red Keep fragrant with blooming roses and jasmine. You walked alongside Sansa, who stayed close to your side, her arm linked with yours as you made your way toward the shaded pavilion where Margaery Tyrell and her handmaidens waited. It was a rare invitation, one that you knew held subtle significance, for Margaery to host a tea with you and Sansa—a gesture that, on the surface, seemed friendly but was undoubtedly layered with deeper intentions.

As you approached, Margaery rose with a warm smile, her eyes bright with a welcoming light. She was dressed in soft greens and golds once more, her hair woven with small flowers that added to her natural beauty. Her handmaidens stood nearby, their gazes lowering in respect as you and Sansa joined them.

"Lady Y/N, Lady Sansa," Margaery greeted, her tone cheerful as she gestured to the table set with delicate porcelain cups, small pastries, and a steaming teapot. "Thank you for joining me. I thought it might be pleasant to enjoy this beautiful morning together."

Sansa offered a polite smile, her hand still resting on your arm. "Thank you for the invitation, Lady Margaery. It’s… lovely out here.”

You inclined your head with a warm smile. “The pleasure is ours, Lady Margaery. The gardens are beautiful, and I see they’re tended with great care.”

Margaery’s smile widened as she gestured for you and Sansa to sit. "I do love the gardens," she admitted as you took your seats. "They remind me of Highgarden, though, of course, there’s nothing quite like the Reach. But it is lovely to find a bit of home, even here."

She poured tea into each of your cups, her movements graceful and assured, a picture of composed charm. Once the cups were filled, she settled back, her gaze drifting between you and Sansa with a spark of curiosity.

“Lady Y/N,” she began, a hint of admiration in her tone. “I must say, it’s a thrill to meet someone of Targaryen blood. I don’t think any of us ever expected to see a Targaryen here in King’s Landing again, especially not as Lady of House Lannister.”

Her words were carefully chosen, and you could feel the curiosity of her handmaidens lingering on you as well. You offered a small, thoughtful smile, acknowledging her interest. “Life is full of surprises, Lady Margaery,” you replied smoothly. “I never anticipated being here myself. But as Tywin’s wife, I find myself in a unique position, one that I am learning to navigate.”

Margaery leaned forward slightly, her expression one of open fascination. “It must be… quite an adjustment,” she said gently. “House Lannister is known for its strength, but I imagine that joining such a family as a Targaryen must come with its own challenges. And yet, you carry yourself with such grace. I imagine you bring a sense of… balance.”

Sansa glanced at you, her admiration clear as she listened, finding comfort in your calm presence. You reached over, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze before answering Margaery.

“Strength takes many forms, Lady Margaery,” you replied with a smile. “House Targaryen was known for its fire, but House Lannister commands respect with a different kind of power. I’ve come to understand that strength and unity are what truly bind people together. Tywin and I understand that, and it guides our actions.”

Margaery’s eyes sparkled with interest, though her expression was carefully neutral. “Wise words, my lady,” she murmured, her gaze thoughtful. “It must be quite… exhilarating, to share such influence with Lord Tywin. A man of his reputation and power is certainly not someone one meets every day.”

You met her gaze, your smile softening as you replied, “Exhilarating, perhaps, though it also carries responsibility. Tywin expects much from those close to him. But he has been… respectful.”

Margaery inclined her head, as if pondering your answer. “Of course. Respect is a valuable thing in a marriage, especially one so… strategically placed.” She turned to Sansa, her tone shifting slightly to a more familiar warmth. “And you, Lady Sansa—how are you finding King’s Landing? It must be quite different from Winterfell.”

Sansa’s face paled slightly, but she managed a polite smile, glancing at you for reassurance. “It’s… different,” she murmured, her voice carefully measured. “I miss the North, of course. King’s Landing can be… overwhelming at times.”

Margaery nodded understandingly, her gaze softening. “I can imagine. But you have found yourself in good company.” She gave Sansa an encouraging smile before delicately adding, “And I hear that you and King Joffrey have grown close. How… wonderful it must be to know the king so well.”

Sansa’s expression grew strained, and you felt her hand tense beneath yours. She opened her mouth as though to respond, but her voice faltered, a flicker of fear flashing across her face. You sensed her discomfort and stepped in, your voice smooth and gentle.

“King Joffrey is an… interesting young man,” you said diplomatically, watching Margaery’s reaction carefully. “I’m sure Sansa has learned much from her time here, though I imagine she still holds Winterfell dear.”

Margaery’s eyes flicked between you and Sansa, her own polite mask slipping just enough to reveal a glimmer of understanding—and perhaps even sympathy. “Of course,” she said, her voice softening. “Home is a difficult thing to leave behind. But rest assured, Lady Sansa, I am certain you will always be cherished here.”

Sansa managed a small, grateful smile, her voice barely a whisper. “Thank you, Lady Margaery.”

Margaery’s expression warmed, and she turned her gaze back to you, her tone light yet probing. “And as for you, Lady Y/N… it must be quite a shift from the North to King’s Landing, let alone into the heart of Lannister power. Yet you seem to have found your place here, a Targaryen among lions.”

You smiled, noting the intent behind her words. “I find that adaptability is essential. The North taught me resilience, and here I am learning to use it.”

Margaery’s smile widened, her admiration for you clear. “Wise advice,” she murmured, as if storing away your words for future use. She lifted her teacup, a silent toast to the women gathered here, each maneuvering their own way through the treacherous waters of court.

You returned the gesture, meeting Margaery’s gaze with an understanding that spoke volumes. In that moment, you sensed that she was not merely a rival or an ally; she was a woman navigating a path as perilous as your own, with ambitions that ran as deep as her charm.

And for now, you both understood that sometimes, strength lay in the quiet alliances formed over tea, beneath the watchful eyes of a dangerous court.

The solar was bathed in warm light as Lady Olenna Tyrell sat with a serene air, her sharp eyes flicking over the gathered Lannisters: Tywin at the head, ever the embodiment of control; Cersei seated stiffly with a forced smile; and Tyrion, leaning back with an expression of quiet amusement, savoring every barb that passed Olenna’s lips. The preparations for Margaery’s upcoming wedding to Joffrey had brought them together, and the subtle tension between them charged the room.

Olenna adjusted her lace cap, her gaze sweeping over the parchment before her, filled with lists of arrangements and extravagances. “So,” she began, her tone light but edged with that familiar Tyrell wit. “We’ve settled the colors, the flower arrangements, and the musicians, yet I see here that Lord Tywin has removed the incense. Are we truly to omit something as small as that for a royal wedding?”

Tywin didn’t look up from his own notes, his response curt. “I find it unnecessary. We’ve made enough provisions for spectacle.”

Cersei’s face tightened slightly, her eyes flicking to her father with a hint of frustration. “It’s traditional, Father. Incense at weddings is meant to bless the union,” she said, her tone strained. “Surely, it wouldn’t hurt to include it.”

But Tywin’s gaze remained unyielding. “Lady Y/N can’t stand the smell. It’s unnecessary and will only be an irritation.” His voice carried a finality that silenced any further protest.

Olenna’s eyebrow arched, and a smirk played on her lips. “How very considerate of you, Lord Tywin,” she remarked, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “I hadn’t realized your marriage was such a… tender arrangement.” She leaned in slightly, her gaze flicking between Tywin and Cersei with relish. “I must say, it’s quite charming to see you attending to her preferences so closely.”

Tywin’s expression remained impassive, though a muscle in his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “The wedding is a union of two houses, Lady Olenna, not a festival. We do not need indulgences that serve no purpose other than spectacle.”

Tyrion, barely concealing his grin, raised his goblet in a mock toast. “Here’s to restraint, then,” he said with a gleam in his eyes. “One would think, however, that we could indulge in a small detail or two, for the sake of our honored guests from the Reach.”

Cersei’s lips pursed, her fingers drumming against the table with barely contained annoyance. “I see no reason why Lady Y/N’s preferences should affect the rest of the arrangements. We’re planning a royal wedding, not a dinner party,” she said, her tone laced with irritation. “And frankly, I find the absence of incense a… peculiar omission, considering the grandeur we’re aiming for.”

Olenna chuckled, turning her gaze to Cersei with a conspiratorial air. “Oh, dear Cersei, perhaps we should be grateful. It’s rather refreshing, don’t you think, to see a Lannister so attentive to his lady wife’s needs? A rare quality indeed.” She gave Tywin a mockingly approving nod. “I must say, Lord Tywin, you do surprise me.”

Tywin’s voice was cool, dismissive. “I care only for efficiency, Lady Olenna. A wedding’s success is not measured by the scent in the air.”

But Olenna, clearly enjoying herself, wasn’t about to let the matter rest. “Oh, nonsense. These little details are the very things that people remember. A feast for the senses, after all. And we Tyrells are rather fond of ensuring that our guests are… satisfied.” She gave Tyrion a sidelong glance, her smile widening as she noted his amusement.

Tyrion took the opportunity to interject, his voice laced with mischief. “I must say, I rather agree with Lady Olenna. It’s the smaller, more… memorable details that leave a lasting impression, wouldn’t you say, Father?”

Tywin shot Tyrion a sharp look, his patience clearly wearing thin. “My decision stands. The matter is closed.”

Olenna raised her hands in mock surrender, her expression delightfully unperturbed. “Very well, very well. I suppose the Lannisters’ preference for austerity wins this time. Though I do hope your guests won’t find the occasion… lacking.”

Cersei’s mouth tightened, her displeasure at both Olenna and her father’s favoritism plain. “I don’t see why we’re indulging every whim of hers,” she muttered, just loud enough for the room to hear.

Olenna raised an eyebrow, her sharp gaze fixed on Cersei. “Oh, Cersei, dear,” she said, her tone deceptively sweet. “I should think you’d appreciate a man who considers his wife’s comfort. We wouldn’t want poor Lady Y/N to suffer through something so… trivial, would we?”

Tyrion bit back a laugh, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle, and leaned back, his voice teasing. “You do have to admire Father’s commitment. He’s always been… thorough in his approach to family.”

Tywin’s gaze hardened, but he ignored Tyrion’s jab, his tone cutting as he addressed Olenna. “House Lannister is mindful of efficiency, Lady Olenna. We need not resort to theatrics to secure our position.”

Olenna gave him a sly smile, her amusement unmistakable. “Of course, Lord Tywin. But as you’ll come to see, a little… fragrance can go a long way.” She cast a final look at Cersei and Tyrion, her eyes glinting with satisfaction. “Now, if there are no further changes, I believe we can proceed with the rest of the arrangements.”

The soft afternoon light came through the tall windows of the room as you lounged comfortably on a chaise, a rare moment of quiet in the midst of the chaotic life of King’s Landing. Across from you, Ser Barristan Selmy sat, his posture relaxed but his eyes alert, ever the dutiful guardian. You’d come to appreciate these brief respites in his company, his presence a steady reminder of the loyalty and honor you had once known in your family’s court.

“Does the Red Keep feel familiar to you, my lady?” Barristan asked, his voice gentle, carrying a note of nostalgia. “I remember you here, a child running through these halls. It’s strange how much changes and yet stays the same.”

You gave him a soft, wistful smile. “It’s strange indeed, Ser Barristan. It’s a comfort, at times, to have someone like you nearby—a reminder of what once was.” You paused, feeling the weight of memories, both bittersweet and painful. “But familiarity and comfort are two very different things here.”

Before Barristan could reply, the doors swung open with a sharp creak, breaking the tranquility of the room. Joffrey strode in, flanked by the Hound and Ser Meryn Trant, his expression one of calculated mischief, clearly seeking an opportunity to provoke. His gaze landed on you, a smirk twisting his lips as he looked between you and Barristan.

“Well, well,” Joffrey drawled, his voice carrying an edge of mockery. “Look at you, lounging in the very halls where your family met its end. How ironic.” His gaze flicked to Barristan, his smirk deepening. “And you, old man, lingering like some sad relic. I’m surprised you haven’t faded away with the rest of them.”

Barristan’s eyes narrowed, but he remained silent, his gaze fixed firmly on the young king, his jaw set in restrained anger. You felt his tension, a reflection of your own, but you managed to keep your composure, meeting Joffrey’s gaze steadily.

“Your Grace,” you replied, your tone even but unyielding. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

Joffrey’s eyes glittered with sadistic delight as he approached, his hands clasped behind his back, his posture that of a child attempting to play at being a king. “I was simply curious,” he began, his tone feigned innocence. “How it must feel for you, being here, where your family died… where your brother Rhaegar’s children were slaughtered.” He tilted his head, watching for your reaction. “Do you ever wonder if their ghosts still haunt these halls?”

The words hit with a cold clarity, a reminder of the brutality that had unfolded within these very walls. But you held his gaze, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction, even as the memories stirred an ache in your heart.

“Children deserve innocence, Your Grace,” you replied, your voice firm but sorrowful. “It is a tragedy that they suffered because of choices they never made.”

Joffrey scoffed, his smirk turning into a sneer. “Innocence,” he repeated mockingly. “Innocence belongs to the weak, like your precious little nephew, Aegon. Or was it… his sister?” He grinned, reveling in the cruelty of his words. “They weren’t very strong, were they? They couldn’t even fight for their lives.”

You felt Barristan shift beside you, his jaw clenched, his shoulders squared in barely restrained anger. His hand drifted instinctively toward the hilt of his sword, his gaze locked on Joffrey with a cold intensity that made the air between them crackle.

Joffrey’s gaze shifted to Barristan, a scowl darkening his expression. “And you, Ser Barristan, stepping in like a loyal hound.” His voice turned sharp, filled with disdain. “Isn’t it ironic that you’re guarding the last Targaryen here, in the very place where you once swore loyalty to her father, the Mad King?”

Without hesitation, Barristan stepped forward, placing himself firmly between you and Joffrey, his expression steely. “My duty is to protect Lady Y/N, Your Grace. That has not changed, nor will it ever,” he said, his voice like tempered steel.

Joffrey’s eyes narrowed, clearly irked by Barristan’s defiance. “Watch yourself, old man. I am your king. Or has loyalty to the throne vanished with your better years?”

Barristan’s gaze didn’t waver. “Loyalty, Your Grace, is earned by deeds, not by titles alone. I have served many kings, but respect must be given, even by a king.”

Joffrey’s face flushed, his hand twitching as if tempted to lash out. He glanced at the Hound and Ser Meryn, his mouth twisting with irritation. “You think yourself wise, don’t you, Barristan?” he sneered, his voice growing venomous. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten who I am, the power I hold. And that includes control over what happens to… traitors.”

You felt your pulse quicken, but before you could respond, Joffrey’s lips curled into a smug smile. “And to think you’re alone here. My uncle, Ser Jaime, was sent away to ensure the Stark boy didn’t overstep his bounds. It’s a shame, really,” he added, his tone laced with mock sympathy, “that you won’t have the pleasure of his company. It must be so… unbearable to reside here with the man who killed your father and is now your stepson.”

The cruelty of his words lingered in the air, a calculated jab that struck at the deepest wounds. You took a steadying breath, letting the silence speak of the depth of your resilience. Barristan remained between you and Joffrey, his stance unwavering, and the sight of his loyalty only strengthened your resolve.

“Your Grace,” you said softly, your tone carrying a steel edge beneath the calm. “It seems that you delight in disturbing the peace of others. But remember that, even as king, respect is not a gift—it is earned. And history has shown us that titles can be fleeting, while loyalty endures.”

Joffrey’s eyes blazed with anger, his face twisting in frustration at your unshaken demeanor. For a moment, he seemed on the edge of a retort, but then he straightened, masking his irritation with a forced smirk.

“Enjoy your peace while it lasts,” he sneered. “We hold the throne now, not the Targaryens. You’d do well to remember that, Lady Y/N.”

He turned on his heel, signaling for the Hound and Ser Meryn to follow. The Hound cast you a lingering glance, his expression unreadable, before falling into step behind Joffrey, leaving you and Barristan in the stillness of the room.

Barristan turned to you, his face softened with concern. “My lady,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a note of regret. “I apologize for his disrespect. It pains me that you must endure such… cruelty.”

You managed a small, grateful smile, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Thank you, Ser Barristan. Your loyalty is a balm against such bitterness. I am grateful to have you by my side.”

He inclined his head, his expression solemn. “My loyalty to you is unwavering, my lady. As long as I draw breath, you will not face this alone.”

In that quiet moment, you felt the warmth of his support surround you, a reminder that, even in a court as treacherous as this one, loyalty still held meaning.

In the privacy of her chambers within the Red Keep, Margaery Tyrell sat with her father, Lord Mace Tyrell, and her grandmother, Lady Olenna. The evening air drifted in through the open window, carrying with it the faint sounds of the bustling capital below. They had gathered to discuss the shifting landscape of King’s Landing, one that now included Lady Y/N Lannister—a Targaryen by blood, yet bound to Tywin by marriage.

Olenna sat comfortably in her chair, her sharp eyes reflecting a keen curiosity. Margaery leaned forward, eager but measured, while Mace looked rather pleased, though it was clear he hadn’t fully grasped the complexities of the situation.

“An intriguing development, wouldn’t you say?” Olenna began, her voice smooth but laced with a touch of sarcasm. “Tywin Lannister, of all people, choosing to wed a Targaryen. I must admit, I didn’t see that coming.”

Margaery nodded, her expression thoughtful. “It certainly adds a… unique dimension to their alliance. A Targaryen standing at the side of the Hand of the King. She carries both the mystique of her bloodline and the strength of her new position.”

Mace chuckled, his tone jovial. “Well, I say good for Tywin! He’s secured quite the prize, hasn’t he? A Targaryen—no one would have thought it possible after Robert’s rebellion.” He leaned back, looking rather pleased with his own assessment. “Our families are stronger together, and that means the realm is safer.”

Olenna rolled her eyes, waving a dismissive hand at her son. “Oh, Mace, honestly. You and your simple notions of safety and unity. We’re not here to pat Lord Tywin on the back for his marriage.” She turned to Margaery, her gaze calculating. “This Targaryen woman may hold more sway than we realize. She’s no fool, that much is clear.”

Margaery nodded, a faint smile playing at her lips. “She has a quiet strength about her, something that commands respect. Even Joffrey seems to view her a treat, which is no small feat. And Tywin… he’s attentive to her. More so than I would have expected.”

Olenna smirked, tilting her head thoughtfully. “Yes, I noticed that as well. The mighty Tywin, bending ever so slightly to the preferences of his Targaryen bride. He dismissed the incense for the wedding preparations simply because she dislikes it. And did you notice how he keeps her close, almost as if he were… guarding her position?”

Mace chuckled again, shaking his head. “Tywin, sentimental? I doubt it. He’s probably just ensuring she plays her role as he sees fit. He’s a practical man, after all.”

Olenna shot him a look that silenced his amusement. “Practical, yes, but he’s no stranger to ambition. This marriage is no simple alliance. Tywin may see her as a symbol of power, a way to consolidate influence even further. A Targaryen in his house strengthens his legacy, gives him claim to a bloodline once thought lost.”

Margaery leaned forward, her gaze thoughtful. “But does she know, do you think, how significant she is to him? She’s composed, polite… but there’s a fire in her eyes, a reminder of her heritage. She’s more than a trophy, and she seems to know it.”

Olenna nodded approvingly, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Indeed. She carries herself with dignity, which is rare enough here. I imagine she has her own plans, her own desires. A Targaryen’s ambition never truly fades, after all. And with Tywin by her side, well… let’s just say it wouldn’t surprise me if she’s thinking beyond mere appearances.”

Mace looked between them, a puzzled expression crossing his face. “So… what does that mean for us? She’s just one woman. We have the Reach behind us; we don’t need to be worried about one Targaryen lady.”

Olenna sighed, shaking her head. “Oh, Mace, you are as blind as you are cheerful.” She turned to Margaery, her eyes sharp. “This isn’t about a single woman. It’s about understanding who holds the power, who commands respect in this city. If Tywin values her opinion, even in small matters, then she holds sway over him, which in turn affects us all.”

Margaery’s gaze was steady, a glint of ambition in her eyes. “And if she’s a woman of influence, then it’s to our advantage to find a way to… understand her better. She’s married into the Lannisters, but I wonder if her loyalties might not still lie with her family’s legacy, with her own history.”

Olenna’s smile deepened. “Precisely, my dear. It’s essential to know her motives, to see if there’s a potential… alignment of interests. She’s clever, certainly, and she values loyalty—she keeps that Stark girl close, after all. That’s a woman who doesn’t sever ties easily.”

Margaery’s eyes brightened at the mention of Sansa. “Sansa does trust her. I could perhaps use that trust to get closer to her. Lady Y/N may be reserved, but she doesn’t seem unreachable.”

Olenna nodded approvingly. “Yes, that’s exactly it. Find a way to befriend her, learn her intentions. She may be our ally yet, or at the very least, a useful source of insight into Tywin’s plans.”

Mace looked somewhat confused, though he managed to nod along. “So… we make friends with her, then? Is that it?”

Olenna rolled her eyes but patted his arm with a resigned smile. “Yes, Mace. We make friends, or at least appear to. Let her believe she has allies here in the Reach. Tywin may hold her in check for now, but who’s to say what she might become in time?”

Margaery took a deep breath, her determination clear. “Then I’ll see to it. A friendship built on trust and understanding… as far as she’s concerned, at least. It would be wise to understand her intentions. And if she truly holds sway with Tywin, then perhaps we’ll find an ally rather than a threat.”

Olenna leaned back, a glint of approval in her eyes. “That’s my girl. Remember, Margaery, knowledge is power, and alliances are forged in places most would overlook.” She tapped her fingers together thoughtfully. “Let the Targaryen think herself welcome. Let her think herself understood.”

The three sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their strategy settling over them, each understanding that in the shifting sands of King’s Landing, even the smallest connection could prove vital. Lady Y/N might be a Targaryen in Lannister red, but her blood carried the fire and ambition that no amount of alliance could truly suppress. And for the Tyrells, that fire was something to observe—and perhaps even harness.

[gay-dorito-dust]

consider: batboys reacting to their s/o who is fucking obsessed with Viktor. like they keep rewatching all of arcane and over analyze and froth over that man. (me fr)

Tim is equally as interested in arcane and in Viktor just as much as you were in all honesty.

So needless to say season two act two broth the both of you, but you were taking it much harder then he was as you swore that Viktor will return as the machine herald in act three, you were being delusional but it was better to be that then accept that your favourite character was gone forever.

Tim would retort and say that the Viktor wasn’t entirely Viktor and would make a fucking power point made with incredible detail pointing to the exact moment Viktor’s character changed entirely. He, like many others, firmly believed that Viktor was corrupted or playing host to the arcane and sighting as Salo as a major reason as to why that might be.

You two would spend countless hours rewatching season one a week before season two came out and cried…Only to cry again somehow ever worse after season two with Isha being the brave little soul that she was. You’re both very, very delusional and hope that she’s somehow alive even though she most likely isn’t, which means jinx will become a menace and make it everyone’s problem.

You also agree that the commune was too polished and perfect to not have something weird going on underneath the surface, while also agreeing that Skye is what the arcane is disguising itself in hopes of using the guilt Viktor felt towards her death to its advantage.

Damian doesn’t watch shows unless you force him to.

He doesn’t find any interest in doing such things but he had to admit the art style of arcane had him greatly intrigued. That and the story was well written as were the characters complex with their ambitions, motivations and actions that they thought were right.

You going apeshit over Viktor however, expect to be on the brunt of his side eyes when you openly simp for the man of science.

‘THATS MY HUSBAND!’ You yelled and Damian swore he had became deaf after that. So whenever you’d visibly look excited to see Viktor -even though it had only been a few scenes since you last saw him- he’s bracing himself for the outburst you’d let out each and every time.

He comes to adore the show but not nearly as much as you however but he has to applaud the writers and everyone involved with such an enriching story and three dimensional characters and how it seemly the story is. After all it takes a talented person with a good eye to pull together a perfect story out of thin air. But other than that he picks up on the finer details that you might’ve missed yourself and you rewards him with kisses and hugs for doing so.

Much like Tim, Damian believes that the arcane is using Skye’s likeness to manipulate and corrupt Viktor due to his guilt over her death. He was all about destroying the hexcore but all notions of that seemed to disappear not long after the commune he builds grows in concerning numbers. Almost like an unsettling hivemind especially when they all die the way that they did.

Dick finds your attraction and or obsession for Viktor hilarious and would record you every time he came on screen, especially so when he had grown his hair out a little.

You were barking like a fucking dog for that man, foaming at the mouth and going absolutely feral as though you were going to leap through the tv and tackle the fictional character. ‘That’s my husband!’ You’d yell the moment you see him and Dick is pouting like a child as he crossed his arms over his chest.

‘I thought I was your husband.’ He says and you’d have to console your pouty man with a bunch of kisses and reassurances that he was still number one in your heart. Dick had doubts as he once asked you ‘if Viktor was real would you stay with me?’

Your silence spoke volumes for Dick who only pouted even more and you had to console him…again. You love your dickie bird and you had to reassure him the Viktor was fictional and not real, thus your love and attention would forever more be his. Needles to say he was a happy little pup for the rest of the day…that is until he saw your eyes glued to the screen whenever Viktor came on and shushing him so that you could hear his soft voice speak.

You swore you’ve never heard Viktor yell, well other than that one scene in arcane where he’s running but then again you were screaming at the screen along with him. Needles to say you were inconsolable when he died and Dick had to deal with you making a memorial for a person that wasn’t real and praying for his return as the machine herald.

Jason loves the story arcane tells.

Probably sees himself in a lot of the characters from the undercity/zaun to be honest as it almost reminds him of his time in Crime Alley.

Jason is a fan of a well written story as a man who is a lover of literature and theatre, so when you shown him arcane his ass was sat on the couch from episode one and was immediately hooked.

So when you openly thirst over Viktor and scream ‘THATS MY HUSBAND! LOOK AT HOW FUCKING PRETTY HE IS OH MY FUCKING GOD!’ He’s chuckling at your enthusiasm and your obsession with the man it was downright hilarious.

‘Do you like men with long hair?’ He asks teasingly.

‘I like men with intellect, dignity, a good heart and a little softie.’ You replied as you poked his chest. ‘Long hair doesn’t suit every man unfortunately, I think it’s got something to do with the face shape but yeah…I don’t think many could suit it as effortlessly.’ You add with a shrug of your shoulders.

Jason will be more than willing to listen to you as you go on about the theories you believe might be true in regard to Viktor, the hexcore and the arcane itself. He loved it when you get this passionate about things you love that he couldn’t help himself but give you a kiss on the lips each time you seem to be tripping up on your word because you were that excited to have someone to talk to about all this, especially if it was your beloved partner. ‘What was that for?’ You’d ask after he pulls away from the kiss.

‘You looked adorable and sexy when you talk theories and speculations for what will happen next, it’s a good look on you and I couldn’t help but kiss you.’ Jason replied as he kissed you on the lip once again and you were quick to talking about how Viktor had to come back in act three and how you think Viktor was being used as a puppet.

Jason throws in his thoughts and opinions but he just loved to sit and listen to you and admire that beautiful brain of yours.

[literatureloverx]

Hello! This is my first time asking anything so, sorry if this doesn’t make any sense. I love the way you write & your ideal type for Fyodor. I was curious, how would he have met his ideal type? I understand if you’re busy! Thank you

Hello dear!♥️ You’re not bothering at all, and I’m so happy that I’m the person you chose for your first request.♥️

I’m sorry it took me so long, and I hope you enjoy reading it!♥️

Fyodor likely saw you in a serene and sophisticated setting, such as a café, a theatre, a library, or a museum. I chose the Musée Fabre for this scenario.♥️

Religious themes, art interpretations, intrigued and manipulative Fyodor.

“A Beauty to Behold”

You move a loose strand away from your face, which reveals your small, innocent face.

Fyodor’s gaze lingers on you for a few moments longer, an odd thought crossing his mind: no one else seems to notice you. You were beautiful, undeniably so, and that alone was captivating. Yet the fact that others failed to acknowledge you, as if blind to the art before them, only heightened your allure, drawing his attention to you even more.

You, a beautiful young woman, dressed in fine stilettos and a figure-hugging, midi-length crème dress, holding a coat and a small bag of the same color in your arms, appeared to be the only one genuinely interested in the art before you—reading the text beside it and admiring the piece for more than five minutes now. ‘The Fallen Angel’ by Alexandre Cabanel.

He takes a calm stride toward you, coming to a halt just beside you—like a predator, one might think. His cool aura contrasts sharply with your warmth.

Fyodor moves a little closer to observe you more clearly, studying the way you react to the painting and the little facial expressions that appear on your beautiful features while you’re deep in thought.

After a moment, he hums, his voice light and charming.

“What do you make of this one, miss?” His eyes rest on the painting itself.

You look at him with your doe eyes, widened slightly as his approach seems to have come unexpectedly. You seem like an introverted person, and rather shy.

He finds himself intrigued by the sight of such innocence and naivety, and he can’t help the slight, cold smirk that spreads on his lips.

An unrealistically handsome man, tall and dressed in a dark suit that mirrors the intensity of his gaze, stands before you. It takes you a few moments to find your voice, but when you do, your words come softly.

“When I look at it, I feel the weight of what it means to turn away from God’s light. The angel, once so radiant and close to God, now sits alone, his face full of sorrow and defiance….”

You pause for a brief moment. “….it does not make me feel less empathetic towards the angel that is depicted in the painting. Because he does not embody the true evil that is the devil.”

Fyodor listens attentively, his smirk softening into a small, more genuine smile. Your words are not only intriguing but also reveal a certain depth and maturity. His gaze glides over you again, taking in the details of your face and figure in a subtle, nonchalant way.

“It's truly interesting, and also curious to hear someone not just throw around shallow, superficial phrases but instead look at the painting at a deeper, more analytical level, isn't it?”

“Are you in agreement with my opinion, sir?”

You say softly, with a shy undertone, subtly analysing his fine features. Clearly intrigued in your own, feminine, adorable way.

A quiet, gentle chuckle leaves Fyodor's mouth. Your shy, innocent manner of speaking and acting amuses and delights him, and he likes the way you’re looking at him, even if your gaze is shy, almost a tad timid. When he speaks, there's a slight hint of playfulness in his voice, though his sharp eyes never leave your pretty features for a second.

“That depends. Are you expecting praise, my dear?”

This was something that you did not expect, which makes you blush softly.

“Oh, I wasn't...”

You stutter.

“I…was...just asking if you agree with me.”

You recover quickly. “Do you have an opposite statement you would make?”

A smirk appears on Fyodor's lips again at the sight of your blushing and stuttering, and suddenly, he's very much enjoying this conversation. He can't put his finger on it, but there's something about this. About you. Something that is new. A lovely young woman that draws him in, makes him want to keep talking to her.

He lets out a small hum before he answers your question, his deep, melodic voice barely above a murmur.

“No, miss. I think you're absolutely correct.”

Your eyes widen, as if saying, 'you do?’. You look at the painting again, and then at Fyodor. He seems rather cold, calculating, analysing, looking into your soul, piercing through your comfort zone by playing a game of cat and mouse, in an almost nonchalant way.

He must be either bored or lonely.

“And you have nothing to add, sir?”

He shakes his head, his smirk fading into a small smile as he continues to study you, both amused and intrigued by how genuinely interested you seem in his opinion.

Your voice is so soft and sweet, he feels himself drawn to you without even realising it, the desire to prolong your conversation suddenly appearing in his head.

He can tell that you’re alone—a sweet, beautiful person like you, all by yourself in this grand museum, pursuing your passion. He figured out most of this —and more— within the first few minutes of meeting you.

The corner of Fyodor's lips curls up into a very subtle, almost mischievous-looking smile. He likes how you want to extend the conversation, and he decides to play along, simply because the thought of leaving you, this charming, beautiful young woman, alone does not please him.

He takes a step closer, now standing right next to you as he looks at the painting as well, his eyes roaming over the colors and shapes that create a fascinating composition.

“Well, I suppose I could say a few more things. Would you be interested in hearing them?”

You nod softly. “Yes, please do.”

Fyodor is satisfied to see that you seem to desire more, and he can’t help but let his gaze flit from the painting back to you, lingering on the soft features of your lovely face for a moment before he speaks again.

His deep voice is as melodic as before, but it’s clear that he’s more interested in you than in the art at the moment—a fact only he is aware of, something you could never tell.

“You're already correct when you say the angel does not embody true malice, but I think, in order to understand the pain and defiance on his face, it's important to look at what has led to his downfall.”

“You mean to say... the rebellion?”

He nods, a sly, almost mischievous smirk appearing on his lips once more with how he watches your reactions to his words, enjoying seeing you paying so much attention to his point of view.

Everything about you is sweet, and Fyodor is slowly becoming more and more intrigued, wanting to see more of it the longer you talk.

It is truly strange. He feels a certain way, and his frozen heart does not seem to keep up with this feeling.

“Precisely, my dear. The fallen angel chose to go against the Creator. That's what caused his downfall. His choice, no one else's.”

You nod thoughtfully, whispering softly.

“One is responsible for whatever one does. Only strong minds can withstand the corruption of the seven deadly sins… but no one can truly escape them, because being human means having weaknesses. One could say that human beings are sinful and foolish, for they cannot help but be corrupted. But then again… that is what makes them human. Being human is not a sin.”

The quiet, barely audible sound of your voice is like music to his ears, and his smile widens slightly at your words. You clearly possess a wisdom and intelligence that goes beyond your age, and this makes the interest and amusement he feels for you only grow. You’re so… proper.

You make for a far more interesting conversation than any intellectual or even philosophical topic he could go on about with other individuals. You lack his level of intellect, sure, but he can’t deny that you’re not someone who bores him.

Rather than challenging him, you present an understanding of his own perspective, which is more comforting than threatening. Something he is not used to. Not naive, but simply pure.

A power so few people have. An objective view on the matter of humanity.

His smirk turns sharp, and the subtle mischief in his eyes is more obvious as he continues looking at you while speaking.

“So very true, my dear. To fall... is your own choice indeed.”

You smile sweetly at him, your gaze demure and soft with intrigue.

“It is not common for me to find someone who shares my views.” You say gently.

“I heard interpretations about his tragic beauty, contrasting with the sorrow and defiance in his expression, symbolising the consequences of pride and ambition. It's often seen as a romanticised portrayal of Lucifer's fall, emphasizing themes of rebellion, loss, and the fragility of even the most exalted beings.”

You look at the painting. “But it never seemed enough to me.”

He hums in thought, allowing his gaze to flicker from your delicate features to the painting and back again as he listens to what you have to say.

Your words are eloquent, and they show an intelligence and depth of understanding that even people a lot older than you are lacking.

And yet, there is still something so innocent and sweet about you, something that makes him want to see those beautiful doe eyes of yours looking up at him in awe... He has to suppress a small chuckle, keeping his voice in a tone just as soft as yours is.

“So it seemed insufficient to you?”

“No one ever truly depicts the true evil in its pure form, don't you think? It was not easy to understand. The idea of there being a true, pure evil. I believe that is why so many people are romanticising it…”

You gaze at Fyodor. “…Because they can’t understand that he is simply, purely, evil. He chose to defy God and rebel—not out of altruistic ambitions, but because of his pride. He’s no human. He should’ve known better.”

You smile sweetly. “But it is nice to know that at least someone agrees with me.”

His smirk returns, and his expression turns sharp as he leans towards you ever so subtly, his deep voice still as soft and melodic as ever, though the slight mocking tone in his words is clear.

Ah, so you crave attention and approval from someone more capable of seeing what others cannot? How very cute. Not that he didn’t already figure that out.

“I couldn't agree more, miss...?”

You say your name softly. “…a pleasure to meet you, mister...?”

You extend your hand towards him in a warm, friendly manner. Fyodor takes it, your hand slender and delicate in his larger, paler one.

His grip is firm but gentle, as though afraid of breaking you. That is unlike him—he is used to breaking and destroying things.

And yet, there is something about you that makes him feel at ease. Your touch is almost like a relief. A sense of serenity in this twisted world.

The smirk on his lips never leaves, and for a moment he holds your hand a second too long, enjoying the feel of your soft skin underneath his fingers.

“Fyodor Dostoevsky.”

The chemistry between you two could almost be felt from a hundred miles away.

“…Mister Dostoevsky,” you say softly.

He hums, the way you say his name causing his smirk to fade into a small smile—the first one that is truly and fully genuine.

Your voice is even more lovely when his name falls from your lips, and he can tell you’re not just another pretty young woman who pretends to have some knowledge about the topics discussed—not when just the way you pronounce his name makes a pleasant shiver run down his spine.

He gently lets go of your hand, although reluctantly, and his eyes never leave your pretty face as he continues speaking.

“You’re not a local if I’m hearing the right accent, are you, miss?”

“Yes, I’m not. I’m (any heritage). And you are… Russian?” you ask softly.

He nods, his eyes never leaving hers as he gazes at your innocently curious expression. You’re so open, so pure and genuine in the way you speak and present yourself, and it amuses and fascinates him in a way he can’t quite describe as he listens to your soft, melodic voice.

“Russian, indeed. I take it it’s rather obvious?”

You giggle softly. “The accent, yes, but the name says it all.”

He lets out a quiet, deep chuckle at the sound of your soft laughter, the corners of his lips curled up into a small smile. He likes your laugh and your voice, how gentle and sweet you are. It is like a fresh breeze.

“Ah, I was correct, then. You truly know more than the average young person.”

“I learned a little bit of Russian at home—that is why—because I enjoyed reading Russian literature, but I’m afraid it’s not good enough for me to present it to the ears of a native speaker…”

You sound shy. He can’t help the way he smiles at the thought of you trying to learn his language, and the fact that you’re doing it out of interest in his nation’s literature makes it only sweeter.

You truly are an interesting young lady, and the more he learns about you, the more your innocently demure appearance and your shy behavior intrigue him. He’s well-schooled enough to keep it hidden behind his polite smile.

“I would be delighted to hear you try, darling.”

You look shyly at him, seemingly regretting having admitted that you know a little Russian, stuttering:

“I—I’d r-rather not…”

Fyodor’s smile only grows at seeing your shy, embarrassed reaction. You truly are adorable, blushing and stuttering as you try to get out of speaking. He decides to have mercy on you.

“Very well, if you’re not comfortable doing so, I won’t pressure you.”

His eyes continue to study you, and he still has a hard time figuring out what it is about you that makes him want to continue this conversation.

You sigh softly, preparing yourself to bid this interesting stranger goodbye with your innocent gaze.

Oh dear, he can read you all too well.

“Mister Dostoevsky—”

“A moment, my dear.”

You are flustered because he seems to have such a sharp mind, which is both thrilling and unnerving in a positive way. The way he could tell that you were trying to leave without giving a real sign is truly admirable—and somewhat creepy, but you were too dazzled by him to know any better.

“I’m listening, Mister Dostoevsky.”

“There will be a party of artists and intellectuals in a few days, here at the opera. One of the more important ones, it is. I would enjoy having someone as intelligent and lovely as you there.”

(That’s a lie; there is no party and no intellectuals—only his rats, which he will use to create the ambiance.)

His amethyst eyes never leave your face as he speaks, observing every little expression you might make while listening to his words.

He can’t deny that he’s interested in you, a form of interest he’s not used to. A very dark, and deeply rooted desire that seems to shine through his icy walls.

Your eyes sparkle as you listen to his words, recognising the slightly flirty but cool undertone of his words.

His gaze is intimidatingly direct and deep, which makes your cheeks flush softly. You can’t help but be flattered by the invitation. And you certainly cannot say no to him.

There is just something about him that makes your heart flutter with joy and excitement. And you do have time during that particular timeframe before heading back to your own country. So… why not?

“I would be delighted, Mister Dostoevsky.”

His smile turns into a soft smirk, and he hums in slight satisfaction as you agree. The feeling is quite intriguing, to say the least. He gives a slight bow, not once taking his eyes off your face.

“So am I, considering I’ll get to see you there, my dear.”

You try to hide your flustered face by tilting your head innocently.

“Is there any dress code I should look out for?”

Fyodor hums for a moment. He has already calculated that you would ask this, as you seem to be a very proper young lady who does not wish to overstep. And you will, of course, wear what he wants you to.

“No, not really. The evening’s theme is white, so it would be best if you wear a white, elegant dress. Other than that, there’s not much to know. However, I am certain you shall look enchanting no matter what you wear.”

You blush. “Thank you very much. Then… s-shall I give you my phone number?” You ask nervously.

He smiles at your flustered reaction. You really are adorable, blushing like a little schoolgirl being asked for her number for the first time.

He cannot recall having had a woman so nervous about giving him, a man, her contact information, and he enjoys watching just how shy you get while doing so.

He takes your number with the same polite smile, but he does not use his phone or write it down anywhere.

“Thank you, and I will ensure to text you the details of the event later on, my dear.”

You are confused because he did not write your number down anywhere. No way he’d be able to memorise it this quickly, right?

“And… you can memorise it this instant?”

He doesn’t try to hold back his amused chuckle this time at your confused expression, and the smirk that’s back on his lips is one of mild mockery.

“Of course, my dear. I happen to have a good memory. It would truly be foolish of me not to make use of it.”

Woah!!! I had so much fun writing this. I’m down bad. ♥️