#an idiot's guide to the end of everything

[banzaiblaster]

The scattering of drawings I made for oc-tober! The art of Atropo (day 4 thought bubble) is by and Kairos (day 22) belongs to @/darkmoonmagic and Clark (day 23) belongs to @/rainbow-neko-main :]

[banzaiblaster]

Well I guess I gotta then!

^ their ref sheets. Atropo Saalix is a derse knight of doom, transmasc mecha pilot aka the coolest fuckin guy around (lying. he's cringefail)

^ from when they went to a dance in matching maid dresses. also the first time they ever met up irl

^ bonus drawings :] featuring Sierol Altius aka Scott Smajor, a sylph of heart fellow violetblood

@darkmoonmagic is responsible for Atropo and the cooler art <3

martyn and pearl as trolls! from this twitter request:

might do the other two winners tommorrow :)

[shewhoeatssand]

I want to befriend Kaneki and meet with him and email him forever

[soft-serve-soymilk]

More random head children musings (aside from the really sad one because that deserves better than a throwaway post):

Honestly I think it’s very fortunate that Dism’s team isn’t *entirely* comprised of lucid dreamers.

[ashrifts]

───ㅤ»ㅤwhat does your heart look like?

YOUR RESULT: ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ* A GUIDING, GOLDEN LIGHT.

Just because you cannot see your own heart doesn’t mean that others can’t. Your heart is blinding, captivating, a fire so bright that others can’t bring themselves to look away. It illuminates the path they follow and cements you as a guiding star for their own wayward hearts. Every experience you’ve lived through has built your lighthouse heart up just a little higher. You are inspirational, a light that doesn’t go out.

and─

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ* A TANGLED BALL OF RED STRINGS.

Who are you without the company of others? You aren’t sure, but you know that you aren’t fond of whoever it is. You are an actor, a pretty face and a pleasant song. Many idolize you, or love you, but you can never be sure of how sincere it is. Your heart is buried under the letters they leave you, sealed with a kiss. It can’t be untangled from the red strings they’ve attached to you. You deserve to find something, someone, true and faithful to hold your heart in place. You don’t have to be everything to everyone.

tagged by: @deathfavor 💕💕 tagging: idk who hasn't been tagged yet - take it from me and say i tagged u!!

[mattnott]

𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

mattheo riddle x fem reader

SUMMARY: in wich mattheo knew that the best way to piss off his quidditch rival was to fuck his girlfriend. WORDS. 5K+. english is not my first language. N/A. literally edited this 3 times.

WARNINGS. smut, mdni, face slapping, rough sex, porn w// plot, pnv sex, fingering (f!receiving), aged up characters, hair pulling, unprotected sex, dirty talk, infidelity (reader cheats on her boyfriend), pussy slapping, spitting, making out.

masterlist -> navigation

It wasn’t that Mattheo hated him—no, hate wasn’t a strong enough word. It was more than that.

Mattheo despised him. The smug bastard had spent years turning Mattheo’s life into a personal hell. Every time they faced each other on the Quidditch pitch, he made it his mission to overshadow him, turning every match into a game—his game. It wasn’t enough to win; no, he had to humiliate.

Every cocky grin after a game, every pointed remark, every stupid joke that made the whole school laugh—it all stuck with Mattheo, eating away at him. It wasn’t just the humiliation; it was the way the bastard seemed to enjoy it, like making Mattheo miserable was his favorite pastime. And it worked. Every time he strutted off the pitch like he owned the place, Mattheo was left grinding his teeth.

Mattheo could handle a loss—hell, he wasn’t above admitting defeat when it was deserved. But losing to him? To someone who could barely hold his own on a good day? That was a different story.

It wasn’t about skill. It was never about the game with him. It was about making a show of it, rubbing it in like he’d actually earned it, like scraping out a win somehow made him untouchable. And that made Mattheo’s blood fucking boil.

Every time it happened, he could feel the humiliation sinking deeper. The bastard would parade around like a king, lapping up the attention, making sure everyone knew he’d won—even if it was by sheer dumb luck. It was humiliating, to say the least.

The idiot couldn’t just play the game. No, he had to make Mattheo feel small while standing on the podium, taking all the praise like he deserved it—like he actually earned it. But he didn’t. Merlin, he never fucking did.

He was average at everything he did. Most of the goals he scored were thanks to others guiding him like he was some damn toddler; the guy couldn’t even stay balanced on his broom without looking like he was going to fall off at any moment. It was embarrassing to watch. And Mattheo was sure he had heard it from a few of the players on his team that the idiot was late to practice almost every day.

He was overrated in every sense of the word. Yet, somehow nothing ever changed. Everything stayed exactly the same.

No matter how many times Mattheo outplayed him, no matter how many matches he dominated or goals he scored, the brainless bastard always ended up in the spotlight, receiving compliments that didn’t even belong to him. It was insane how the whole school fawned over him like he was some god.

The guy was an untouchable, an untouchable piece of shit, but still untouchable. Teachers, students, almost everyone seemed to worship his ass, and the more they praised him, the more power the idiot seemed to get and the more self-centered he acted, which only made Mattheo even more pissed off.

The idiot didn’t even work for it. Everything was handed to him, like the world decided he was going to be the best, and nothing could change that. They treated him like some fucking golden child, and he ate it up like it was his due.

And that infuriated Mattheo, because no matter how hard he worked, no matter how good he was, he never got the praise. He never got the recognition he deserved. Never got the praise he craved. It was always about his last name. Riddle. At the end of the day, he was just Voldemort’s son, a son of a monster, a reminder of a legacy soaked in fear.

People didn’t see him for who he was or what he’d accomplished—they only saw his bloodline, his father’s sins, the deaths that followed him.

He hated every fucking bit of it. His idiot rival was constantly showered with praise and compliments, while Mattheo was stuck with pitying stares, whispers of fear, and the way everyone treated him like a damn outcast. He wanted to beat him up.

But the worst part? It wasn’t the wins. It wasn’t the way the bastard walked around like he owned the fucking place. It wasn’t even how everyone seemed to kiss the ground he walked on. No, the worst part was that he had you.

You. His precious girlfriend.

It wasn’t just that he had you, no. It was the fact that Mattheo had noticed you long before your brainless boyfriend ever did. And truth be told, it was because Mattheo saw the things your boyfriend never cared enough to notice. He saw how you laughed with your stupid friends in the stands during the matches, how you cheered when someone scored a goal, too distracted to even notice if the person was from your own house.

Mattheo noticed the way your brows furrowed when you were confused in class, the small crease on your forehead that made you seem so real, so human. So easy to ruin. He saw how your lips curved into a smile whenever you talked about something you loved—something he was almost certain your boyfriend never even noticed.

The scumbag always too busy looking at himself to care about what you were saying, too caught up in his own reflection to actually listen to the things that made you you.

But Mattheo? Mattheo listened. He saw the way your voice changed, the rhythm of it when you spoke, how it picked up when you talked about things that mattered to you. The way your breath hitched when you were nervous, the way you fidgeted, the little shifts in your body when you got caught up in something exciting. 

Mattheo Riddle noticed every fucking thing about you. Every. Damn. Thing.

And how could he not? You were fucking irresistible to his eyes, like a fucking magnet drawing people to you, pulling them in, making them want you. And Mattheo wasn’t any different. He craved you. He craved you so much that every time you were in the same room, he had to hold his breath, trying to keep himself in check, or else his cock would tear right through his pants. 

He wanted you so fucking badly, it made him ache, but still, you weren’t his. You belonged to an idiot who couldn’t even know what to do with all that.

You were his trophy, his pretty little prize to show around like a fucking object, more like a shiny thing he could flaunt to boost his already inflated ego than an actual human being. And maybe that’s all you were to him—a thing to fuck and show off, but not someone to cherish. Just another accomplishment that his pathetic success brought him.

Mattheo was sick of it. It wasn’t just the way your bastard boyfriend treated you—no, that was long past the truth. It was the fucking audacity of him, thinking he deserved you at all. If he couldn’t even catch a damn Quaffle properly, how the hell could he know how to protect you? How could he possibly know how to fuck you properly?

He didn’t. And Mattheo couldn’t for the life of him understand how you could see anything in a guy like that.

Mattheo stormed through the corridors, his Quidditch uniform pulling tightly against his exhausted, sweaty body. His jaw was clenched, eyes narrowed, still seething after the match he had just won against your boyfriend. It had been an easy win—your boyfriend was a joke without anyone else carrying him—but the anger still burned inside him. He should’ve felt good about the victory, but all he could focus on was how much it pissed him off.

He knew exactly what the bastard of your boyfriend would do when he left the locker rooms. He knew. He’d come straight to you, expecting you to lift his spirits like you always did: riding his dick until he was completely satisfied, making you do all the work while the fucking idiot didn’t even move his hips.

But this time, Mattheo would be quicker. He’d find you faster, and unlike your boyfriend, he wasn’t going to treat you like some cheap consolation prize. No, he planned on using you as a victory prize, almost as valuable as the points his house had just won.

He had taken his win, so it was only fair to take his consolation prize, right?

He thought so, so that’s why he didn’t think twice before slamming his fist against the door, the sharp sound of wood cracking under his hand echoing through the quiet room while his palm smacked against the sturdy surface, the force enough to make the door rattle in its frame, and making you jump at the sudden noise, your heart racing in surprise. Before you could process what happened, the door swung open again, and there, standing in the doorway, was an angry Mattheo Riddle.

And for a moment neither of you spoke.

Nevertheless, you could feel his eyes on you, shamelessly scanning your body, and for a moment, you felt vulnerable, as if you were standing naked before him. Still, he didn’t look away; instead, he crossed his arms over his muscular chest, his gaze fixed on you, already calculating how to draw you into his plan.

Yet he couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his lips when he noticed the blush creeping across your cheeks and the way your eyes darted, desperate to avoid his. You looked so pretty, so easy to ruin.

“You’re waiting for him, aren’t you?” His voice cut through the silence, startling you. You blinked, your gaze stubbornly fixed on his strong chest. The way his sweat-soaked uniform clung to every muscle was distracting—too distracting, and you noticed his dark curls fell messily over those piercing brown eyes, and for a brief, shameful moment, you couldn’t stop yourself from staring.

What the hell are you doing? You scolded yourself, your cheeks growing more red this time with shame.

You cleared your throat, lifting your head slightly to meet Mattheo’s gaze. His brow already arched as you looked, a mocking smile playing on his lips as he watched you closely. He knew his plan was falling into place, and so was yours.

“Yeah.” You stood up, trying to keep your voice steady as you looked at him. “He’ll be here in a minute.”

Mattheo scoffed, knowing full well your boyfriend was probably sulking in the locker room, making a scene about his loss and fishing for sympathy. He took a step closer to you, and it took everything in you not to back away or, worse, lean towards him. “He’s coming, he’s coming,” you kept repeating to yourself, almost like a desperate reminder that you had a boyfriend.

“Sure he will, sweetheart,” he said, the mockery in his tone impossible to miss, his eyes raking over you from head to toe again, a pretty little thing like you waiting for an idiot who doesn’t even know how to use his dick—sad, really. “He’s so reliable, isn’t he? Always putting you first. Always showing up for you,” he added sarcastically, smirking even more as you swallowed, knowing he had hit a nerve.

Mattheo’s words hit you like a slap, but the worst part was how much truth they carried. You bristled, refusing to acknowledge your failed relationship, and narrowed your eyes at him. “That’s none of your fucking business, Riddle,” you hissed, gripping your wrists tightly as he took another step towards you.

He tilted his head slightly, his lips curling into a smirk anything but friendly. “Isn’t it? I think it’s exactly my damn business.” His voice was calm—too calm—like he was savoring every second of making you realize the bastard was not all that. But even with that collected tone, you could still see the same anger in his eyes. 

“You’ve been letting him walk all over you for too long, haven’t you? Always waiting, always hoping he’ll finally see you… really see you.” He stepped closer, the space between you shrinking, his dark gaze still piercing into yours. “But he doesn’t, does he?”

You swallowed hard, the tightness in your chest making it difficult to breathe. You knew he was right; the frustration of always coming second to your boyfriend’s ego, of never feeling truly seen or satisfied, was frustrating. But you weren’t ready to admit it—not to him.

You knew who Mattheo was—the son of the dark lord and a top player on the Slytherin Quidditch team. But that didn’t matter to you, not when your boyfriend filled your head with his hate for him, always trying to be better than Mattheo, and deep down you knew he would never reach that goal. Your boyfriend had recognition but no real talent. He always hid his insecurities behind a false confidence and a big ego, caring only about himself and putting others down.

He was a piece of shit; you couldn’t deny it.

You lifted your chin, trying to stay calm and ignore how close Mattheo was getting, his gaze intense, like a predator eyeing its prey. “I don’t need you to tell me about my relationship.” You shot back, trying to hold your ground, though his words still gnawed at your mind. Yet Matthew wasn’t looking into your eyes. No, his attention was lower, fixed on the curve of your hips, like he was already claiming it as his prize.

He lifted his gaze from your curves, his smirk deepening as he seemed to enjoy the way you squirmed, desperately trying to defend a lost cause like your brainless idiot of a boyfriend. “You don’t, huh?” His voice dropping, growing darker. 

“Then why the hell are you still waiting for him? How long have you been sitting here, staring at that door like he’s gonna show up and treat you right… fuck you right?” He paused, letting the silence hang between you, thick and heavy. “You know he never will, at least not the way you want, sweetheart.”

You blinked, over and over, not realizing how he had moved closer until he was standing right in front of you, too caught up in the way your heart seemed to race at his previous words, the way they sliced through your mind. You knew he was right; you were just a precious little thing for your boyfriend to show off, nothing more, and the bastard never knew how to properly use his dick on you.

Mattheo didn’t flinch, his eyes darkening as his smirk widened. He took another step toward you, finally stopping just in front of you, making your heart race, your knees almost buckling as you noticed his Quidditch uniform clung to his body with every movement.

“It’s the truth, and you know it,” he said, his voice low. “Every time he brushes you off, every time he acts like he’s too busy for you, too busy to actually care. But not me.” He leaned in, just close enough for you to feel the heat of his breath against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. “I see you. I’ll use you how you deserve to be used, and I won’t make you feel invisible.”

You weren’t stupid; you knew the difference between Mattheo and your boyfriend. Even though both saw you as something to be conquered, at least Mattheo knew how to use his cock. The temptation was there, the promise of finally being noticed, but deep down, you knew it wasn’t because he cared.

It was all part of his plan, and you were falling deeper into his trap.

His hand reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face and tucking it behind your ear. The touch was light—almost innocent—but it sent a shiver down your spine, nonetheless. and you knew it wasn’t innocent at all. “Don’t,” you warned, your voice faltering as you tried to hold on to whatever little control you had left.

“Don’t what, sweetheart?” he whispered, his hand moving to your neck as he brought his face closer to you once again, this time only a few centimeters from your neck, his lips just millimeters away. “Hmm?” he hummed, a provocation, you noticed, his calloused hand tightening slightly around your neck as he placed a light kiss on the spot, almost as if testing the territory.

Fuck, that was easier than he thought, and at this rate he was going to get hard in no time; he wanted to feel your pussy so much.

“Riddle,” you said, your voice trembling as you tried to sound firm, yet the way you were trying to stand betrayed you. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” he shot back in a whisper, his mouth still close to your neck, his breath warm against your skin. His eyes bore into your face, craving for you to finally break, for him to finally claim you as a prize, to finally piss off your boyfriend and show you how a girl like you should be fucked. Yet, he knew he had to wait; wait until you were so absorbed in him that you wouldn’t want to turn back.

“Mattheo…” First name, good.

He chuckled, his breath coming against your neck, sending vibrations through your body. His left hand was now on your stomach, while his right rested at the back of your neck. “Tell me something, sweetheart. When was the last time he touched you like this?” he asked, his hand sliding down to your skirt, gently caressing your thigh.

You try to ignore the way your own body was responding to his touch, his breath, the traitorous wetness between your legs growing, making you feel a bit ashamed, as you knew he could feel.

“I—” you stopped, the words catching in your throat, your breathing growing heavier as his hand continued to caress your thigh and his mouth lingered on your neck, leaving small kisses on your sensitive spot. You were too lost in the sensation to even remember that your boyfriend could walk in at any moment.

Mattheo chuckled against your neck, gently pushing your legs further apart as he looked at you, noticing the way you trembled against his body. He couldn’t help but feel a surge of satisfaction—not just from the sight but also from the realization that you were already so lost in his touch, there was just a little chance you’d turn back now.

You sighed visibly, your eyes remaining closed as you were too lost in the touch and embarrassment to even look at him. However, you couldn’t help but let out a small scream when, with a sudden movement, Mattheo pushed you against a small desk, positioning himself behind you. His hand still squeezed your neck, but this time lifting your chin slightly, holding you like a trophy.

“Such a needy girl,” Mattheo murmured in your ear, his groin pressed firmly against your ass, making you bite your lip as your cunt clenched at his words. “So needy already, and I’ve barely touched you,” he mocked, the hand that had been on your thigh now sliding to your stomach, his fingertips prodding you teasingly.

“Fuck you,” you hissed, your head spinning as he pressed his groin even more against you. Fucking bastard.

“Shhh,” he shushed you mockingly, almost chuckling as you kept your eyes closed, trying to curse him. “Don’t be so mean, sweetheart. I’m about to give you what that fucking bastard doesn’t have the balls to do,” he whispered in your ear, giving a small bite to the lobe of your ear as he did so.

You didn’t respond; instead, you pressed your clothed ass against his hips, making him groan as he felt his quidditch uniform tighten around his cock.

Mattheo continued to rock his hips against you, his right hand tightening its grip on your neck and tilting your chin up, exposing your face to the small window of the room. His fingers on your right hand pushed your skirt down, and before you realized it, both your skirt and panties were already at your heels, causing Mattheo’s smirk to widen even more as he saw how wet you were.

“You’re so wet already,” he chuckled against your ear, his fingers trailing down your lower stomach, almost reaching your already dripping cunt. “Such a desperate little thing you are,” he mocked you again, his hips pressing into your bare ass. “He doesn’t fuck you properly, does he?”

You held your breath at his provocation, a small part of your rationality returning after the truth he had spoken. Your nails dug into the desk in front of you as you tried to process what was happening, struggling not to look at Mattheo’s fingers still trailing along the lower part of your stomach.

For a moment, a part of your mind sobered, the image of your boyfriend flashing through your thoughts. A wave of hesitation threatened to take over, and you almost gave in to the doubt, but before you could pull back, Mattheo’s hand landed firmly against your pussy, the sound echoing through the room. The sharp sting caused you to gasp, but before you could even recover, his fingers slid deep inside you.

“Mattheo!” You moaned his name like a prayer, gasping for air as his other hand moved to your hair, pushing your head towards his shoulder as his finger continued to fill your wet cunt.

Mattheo chuckled, his hips pressing and rubbing against your ass as his fingers moved in and out of you without any delicacy, and he felt his cock getting harder as your pussy squeezed his fingers, making him imagine what it would be like when it was wrapped around his cock, squeezing it until he filled you with cum.

“That’s it.” Mattheo said in your ear, his grip on your hair tightening as his fingers thrust, making you moan and move your hips even more. “Such a pretty slut.” He moaned as well, feeling your bare ass rocking against his clothed cock.From the frantic movements of your hips, he knew you were close to your orgasm, which only made him more satisfied.

Holy shit, he barely touched you, and you were already a mess; your boyfriend was a joke.

“Oh my fucking God,” you moaned louder, the pain from his grip on your hair almost fading as his fingers hit your sensitive spot, making you clamp your legs together. “Mattheo!” You breathed out, your nails digging deeper into the wooden desk in front of you, and you bucked your hips against his clothed cock as your vision began to blur.

“Jus like that,” he groaned, moving his hips and fingers in the same ruthless rhythm, the wet sounds of your pussy muffled only by the sounds of your moans. “Cum,” he commanded, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he did. You moaned louder, your legs shaking as you obeyed his order.

Your eyes opened, and you looked down, trying to control your breathing, which only made you moan louder as you watched Mattheo’s cum-soaked fingers slip out of your pussy with a wet sound. Feeling his smirk against your ear, his hips now grinding slowly against your ass.

Mattheo looked at your state, the sweat sticking to his forehead and making his hair cling even more. His eyes fixed on his fingers for a few seconds, your essence evident on them. He should be satisfied right now, on cloud nine—but he wasn’t. Not yet.

His eyes scanned over you again, taking in your flushed cheeks, the marks on your shoulder, your tangled hair. You were a mess—a hot mess—but it still wasn’t enough. No, quite the opposite. You were a mess, but not a crying mess, and that’s exactly what he wanted. After all, you couldn’t be his trophy if you weren’t used the right way, could you?

Well, that’s what he thought.

His hand pulled your hair back further, which made you let out a sudden scream and widen your eyes, the previous adrenaline still present throughout your body, and although you were tired, your pussy throbbed even more with the sudden pull.

“What are you—...?”

“Do you really think this is over, pretty thing?” He asked, his voice filled with mockery as he pushed your hair even more, his other hand still soaked with your cum. “A slut like you needs more to be satisfied, especially if she’s not being fucked properly.” He groaned into your ear, and you almost moaned at the dirty words.

With a sudden movement, Mattheo turned you to face him, his hand still gripping your scalp, and sat you down on the wooden surface, spreading your legs so he could position himself between them.

You looked at him, your pussy blinking in anticipation as you watched the way his sweat made his Slytherin uniform stick to the defined muscles of his chest, and you couldn't help but bite your lip at the sight.

“Do you like what you see?” Mattheo asked, his grip on your hair still firm, his lips curling into a smirk as he saw you nod. “Such a pretty girl.” He paused, his eyes still fixed on your face. “Open your mouth.” His voice was firm, and you, too lost in your previous pleasure, obeyed him without hesitation.

Taking advantage of the opening, Mattheo brought his free hand to your mouth, his fingers covered in your cum, making contact with your tongue. Neither of you could control the moan as your tongue rolled around his fingers.

Mattheo stared at the scene for a few seconds, as if hypnotized by the sight. However, the hardness of his dick quickly snapped him back to reality, reminding him of what he needed from you. In an instant, he pulled his fingers from your tongue and used them to open your mouth. Before you could fully react, he took the opportunity to spit onto your tongue and pressed his lips to yours in a hungry kiss.

You both moaned into each other's mouths, your taste present as tongues and teeth collided eagerly, both of you wanting to take control of the battle that your mouths were trying to win at all costs.

Mattheo’s hand pulled your hair harder, taking control of the kiss as you moaned against his mouth. He mirrored your sound; however, while you were completely lost in the kiss, Matt had already pulled his waistband and boxers down to his heels, his hard cock exposed as he struggled to control himself, fighting the urge to fuck you right there.

Yet, he couldn’t control himself—not when your pussy looked so fucking pretty, not when the anger was still beating against his ribs, and not when he was still waiting to make the trophy completely his.

Mattheo gripped your hair even tighter, pulling you out of the kiss with surprising strength, making you moan in annoyance at the loss of contact. However, that moan quickly turned into one of pleasure when you felt another slap on your pussy, signaling for you to open your legs. This one was stronger, the wet sound reverberating through the walls. 

Yet, you obeyed quickly, spreading your legs to give Mattheo the opening he needed to finally enter you and claim the trophy he felt he deserved.

You looked at his dick anxiously, your sensitive cunt throbbing. Mattheo grabbed your leg, placing it over his shoulder, and without a single warning, he slid inside with a single thrust between your wet folds, and a loud moan escaped your lips at the sensation. "Fuck, you're so tight," Mattheo groaned, feeling your tight walls squeezing his cock as he thrust even harder.

Fuck, he was big—too big, or at least that’s what you kept telling yourself, since the only dick you were used to was your boyfriend’s. And, honestly, you sometimes wondered if it was just for decoration.

Mattheo’s grip on you tightens harder, his breath coming in low gasps and whimpers almost as loud and scandalous as yours as he continues to push his cock deep inside your soaked folds, making the sound reverberate through the stone walls of the room.

You didn’t hold back, moaning and whimpering as you moved your hips with him, too lost in the sensation to care about your boyfriend.

Mattheo knew exactly what he was doing, stealing you from that worthless piece of shit you called your boyfriend and claiming you like a damn trophy. The satisfaction of finally having his hands on you, feeling your body around his, was like a fucking victory prize for him, an intoxicating one.

Yet, you didn’t care that you were being used as a pawn, not when you were being filled and used like a slut by a cock that actually did its job.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You whimpered, moving your hips even harder, making Mattheo groan and moan loudly and mimicking your actions, moving his hips with the same roughness as you, thrusting even further inside you. Your arms behind you, resting on the table, and you could feel your leg getting sore on top of Mattheo’s shoulder. You didn't care, though, as you continued to dig your nails into the table, leaving a mark.

“That fucking idiot has a bitch like you and doesn’t fuck her the way she deserves,” he growled, anger visible in his voice, his dick still moving inside your desperate, wet cunt, your flesh almost shining. “Such a good fucking cunt,” he murmurs, gripping your leg even harder, the sound of your moans and whimpers only fueling his ego.

He wasn’t just fucking you, you notice; the son of a bitch was claiming you in ways your boyfriend could never even dream of.

Mattheo took your leg off his shoulder abruptly, slapping your thighs roughly and then moving them apart so he had more access to your soaked pussy that was proudly swallowing his fat cock, which made him increase his movements even more, his fingers gripping your waist as he moved inside you, his brown eyes focused on yours for a few seconds.

“Mattheo!” You continued moaning his name loudly, his name slipping from your lips like a prayer. You were so lost in the sensation, so caught in his intense gaze, that you had to close your eyes, shutting them tightly as you tried to regain control.

But that only seemed to anger him even more, and without warning, he thrust even harder into you, and in the next instant, his hand came down, slapping your face with force; the sound echoed through the room, making your head snap to the side, the force leaving a mark on your skin. 

You moaned once more, opening your eyes and focusing on him again. Your pussy throbbed from the sudden contact on your cheek, and for a moment, you couldn't help but curse yourself under your breath, the sensation making you even hornier than before, your walls clenching even tighter around his cock.

“What a pretty little slut, squeezing my dick like this,” he moaned at the way your pussy tightened around him. “Look at your pathetic state,” he laughed through his nose, watching the red mark on your cheek. 

His hips slammed harder against yours, making you moan when you felt his dick hit your sensitive spot, and he mimicked the sound when he felt you tighten around him, letting him know you were close to orgasm. You looked at him completely as you rocked your hips against his, trying to ignore the burning sensation his hand left on your cheek.

He looked fucking glorious; the way his curls clung to his forehead made him look even more irresistible. 

Yet, you couldn’t help but notice how his muscled chest was still covered by his Quidditch jersey, and you couldn’t help but feel a little off, knowing that your boyfriend’s team lost to the house of the man who was fucking you right now.

The force in Mattheo's deep and rough thrusts increased, and you tried to use that to your advantage to try to take off the Slytherin jersey; however, when he noticed that your hands were going towards his uniform, Mattheo laughed dryly and brought his hand back to your hair, grabbing it and pulling you back, thrusting his dick harder into your pussy.

“No, no,” he forced a chuckle, trying to control a moan as he felt himself getting closer to his orgasm, the force on your scalp getting stronger. “I’m going to wear this fucking jersey until you cum.” He gave another deep thrust, and before you could even complain, he crashed your mouths in another bruising but sloppy kiss.

“Mattheo, please!” You moaned into his mouth, tears falling down your cheeks, making him smirk even more as he kissed you roughly and pressed his cock on your hole even more, satisfied that he was finally making you a crying mess and satisfied that you were so lost in the pleasure of his cock that you let him take you as a trophy, making you forget about your brainless boyfriend.

“Fuck, I’m close too, sweetheart.” He responded by thrusting even harder into your pussy, and not even ten seconds later you came moaning loudly against his lips, your pussy wetting his cock with your cum as you cried out.

Mattheo broke the kiss, moaning loudly, his goal accomplished. His mouth went towards your shoulder, biting the skin as he continued to thrust, guiding himself to orgasm. His hand tightened even more in your hair before finally cumming, filling your pussy with his release before taking it off you.

Both of you tried to control your breaths, your hearts still racing. Mattheo looked at you, his breathing still heavy, yet before you could come to your senses, he kneeled before you, his hand leaving your hair as he placed both of his hands on your thighs, looking at your expression, your eyes closed. 

He licked a small part of your mixed orgasms, causing him to groan against your folds. The two of you were so distracted that you didn’t even notice your boyfriend standing in the doorway, looking at the scene with his jaw clenched.

Mattheo finally looked up, and when he noticed his asshole rival looking at the scene angrily, he moved his face away from your pussy, smirking in your boyfriend’s direction, while both of your orgasms ran down his chin, falling onto his sports jersey, showing your boyfriend that Mattheo had fucked the way he was never capable of.

And when your boyfriend finally stormed off, Mattheo turned his attention back to your pussy, not even warning you about the unrequited appearance.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” he murmured against your pussy, enjoying his victory. Because, in the end, being a trophy was better than being a consolation prize, right?

And after all, Mattheo Riddle always took good care of his trophies, and you wouldn’t be the exception.

©mattnott 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝, 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚣𝚎, 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚕, 𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔.

first time writing full pnv… how do we feel? sad tbh 😔

for @asvtrials @astrxq @bucksplum @earth4angels my favorite beta readers, i love you all!! 🫂

and for @leona-hawthorne who was the first to know about this idea, i love you! 💕

comments and reblogs are appreciated and help me a lot, so feel free to interact 🫶🏻

edited but not fully corrected.

[lost-romantique]

It's not a complete role reversal...

People are treating what happened at Sinsmas as a complete role reversal between Stolas and Blitz, where Blitz is going to be the one chasing after Stolas, and Stolas pushing his advances away...

When the situation is a bit more nuanced than that...

Blitz and Stolas both don't have their masks up

The reason why Stolas had such a hard time in the season was because he had to take down those impenetrable walls Blitz put around himself. In that same vein, Stolas also had these walls up when he communicated with Blitz as well.

By the end of the season finale, those walls are down and these gentlemen are able to speak to each other face to face without keeping up a facade.

Blitz and Stolas are together 24/7 now

The reason why it was difficult for them to communicate before was because they were operating under the terms of their transactional agreement where their only excuse to meeting each other was during the nights of the full moon.

However, by the end of the season, both characters live and work together.

Blitz and Stolas have wildly different problems they have to overcome

Blitz, before, was not in the right headspace to give or receive love because he was still under the belief that his love hurts people and that he didn't deserve to be loved. Remember, one botched love confession literally mutilated his best friend, killed his mom, and destroyed the lives of his entire circus family.

The reason why Stolas isn't in the right headspace to give or receive love is because he's still processing his new way of life as a commoner, and the fact that his daughter doesn't want to see him. If anything, the main obstacle keeping these bozos apart now is Octavia.

Blitz and Stolas do love each other

Despite all the bullshit these men have put each other through, they both do genuinely have feelings for each other. However, Blitz knows that what Stolas needs right now isn't his love, but his support. And Blitz is happy with that because the only thing he wants to do right now is be there for Stolas.

When Blitz lost everything in the circus fire, he was alone with nobody to help him and guide him. However, when Stolas lost everything during the trial, he wasn't alone because Blitz was there to pick him back up.

Blitz doesn't know how to give up

While it is true that Stolas shuts Blitz out at this moment, Blitz doesn't give up and use that as a sign of rejection.

Instead, Blitz improvises by inviting Stolas to dance, and Stolas reciprocates.

If Stolas didn't want to dance with Blitz, he didn't have to, he could have just as easily shooed him away but he didn't. In fact, Stolas looks so happy to be invited to dance.

Blitz has this knack for getting Stolas to laugh, even in his most darkest days... so that helps too.

Blitz has a goal now

This is Blitz's endgame, his goal. Blitz wants to be at a place where he and Stolas could be happy and healthy, and live a life with their daughters by their side. He wants this, and Blitz is going to operate in a way to achieve it.

Because that is who Blitz is...

He is a tenacious bastard that doesn't know how to give up. He wanted to be his own boss, so he opened a business. He wanted an easy way to get to earth, so he fucked a Prince. He wanted a family, so he made his own eclectic one.

Blitz, despite the fact that he can be a complete asshole and an idiot, usually has a way of getting what he wants in the end.

[itmightneverbetherighttime]

...

[hoshifighting]

Could we get a reaction where the members make the reader cry?

seungcheol would freeze the moment he sees the tears in your eyes. he’s not used to seeing you like this, and it hits him harder than any argument ever could. “fuck, i’m sorry, i didn’t mean—” he’d start, reaching out but stopping himself, his voice would drop, softer, “please, just... i’m an idiot, okay? i’ll fix it, i swear.” unsure if he should touch you yet. “hey, i’m sorry… i didn’t mean to… please, don’t cry.” he’s not good with his words when he’s panicking, but he’ll do anything to fix this, to make you smile again.

jeonghan prides himself on being the calm in the storm but when you start to cry... “are you seriously crying right now?” he’d say, but his voice would crack just a bit, backstabbing his own emotions. when he realizes that he’s the reason for your tears, the smirk would drop from his face, and he’d feel a pang of guilt deep in his chest. “shit, i didn’t want to make you cry,” he’d mutter, suddenly feeling helpless.

joshua’s heart would break at the sight of your tears. he’s always been the one to comfort you, not the one to cause your pain. “hey, hey, don’t cry,” he’d say softly, his hand reaching out to gently wipe your tears away. the guilt would eat at him as he realizes just how much he’s hurt you.

junhui would panic a little when he sees you crying. seeing you like this would make him feel lost. “wait, don’t cry, please,” he’d say, his voice almost pleading. he’d step closer, unsure of how to comfort you but desperate to try.

soonyoung would be devastated, immediately regretting whatever he said or did to make you cry. “shit, no, don’t cry,” he’d blurt out, his own eyes starting to water just at the sight of you. he’d pull you into his arms without a second thought, holding you close. “no, no, no… please don’t cry, i’m so sorry.” he’ the type of dude who doesn’t knows how to react when people are crying. especially if he’s the cause.

wonwoo would be stunned, when he sees your tears. he’s not good with words, but he’d try his best. “i’m so sorry… i didn’t mean to hurt you, you know that...” he’d say quietly. he’d reach out, hesitating for a moment before gently touching your shoulder. “i’m sorry. let’s talk, okay? i want to make this right.” he’ll do his best to express how much he cares, how much he didn’t want this to happen. he’ll sit with you, offering his hand, hoping you’ll take it. if you do, he’ll hold on tight, silently vowing to never let this happen again.

woozi would be hit with a wave of guilt that he couldn’t quite hide, even with his regular stoic expression. “you’re crying? jagi please let me—” “you’re so mean jihoon!” he’d feel a tightness in his chest, hating himself for being the cause of your pain. “i’m sorry… i shouldn’t have said that. i don’t want to see you like this.” he might not know what to say at first, standing there, feeling like the worst person in the world. he’ll gently take your hand, rubbing small circles on the back of it, his way of comforting you. he’ll sit with you in silence if that’s what you need.

minghao hates the idea of making you cry. he really likes balance and harmony, so seeing your tears feels like a personal failure. minghao will gently guide you to sit down, offering you a tissue and giving you the space to express how you’re feeling. he’s good at listening, at understanding what’s beneath the surface, and he’ll do everything he can to reassure you, to make sure you know that he cares deeply. his touch is gentle, comforting, as he promises to do better.

mingyu + seeing you cry because of him would completely wreck him. he’d instantly feel like the worst boyfriend in the world, his heart breaking at the sight of your tears. “oh no… don’t cry because of me, I don’t deserve it...” mingyu would pull you into a tight hug, burying his face in your shoulder, whispering apologies and trying to comfort you as best as he can. he’d probably end up crying a little himself, unable to stand the thought of hurting you. he’ll do anything to make things right, to bring back your smile.

seokmin is always careful with his words, so when he sees you crying because of something he said, it feels like a knife to the chest, hands reaching out to cup your face, gently wiping away the tears. he’s the type to immediately feel guilty, replaying every word he said in his head, wondering where he went wrong. he’s desperate to make it right, holding you close and whispering apologies until you both calm down.

seungkwan will do anything—make silly faces, tell stupid jokes, even sing your favorite song—just to see you smile again, when that doesn’t work, he’ll just sit beside you, his heart breaking a little more every time he hears you sniffle. deep down, he’s scared, scared that he’s hurt you too much this time.

vernon feels like the ground’s been pulled out from under him. “shit, i—i’m sorry.” he’ll try his best, awkwardly pulling you into a hug, he’ll stay quiet, holding you until your breathing evens out.

chan seeing you cry because of him would completely break his heart. “shit, babe, i didn’t mean it like that.” his eyes loaded with worry as he reaches out to you. chan would pull you into a tight hug, holding you close as if he could shield you from any more pain, his heart breaking a little more every time he sees another tear fall.

[carnalcrows]

TENSION - THANOS & MYUNG-GI

pairing: thanos x male!reader x myunggi

synopsis: Two enemies walk into a bathroom to fight, but end up leaving as flustered teammates—with you as the surprising middle ground.

content warnings: 18+, bottom reader, top myung-gi and thanos, blowjobs, bathroom sex, threesome, exhibitionism, dacryphillia, fingering (reader receiving), anal, rimming, reader is taken from both ends.

word count: 1.1k

A/N: link to the request

The bathroom reeked of mildew, the dim lighting doing little to soften the jagged edges of tension cutting through the air. Myung-gi was pressed up against the cracked sink, his wiry frame taut like a spring ready to snap. Thanos loomed over him, his jaw set and fists clenched, a storm brewing in his dark eyes.

“Keep running your mouth, and see what happens,” Myung-gi spat, his voice low but sharp enough to cut.

Thanos tilted his head slightly, a small, dangerous smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You think you’re tough, huh? All bark, no bite. You’d fold the second someone pushed back.”

“Try me.”

You stepped in before things spiraled out of control. “Alright, enough,” you said sharply, shoving yourself between them. Your hands pressed against their chests to create some space, though you felt the coiled tension in their bodies beneath your palms. “You really want to do this? Because if the guards hear so much as a peep, neither of you is walking out of here.”

Thanos’s gaze flicked to you, his intense glare softening just enough to let you know he wasn’t about to flatten you. Myung-gi, on the other hand, was still bristling, his breaths coming fast and shallow.

“Why do you even care?” Myung-gi snapped. “This has nothing to do with you.”

“Because you’re both being idiots,” you replied, keeping your voice steady despite the pounding in your chest. “You’re acting like this is going to solve anything, and it’s not. You’re just making everything worse for yourselves.”

There was a pause—a charged silence where the three of you stood frozen, the only sound the faint hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. Myung-gi glanced at Thanos, then back at you, something unreadable flashing across his face.

“Maybe we just need to... let off some steam,” Myung-gi muttered, almost too quietly to hear.

Thanos raised an eyebrow, the tension in his posture shifting into something else entirely. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and unrelenting. “He’s not wrong,” Thanos said, his voice dropping an octave.

Your heart skipped a beat as their gazes bore into you, the weight of their combined attention making your breath hitch.

“Wait, what are you—”

“C’mon,” Myung-gi said, a faint smirk creeping onto his lips. “You’re always stepping in, trying to fix everything. Let us handle this... our way.”

Before you could protest, Myung-gi’s hand curled around your wrist, pulling you closer. His other hand cupped your jaw as he leaned in, his lips crashing against yours with a force that made your knees buckle. The kiss was hungry, desperate, as if he were pouring all of his pent-up frustration into it.

A low hum of approval came from Thanos, who stepped in behind you. His hands gripped your shoulders, grounding you as Myung-gi’s lips moved against yours, his kiss messy and demanding. Thanos leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. “Don’t forget about me,” he murmured, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine.

He tilted your head gently, his lips finding yours with a surprising tenderness that contrasted Myung-gi’s fervor. The two of them alternated, their touches and kisses a chaotic, intoxicating mix of need and heat. Myung-gi’s hands roamed your sides, pulling you closer, while Thanos’s fingers tangled in your hair, guiding your movements with deliberate ease.

The stall felt impossibly small, their bodies pressing against yours from both sides. The tension that had filled the room earlier dissolved, replaced by something electric and undeniable.

“We have to be quick, the guards might show up at any moment”, Myung-gi whispered, alerting you.Thanos seemed relaxed, as he slowly pulled your track pants and boxers down to reveal your erection. 

He held your chin and tilted it towards him for a kiss, while Myung-gi slowly lifted you up and onto his lap entirely. His fingers circle the rim of your hole, feeling the tight ring of muscle puckering and clenching around nothing. His breath hitches as his fingers pushed past the ring of muscle and into your ass. He could hear you moaning and whimpering from the sudden intrusion.

 Thanos took the opportunity to turn you around so that your stomach was facing the ground, and you were looking up at him, all doe-eyed.

“Stay still, pretty boy, " he commanded, before pulling down his pants, revealing his leaking cock. You understood, and began to suckle on the angry tip, giving it kitty licks before taking it down your throat. Thanos let out a breathy moan, and held onto your hair, tilting your head in such a way that his length hit the back of your throat at every thrust.

At your other end, Myung-gi felt that he had prepped you enough, so he stood up and removed his aching cock from its confinements. A glob of his spit fell right on your asshole, making you whimper around Thanos’s cock at the cod sensation, only turning him on even more.

Myung-gi slowly pushed his tip inside, which caused your eyes to roll back with pleasure. Thanos, seeing this, got turned on even more and his thrusts became more vigorous.

“Fuck—so tight; Junhee was never like this when we were together…God–” You mumbled around Thanos’s cock, while the man was babbling nonsense (partially out of all the pills he had consumed.

“Shit– never expected to get into an orgy in this shithole.” You moaned around his dick, and the vibrations around it caused Thanos to come undone in your mouth without warning.

“Take it all– my boy,” he exclaimed, looking at your fucked out face as Myung-gi was still taking you from behind. Myung-gi’s thrusting was getting sloppier, and as soon as you came, so did he, pulling out at the last second before painting your ass a pearly white.

They both hesitated for a moment, before pulling out of you from either end. You whined at the emptiness, before Myung-gi took your discarded track pants to wipe off his load from your ass, before handing the cloth back to you to wear.

Ew.

When the three of you finally emerged, the dim bathroom light made the disheveled state of your clothes all the more obvious. Myung-gi looked smug, his shirt untucked and his hair a mess. Thanos, ever the stoic, adjusted his collar as if nothing had happened, though the faintest smirk tugged at his lips.

The few players lingering outside stared, their expressions a mix of curiosity and disbelief.

“Mind your business,” Myung-gi snapped, pushing past them with a swagger in his step.

Thanos said nothing, but his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, dark and unreadable, before he followed Myung-gi out.

You stood there for a second, catching your breath and trying to process what had just happened. Whatever it was, you knew one thing for certain—it wasn’t something you’d soon forget.

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time and and I take genuine effort to do them.

[thepromptswhisperer]

Like A Moth To A Flame Prompts

“Let’s not imagine the worst, okay? For all we know right now, they could be harmless. A light bulb instead of a flame.” 

“I’m not good for you.” 

“I just want to be close to you. As close as you allow me to be.”

“Fuck. I’m so attracted to you right now.”

“No! I’m not doing this to myself again.”

“You’re my light.”

“I know I should stay away from you, but I can’t.”

“We both know you’ll be back for more.”

“You’re self-destructing.” “I’m enjoying the moment. Ever heard of that?”

“I can’t resist you.”

“Have you forgotten how it all ended last time?” 

“You’re obsessed with me.”

“Why did you have to come back? Why? I was doing so well without you.”

“Stop looking at me.” “I can’t. And I don’t think you want me to either.”

“They don’t make me feel the way you do.”

“So? Guide me. Help me see.”

“I’m clearly not strong enough to leave you in the past. (So, you do it. Please. Leave. Set me free.)” 

“You have too much power over me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, but I will. I will hurt you, [name].”

“I got burned one too many times.”

“The only thing left of our relationship, [name], is ash.”

“I can’t continue on giving you everything. I– I deserve more.”

“You’re dangerous.”

“I don’t want for this to end the same way it did last time.”

“You were always on my mind.”

“It’s… different. With them, I spent most of my time longing for something that wasn’t even accessible. With you, I simply feel alive.”

“I can’t seem to think straight around you.”

“I knew this would happen. I knew, and I still came back to you like the idiot that I am.”

“But what if we don’t burn alive? What if we just burn for each other? Isn’t that a possibility too?”

[banzaiblaster]

I've been finding it fun to do these like half hour doodles with the pixel brush

[esamastation]

ladyjazzhands: Ezio x Shen Qingqiu, somehow

There's a foreigner staying in the Warm Red Pavilion, who speaks not a word anyone can understand. Shen Qingqiu hates him on sight.

He's everything he loathes in a man. Leering and smarmy, with unkempt short hair and beard, armoured like a rough barbarian, with the manners and body language of one used to throwing his weight around, he dominates every room he is in. Shen Qingqiu can't see why, but somehow every courtesan present seems drawn to his presence and he's never seen without a woman or two under his arm.

Well, he does see why. The low, purring words he speaks to the ladies of the brothel might fall all but to deaf ears - but money speaks its own insidious language. Even though his coin is strange, it's plentiful and heavy and always easily parted to his adoring audience as the foreigner teasingly lures the courtesans to him with the foreign coins dancing nimbly on the backs of his knuckles.

They play for him, they introduce him to the local food and wine, and then they take him up stairs for more, and Shen Qingqiu wants nothing more than to see them do to him what they'd done to another barbarian, not long ago. There's nothing quite as satisfying as seeing rough men being thrown out of a window by a group of giggling women.

Alas, aside from looking strange, speaking language no one understands and acting like the worst sort of letcher, the foreigner has done nothing but favour the ladies of the Warm Red Pavilion and clearly they intend to only adore him back.

At least, until his coin purse would run dry.

"How long has he been here?" Shen Qingqiu asks the Madam, as the owner of the brothel joins him for tea.

"Oh, Ai Qiao? He arrived here this morning," the Madam says, as one of the younger courtesans pours for them. "Though he appeared in town sometime yesterday. No one is sure when, exactly - but he made his presence known late afternoon, in the market - where he attempted to find someone who spoke a language he understood. Which he did not find."

Shen Qingqiu narrows his eyes. "He's far inland, to be without a guide or a translator," he mutters, considering. "How did he end up here?"

"Oh, he found his way here - he might've seen one of my girls running errands," the Madam muses and gives him a look. "Does Xiao Jiu know him?"

"No," Shen Qingqiu says and sips his tea. He doesn't know the man's style of clothes either - and more damningly, he doesn't know his language. Though Shen Qingqiu hasn't ever had the time to truly dedicate to learning other languages, he is confident enough to say that he at least knows most human languages by sound. The cadence of Ai Qiao's speech alone is completely unknown to him, never mind the sound he makes, the words he speaks.

There are few things he can deduce, if somewhat begrudgingly, about the man's attire. Though the style is absolutely nonsensical, it's not without finesse - the armour was not just well crafted but to some extent artistic, with floral designs hammered into the metal. The leather straps of it are well made and well maintained and the man's clothes are clearly well tailored and well kept. White like that, on a warrior - there's only so many people Shen Qingqiu knows who can wield a sword and keep white clothes clean, and all of them are immortal cultivators.

It could be indicative of a wealthy warrior without much experience. There were many rich idiots out there who clad themselves in even more extravagant armour that would never see battle, showing off their wealth and claiming bravery where they had none. Except…

Shen Qingqiu clutched onto his cup.

Even outside the aura of mortal danger around the foreigner, Ai Qiao's armour isn't without a scratch - in fact, beneath it's shine and polish, it's quite well worn and battered. And then there is the man's armament - which is… extensive. Sword, crossbow, numerous throwing daggers, bombs… never mind the things hidden in his sleeves, whatever they are. All which the foreigner wore with casual confidence even Liu Qingge would find unnerving.

The man is a killer, there is no doubt in Shen Qingqiu's mind - if not a murderer. And he is currently in congress with who knows how many of Warm Red Pavilion's girls. Even with all the training Shen Qingqiu had given them, and all the weapons he'd done his best to supply with them… none of them are fit to face against a trained killer.

The Madam looks at him, and sees right through him. She smiles knowingly, but is kind enough to not draw attention to his white knuckled fingers or his clenched jaw. "I will have the girls prepare a room in the back," she says. "Will Xiao Jiu play for us tonight?"

"This one will," Shen Qingqiu says. "Let me know when the foreigner falls asleep."

-

The foreigner doesn't fall asleep. For more than two sichens he partakes in the women of the pavilion before making his unwelcome presence known in the hall where Shen Qingqiu is playing the qing. The man saunters in confidently with his armour askew and his knife belt loose, his hair a worse mess than before, grinning with great satisfaction.

"Li-mei," Shen Qingqiu says under his breath to his most recent student in the brothel, a fifteen year old girl who's watching him play intently. "Go see to the girls he left behind."

The girl bows and slips away to take the hidden ladder upstairs. In the meanwhile Ai Qiao is already being attended to by another courtesan at loose ends, who takes the man's arm eagerly and leads him to a table - and to an expensive bottle of wine.

Shen Qingqiu continues to play, keeping his glaring to a minimum while watching the foreign killer. Though it's clear he can't understand a word Ding-er says, they get along just swimmingly, as the man teases her into giggling with his low words and appreciative touches.

Two sichen with who knows how many women and the man still has an appetite for more.

Shen Qingqiu plays, keeping his posture proud and his movements elegant, not letting his worry or disgust show. He doesn't relax until young Li-mei returns to him to tell that, "They're sleeping - all of them," with a giggle. "I think the patron wore them out!"

It takes effort not to verbally express his abhorrence and keep his fingers moving smoothly over the strings. "All of them - how many of them did he have?" Shen Qingqiu demands with disquiet.

"Four," Li-mei giggles.

Incredible - no, impossible. The girls of Warm Red Pavilion might not have the stamina of cultivators, but they have more stamina than to be laid low by a mortal man. Shen Qingqiu narrows his eyes, still playing, and asks, "And they were all… well?" Had Ai Qiao knocked them out - had he struck them, drugged them?

"They looked quite snug and comfortable to me," Li-mei answers, amused. "And the patron left enough coin to cover all their services."

Shen Qingqiu casts a look towards Ai Qiao, who's now listening to Ding-er speak, smiling even though he can't understand a word and urging her on with his hums and murmured encouragement. His fingers, Shen Qingqiu notes, are gently stroking the edge of her collar, where her hanfu leaves her shoulder exposed. The touch is as covetous as it is appreciative. One could even call it proprietorial.

It's nothing he's not seen hundreds of other men do to the women of the brothel, and he's not stupid enough to interject - this is their occupation, and men like Ai Qiao is how they make their living. And a man like this, lustful and generous in his lustiness, is exactly the kind of customer a brothel loves - one who showers several girls with coin and doesn't hold back. And yet…

There is something about this one Shen Qingqiu cannot stand. At first he thinks it's the beard, the attitude, the foreign manners, the way he can't even sit properly. The low tone of his voice, the smarmy smiles he gives everyone, how freely he expresses his desires despite the language barrier. But no.

It's the look in his eyes - dark, shrewd, calculating. It sends cold shivers down Shen Qingqiu's back.

Ai Qiao would be out of the brothel by morning, Shen Qingqiu swears, even if he had to throw the man out himself.

-

Ai Qiao is plied with wine and snacks but doesn't let himself be drawn into a bedroom - instead he sticks to the main hall, chatting nonsensically with Ding-er and then with many other of the women who find themselves at loose ends as the night wears on. The courtesans take turns trying to teach Ai Qiao new words, giggling uproariously at his horrendous pronunciation as he struggles over sounds his own language clearly lacks.

Shen Qingqiu keeps playing and watching and gritting his teeth as the foreigner lets himself be humiliated by the giggling courtesans that have once more begun flocking around him, seemingly as entertained by them as they are by him. Every now and then someone would find their way in his lap and the man would dote upon them, but beyond that he seems satisfied in simply being there and enjoying their company.

And he refuses to tire and go to sleep. He outlasts all the other patrons, who either get ushered into rooms or outside once their coin begins to run out. Ai Qiao's purse remains quite heavy, even with all the coins he's so happily shared with the girls around him, and so he keeps going and going - until finally the hour grows so late that even the women, used to late nights, start tiring.

Shen Qingqiu himself would be asleep by now, if this was a normal night - but he is still on high alert and Ai Qiao doesn't even seem drunk anymore, bidding the sleepy ladies fond good nights with kisses to their hands and some more coins in their palms. Infuriating man.

"Xiao Jiu," the Madam murmurs, coming to his side. "It's late."

By which she means, most of the patrons of the brothel are asleep, and she doesn't want him to play anymore lest he wake them up.

With a slow breath, Shen Qingqiu brings his last piece to a conclusion and then rests his aching fingers on the qing strings. "Very well," he says. "This one shall have some wine now."

Giving him a look, the Madam sighs. "He's been the perfect quest all night," she says quietly. "You need not be so wary. All is well, I promise."

Shen Qingqiu doesn't bother to answer and with a shake of her head the Madam rises and goes to seek her own bed for the night, trusting her women to care for the last patrons they have - namely, Shen Qingqiu and Ai Qiao. Scoffing after her, Shen Qingqiu takes his time going over the Qing and easing it into its case before accepting the bottle brought to him by Ling Ji, one of the older courtesans present.

"Xiao Jiu played beautifully, and for so long," the older courtesan comments while pouring for him. "It has made this a lovely night."

Shen Qingqiu accept the compliment with a nod and distractedly accept the cup - and by then, Ai Qiao is watching them, his eyes considering, his lids low. In an instant Shen Qingqiu is back on the very end of his already frayed nerves, his face growing hot with fury - and, to his utter revulsion, Ai Qiao smiles at him.

Most of the girls are yawning around the man now, and with more kisses and coins bestowed to their hands, the man bids them goodnight - and then he rises. With clear intent and that confident swagger he'd entered with, Ai Qiao approaches the dias where Shen Qingqiu had been playing and is still sitting - and it's plainly obvious what the man's purpose is. He's still smiling - and then one he's smiling at is not Ling Ji.

Shen Qingqiu goes from hot to cold and then back to hot as his fury blazes into pure rage.

Shen Qingqiu rises to his feet in outrage and, clearly delighted, Ai Qiao bows to him - completely wrong and all too theatrical, swinging his arm strangely. The man says, "Ezio Auditore da Firenze, mia cara signora," clearly an introduction. "È un piacere conoscerti." And then he tries to kiss Shen Qingqiu's hand.

Shen Qingqiu throws his wine at his face before he can.

-

And Ezio absolutely took it as a challenge, haha.

[amywritesthings]

press four for more options. | part three.

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin) Word Count: 4k Summary: After seeing your ex with his new girl at a work party, you take the not-so-smart advice from a friend to call a sex hotline to get over him. Your match? A baritone bossy dom named Levi.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - smut, alternate universe (modern), sex work, phone sex, dirty talk, dom!levi, light dom/sub, guided masturbation, edging, pet names, sex toys, multiple orgasms, mentions of body image Credits: dividers by @saradika-graphics

part two. / part four. | masterlist

“Hel-lo, is the idiot in the room still with us?”

A slender hand waves back and forth, back and forth, until you awake from your everlasting daydream.

Annie Leonhart sits across from you at your favorite coffee shop looking like the cat that caught the canary.

That knowing smirk hasn’t left her face since she sat down.

Curling her fingers, she pulls her arm and returns her hand to join the other under her chin once she’s finally caught your attention.

The small blonde squints her icy blue eyes, observing, deciding on what you’ll say before you launch your defense.

“That good, huh?”

Embarrassment is your first folly.

"I— What?!”

“I know a blissful climax cloud when I see one.”

“Annie.”

Sometimes Annie could be an ass, too smug for her own good, but she was a fiercely loyal friend and colleague.

Everything is meant in jest — at least, to you. Not many others got to avoid her wrath.

You lean over the table, reaching your hand out to cover her mouth.

She manages to duck your advances, expertly so, and rears her head with a small chuckle.

“Relax, no one’s listening,” she chides.

“That’s not true,” you argue under your breath. “It's a small shop. You know the vultures circle this place.”

“Not since the old thirsties got busted for their smutty book club — which, quite frankly, I resent losing.”

"You resent?" you repeat, mirroring her squint. “But you never ended up joining the old lady book club.”

“Mm, I didn’t,” Annie agrees, picking up her coffee cup to sip leisurely. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t listen. I looked up a couple of those titles for myself. In retrospect, they had good taste.”

“Seriously?”

“Dead.”

She pauses, setting the cup back on the table.

“So… are you going to make me work for the details, or what?” she finally leads, getting to the point while you skate around it with imaginary triple axels. “Did you call again after Friday?”

You did.

In fact, you've called several times — almost every night since last Friday with the exception of Tuesday, since you’d fallen asleep as soon as you hit the couch after working overtime.

It’s now another Friday afternoon, one week from the first time you’d called the hotline, and you’re wondering what constitutes bordering on addiction.

“I have,” you confirm. 

“That’s all you’re going to say?” she chastises with a grimace. “Boo — tomato, tomato.”

“What?! What did you want me to say?”

“For starters, who the guy is.”

“Not happening.”

“Loser.” A beat passes. “But it’s not Bert?”

You shake your head vehemently.

“Definitely not Bert.”

“Thank god,” she exhales. “I like you, but I don’t know if I like you enough to be calling up the same dude to get our rocks off.”

“Jesus, Annie.”

“Oh, come on, don’t be such a prude.”

You pick up your own tea, sliding it across the table before taking a tentative sip.

“I don’t know how you freely talk about this like we’re trying out restaurants.”

“Because it’s not real?” she suggests, and your stomach flip-flops. 

You know it isn’t. 

It’s a job.

It’s his job.

“I don’t know,” Annie continues, sitting back against her chair with her arm draped across the curve. “It’s no strings attached and hot. I’ll never meet Bert, and he’ll never meet me, and it isn’t like he’s going to ask to hold my hand and beg me to meet his mom.”

“You’re such a commitment-phobe,” you comment with the roll of your eyes. “You won’t ever meet anyone’s mom.”

“Yeah, because I’m not a psycho,” she replies with a snort. “I take it you went premium?”

You nod once. “Levi suggested it.”

Her eyes widen, delighted, and you scowl at your own stupidity.

“Levi?”

Ah.

Fuck.

"Wait." You sit up taller. “Don’t—”

“Oh, that’s a hot name.”

“Annie, I swear to—”

She sours to herself. “Damn, that’s so much hotter than moaning Bert.”

The tea in your cup bubbles from your chortled breath. 

“Oh?”

“Yeah, not my favorite name ever, but that’s fine — because it’s more like he’s moaning Annie.”

Paired with a wicked grin, your friend winks at you.

“We have two very different wants.”

You squint, and her grin widens. “Wait, do you—”

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh my god, Annie.”

“What?!” she chirps with a chuckle. “You like the bossy ones, I like being the boss. You’re not allowed to kink shame me. We’re in this shit together.”

“Who said I like being bossed around?!”

She points her finger at your facedown phone.

“Porco Galliard bosses people around. I’m not stupid. And you scream ‘I don’t like being assertive’.”

Great.

The same observation Levi made over the phone without ever meeting you in person.

“Whatever, that isn’t the point,” you wave off, deciding to try and swerve the subject. “I wanted to ask: how many times do you call a week?”

Annie presses the tip of her tongue against her cheek as she considers.

“A week? Maybe two, three at most. It used to be a hell of a lot more, but I’m working a lot of late nights.”

“When you say ‘a hell of a lot more’, do you mean—?”

“Daily?” she finishes for you then tries to recall. “Why? Are you daily right now?” 

You hate yourself for a second. 

“Sort of? It’s only been a few days, but—”

“Hey, that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

She reassures in that randomly serious way Annie can pull on a rare occasion.

Making fun of people might be her favorite pastime, but if she can sense true withdrawal from her friends, then she’s quick to stop. 

The blonde reaches over the table to pat your hand, but it’s hardly a comfort.

Annie is about as comforting as raw-dog wearing a hand-knitted sweater by an amateur: it's itchy, too tight, and you want it to stop immediately. 

“You’re a grown woman with grown woman money. If guys can go get blue balled at the strip club, then why can’t we call a hot guy over the phone?”

Again: not comforting at all.

With reluctance, you nod.

“You have a point.”

“I know I have a point.”

“Then again, I don’t know how long term this fix can be,” you reason. “It’s very expensive.”

“Yeah, but you know what’s more expensive?” Annie retorts. “Hooking up with a stranger at a bar who’s abysmal in bed. Maybe not so much for your wallet, but definitely for your ego.”

“And your sanity,” you agree, “if they’re weird.”

“Or a creep.”

“Or a serial killer.”

“A weird creep that happens to be a serial killer.”

You both give each other a look, an unspoken conversation of two delusional women saying ‘exactly’ in a singular gesture, as you sync the sips of your drinks.

.

.

— —

.

.

  “Do you ever — ha — use to — oh — ys?”

You’re not sure why you’re so chatty with your rabbit vibrator barely hovering over the hood of your clit.

A week ago, you would've been trying to smother yourself with a pillow for talking.

However, with each night you’ve called Levi, the more comfortable you’ve become.

More bold, if openly using toys tells him anything.

The avalanche that brought you here was quite swift.

Traffic lights no longer remind you of the cars on the road but the man waiting for you on this hotline.

A willing striptease; a compliance to do what you wish but let him take the lead.

All you had to say was ‘my hand’s getting tired’ during an edging session.

All Levi had to reply with was ‘if you had a toy, I’d allow you to tag it in’.

Allow.

Like you’re completely under his spell.

Like you couldn’t have been using one from the get-go, but you listened.

You said you did.

He said grab it.

(God, you always listen.)

Now you’re here, legs spread in the center of your bed with your phone sitting between the valley of your breasts as you talk to him through the speaker.

“I am right now,” Levi replies in that diplomatic way of his, the lift of his voice telling: he’s amused by the way you try to speak to him, even when you’re ready to scream with impatience.

“I meant on yourself,” you exhale shakily.

“On myself?”

“Like on c-calls,” you stammer, forcing yourself to focus.

He loves when you lose your mind.

You refuse to cave so fast tonight.

“A mystery for another day,” he teases, before adding in a firmer tone: “You earned it. Touch it to your clit, but don’t go inside yet. I want you wet and ready for me, understand?”

“You’re so mean.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he softens for just a moment. “And don’t talk back.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” you joke, before pressing the device against your clit.

The vibrations surge pleasure down your legs, causing your toes to curl.

You’re not sure if it’s the ‘sir’ or the moan you emit that makes him groan in return.

“The answer is no,” he finally states.

For a second, you think you did something wrong.

Then you circle back, remembering what you asked in the first place.

Right.

The toys question.

“You don’t?”

“Not on me, no.” He exhales, slow and steady. “Too busy making sure I’m hitting the script.”

That’s the funny thing about these calls:

The fourth wall? 

Broken.

He doesn’t pretend to be your boyfriend for the night, just as you don’t pretend he’s only yours.

You’re aware he’s a sex worker, just as he seems to open up about his profession when speaking to you.

At first Levi wouldn’t — it was meant to be a fantasy — but each night he’s divulged more.

Like how he used to be in the military. (Unrelated to sex.)

Like how he has an affinity for tea, going so far as to have a mild cup with you after a session in lieu of a cigarette. (Unrelated to sex.)

Like how he’s a Capricorn. (Unrelated to sex — kind of.)

In the midst of learning about him, you’ve learned about yourself.

You’re less vanilla than you originally thought.

With Porco, things felt regimented.

Scheduled.

You weren’t willing to open up your heart, much less your legs, because he was too cold behind closed doors.

Focused.

Driven to his work and passions.

Levi, on the other hand, will suggest leaning against the wall with your hand in your underwear, eyes forced to watch yourself in your full-length mirror.

To worship yourself, when he can’t.

To pump your fingers into your weeping core, when he can’t.

To give over complete and utter control with the promise that you’ll come as many times as he asks you to, because if he could be in this very room — this very apartment — he’d easily do it himself.

With Levi, you’re bold.

With Levi, you’re in.

So you’re not shy to arch your back, moaning into the receiver when you feel your first orgasm approaching you like the incoming tide.

“Levi,” you whimper his name, “can I—”

“Shit, baby, you know you can,” he practically purrs, already knowing what you’re going to ask. “C’mon. Let me hear that pretty little voice of yours, huh? Just for me?”

“Just for—”

The last word is garbled by the way your teeth clench, legs snapping together as the first climax hits after a relentless twenty-minute edging session.

It’s unreal.

It’s pain.

It’s bliss.

It’s everything you’ve ever wanted.

(Freedom.)

You pant, pulling the vibrator away from your body for a moment to catch your breath.

You hear him hum with approval on the other end, a low rumble against your chest.

“That’s a good girl,” he says after a beat. “Feeling better?”

“So much,” you confess breathlessly.

“You sound better.”

“Thanks to you.”

“Didn’t do much.”

“Oh shut up,” you scowl before laughing.

Turning off the toy for a momentary reprieve, you allow yourself to catch your breath as you grin up at the ceiling.

“Always so goddamn modest.”

“You’re one to talk,” he scoffs, shifting on the other end of the line. “Can’t take a damn compliment to save your life.”

You make a face like he can see you in the dark, but you decide to continue the conversation.

That’s a new thing the two of you have picked up — talking.

Lots of talking.

You get off, sure, but he knows your work drama, your chore schedule — your mailmen even have the same first name, funnily enough.

“I’m serious, though,” you exhale. “Do you ever like… get off? Without toys, obviously.”

“During a call?” he clarifies, and you nod. He answers like he can see it. “No, not — not typically.”

“Wow, so you’ve faked an orgasm with me,” you tease with a blissed out snort. “Shame, shame, I know your name.”

“I what?”

“Faked it,” you clarify, fluffing your pillows behind your head as you situate yourself on your bed. “As if I don’t hear you breathing all heavy and shit over there.”

Then something unusual happens.

The man grows quiet on the other side. 

Nothing shuffles.

No huffs or ‘tchs’.

Just… silence.

“Levi?” you ask, brows knit.

A beat passes, but he answers.

“Yeah?”

“Are you good over there?”

“I— yeah, fine,” he clears his throat.

Uh-oh.

You frown immediately, blinking twice. “Sorry, was that a weird question?”

“Not at all,” he clarifies, gruff this time, “just… I said not typically, not never.”

…oh.

Oh.

Suddenly you abandon the rabbit and sit up in bed, eyes as wide as saucers.

“Wait.”

“Scarlet.”

“No, did you actually—”

“I already said too much.”

“No, wait, you can’t just imply that you’ve gotten off with me then abandon ship here, Levi!”

“I’m not abandoning ship — why do you say such weird shit sometimes?”

“How many times?!” you yelp.

“I’m not answering that.”

“Holy shit,” you exhale, “I’m so mad I didn’t pay attention.”

It’s like you can hear Levi squinting, narrowing his eyes with uncertainty on the other end of the phone. “...why would you be mad?”

“Because maybe I want to hear you get off, too?” you suggest simply.

Another agonizing breath of silence.

Chewing on your bottom lip, you place your phone on your sheets and pick up the vibrator, contemplating your next move.

“Because I would totally love to just… I don’t know, make you moan, too? See what you taste like? Feel you lose control, pull my hair, hold my head down while I wrap my lips around—”

“Baby.”

Two syllables shoot out of his mouth, as if overwhelmed with shock.

Huh.

An Uno reverse in your favor.

You’re no Shakespeare, but what you say is as honest as words can possibly be.

“I picture you all the time,” you confess softly, pressing the rabbit vibrator’s first function.

A low rumble begins, and you guide it between your legs.

You’re already soaked from your session.

There will be little give to the toy.

“When we’re not on the phone together, I wonder what it would be like. I could be at work. I could be at a coffee shop. Like, holy shit, I was meeting with a friend today and all I could think of is how badly I’d love to just take you to it — maybe disappear in the back hall, find a bathroom? I’d bend over a sink. I don’t wear skirts all the time, but I’d wear one for you.”

You hear shifting on the other end of the line, but Levi is deathly silent.

Mindlessly, your hand takes hold of the vibrator and you press against your entrance.

With a tiny whimper, you push in, deliciously enveloped in a sea of vibrations.

“You wouldn’t need to wear a skirt.”

Suddenly his voice appears, and you accidentally push the vibrator further in, causing a strangled moan to exit your mouth. 

“Le—”

“Pants are just as easy,” Levi cuts you off, a thread of a whisper. “Couldn’t take that much effort. Wouldn’t give a shit if anyone saw your damn clothes at your ankles.”

Suddenly the room burns.

“I just know you’d fill me up so good,” you whine, and there’s a sharp hiss on the other end.

“Jesus Christ.”

There.

You hear it: the waver in his voice.

“Yeah, baby,” he concedes. “I’d fill you so fucking good.”

You whimper, a pathetic little noise at the base of your throat, and he exhales a large breath — as if he’s been holding back this entire time.

“Promise?”

“When have I ever led you astray?” he challenges, a bit more strained now.

It’s the hottest thing you've ever heard.

“I wanna make you feel so good,” you breathe, ragged and wrecked, and there’s a small groan on the other end of the line.

“You already do, baby.”

“Not how I want to,” you argue in return, body pulsating with the growing need to release a second. “You’re so good at making me cum, but all I want is to take it how you want me — bend me over and fill me up, push me to my knees and stick my tongue out—”

“Fuck,” he curses sharply. “You’re so good for me. So, so fucking good, not fuckin’ fair.”

“Wanna cum with you.”

He groans, louder this time, and inhales the most deliciously jagged breath you’ve ever heard.

“Right there, baby,” he forces out. “C’mon. Give me one more. Just one more.”

You don’t need to be told twice.

You purposefully bite your tongue when you come a second time, squeezing your eyes shut with all of your senses focused solely on your ears.

A grunt, as if he’s holding back just the same before exhaling, slow and languid.

In your mind’s eye, you see it: how he uses his teeth to hold up his t-shirt, painting his abdomen with streaks of white as he holds himself back from climaxing too loud. His whole body trembles. He squeezes the tip, milking himself for all he’s worth.

Pulling the vibrator from your body, you turn it off and toss it elsewhere on your bed. Your body curls around your phone, trying to stay quiet so you can listen.

Shaky.

Exhausted.

Not typically, not never.

You say nothing, can’t, but a small giggle of euphoria emits from your throat.

Surprisingly, Levi chuckles back with that drugged slowness that comes with exhaustion.

“You’re too damn giddy after two orgasms,” he chastises, which only makes you laugh harder.

“Uh-huh, Huff ‘n Puff,” you tease right back, and he tsk’s right against the phone.

And in your heart, you know—

Know you’re in deep shit.

Know that you like Levi, even if it’s impossible to like a stranger.

Maybe when you get this month’s credit card bill, you’ll sober up from your crush.

But not right now.

Just not right now.

.

.

— —

.

.

  The next morning, you’re up bright and early.

Skip the elevator to the apartment lobby.

Walk down the stairs to kickstart your adrenaline.

Skip the coffee at the local shop.

Choose a small cup of chai instead.

By the time you make it to the gym, you’re more ready than you ever have been in your life to take on the day.

.

.

— —

.

.

  Forty-five minutes later, your sweat even has sweat.

Staring at your reflection in the mirror, the endorphins from a tough workout only make you feel that more excited to get your shit together. To be more mindful of your time.

(Totally not because your last call with Levi was unreal. Nope.)

Overall, you went from hating your life to — well, this.

Whatever this is.

Owning your self agency and worth after a pitiful breakup?

Unfortunately joining this gym had been Porco’s idea — he’s a treadmill hamster, and you got swindled by the sea of abs under his tank tops.

A ‘couples activity’, whatever that meant.

(Being sweaty and tired without an orgasm to finish it off never did feel rewarding.)

After the breakup you considered trying to get out of your 6-month contract, but Porco dipped first.

He joined Pieck’s crossfit endeavor somewhere else in the city, leaving you and this dingy little gym to commiserate together.

Now?

Now, you excitedly get ready in the morning to the gym — not to get thin or look a certain way to appease anyone else. A revenge body is bonafide stupid.

No — you don’t want to be anything but stronger.

Because Levi would probably think it was hot if you were stronger.

Maybe the next time you call, he’ll be impressed that you’ve taken to strength training. 

Maybe he’ll give you some pointers — one more topic of conversation to be had.

Setting down the free weights back on the rack after a thorough cleaning of the equipment, you step out of the way of the other regulars gearing up for their workout and head towards the locker rooms to shower.

In the small pocket of your leggings, you hear your phone vibrate. 

Digging your hand in to fish it out, you see a familiar name on your lock screen.

[A. LEONHART]: Yo [A. LEONHART]: We’re all going out Tuesday for drinks – u in?

All.

All means the department.

All might mean Porco and Pieck.

Annie must sense your apprehension, before adding:

[A. LEONHART]: Porky probs not going, Pieck’s got a family thing

 

Well, that’s two positives.

[ME]: I’ll think about it. [A. LEONHART]: Think about it????

[A. LEONHART]: 🍅🍅🍅

Her and her fucking tomatoes.

You snort and begin to write back—

But not before accidentally slamming chest to chest into a stranger.

The phone flies out of your hand like a bar of wet soap.

Like a Scooby Doo short, it alley-oops to the sky then smashes down against the black-speckled rubber gym floor.

Before you can even react, the person you’d bumped into is bending to crouch on the floor.

“Shit. My fault.”

Every cell in your body freezes.

Time ceases to exist.

They scoop your phone into their hand, flipping it over checking for damage. 

Luckily, the screen is intact. 

No fall damage.

But that isn’t why you’re frozen.

As they rise to full stance, your eyes are still downcast. 

From their sneakers your eyes crawl up, up, up — noticing the basketball shorts that cut just above the knee with compression under armor peeking beneath.

On his torso is an emerald green tank top, clinging to his flexing abs, the fabric speckled with sweat. 

His collarbones are defined; chin just as sharp as his cheekbones.

Then you meet his eyes.

A blue-ish gray.

The man standing before you runs on the shorter side — under average height for a man.

His ebony hair dangles and sticks to his sweat-slicked forehead, the ends pointed and shaggy.

It takes a moment until you realize you’ve seen that hair before.

While you’ve taken to walking on the treadmill for your warm-up these last several weeks, he’s typically nestled in the strength training corner of the gym alone. 

Every morning that you’re here, he is also here diligently working on his physique.

He’s always in some squat position or lying on a bench, so you never paid attention to his face—

He’s fucking gorgeous.

“Looks like it’s fine,” he says casually, and your stomach falls out of your ass.

Baritone.

Smooth like honey, low like a rumble.

There’s no way.

There is absolutely no way it’s—

“Here.”

The man holds your phone out for you, brows knitting curiously. 

You can’t speak. 

Hell, you can barely breathe.

He shakes his hand to wake you from your shock.

“Take it.”

You know that voice like the back of your hand.

Wordlessly, you reach a shaky hand towards the phone to take it back.

You part your lips to speak, but no words exit.

All you can do is grasp your phone and pull it to your chest as you catch the scent of his deodorant with a mixture of musk when he passes by, none the wiser.

By the time you turn to say something, anything—

Levi from Scout Services Hotline dips into the men’s locker room.

.

Author's Note:

...oops.

Thank you for reading part three of P4! I continue to be blown away by the response. Because of your encouragement, I wrote one of the fastest updates I've made in ages. How are we feeling now? Let me know in the comments!

Thank you for likes, and even more love to those who choose to reblog this to help spread the word of this series or reply in the comments. ilu xo

[melliemell]

HEYA GUESS WHOS BACK~

THE FIC U WROTE W THE POCKY PROMPT WAS SO GOOD LIKE ONG?? SOO NOW IM BACK FOR MORE >:)

IM THINKING.. CHRISTMAS THEMED DATES!! COZ ITS THE XMAS SEASON WOULD THEY HAVE ANY CUTE DATES U NORMALLY CANT HAVE IN THE SUMMER? (EXAMPLE; ICE SKATING) (also I’d prefer if u wrote for Dazai and Ranpo again i cannot get enough of those idiots 🙏🙏🙏) THX IN ADVANCE~ -Annon who still hasn’t found their glasses… seriously where are they😭😭

Omg hi again!! I'll have you know I've been listening to Christmas songs on repeat as I wrote this. My brain is fried and so ready for the Holidays. I blame u for this.

And please don't go around blind like that, I pray for you and your glasses, nonnie

BSD Cast ft. Christmas Dates

(Dazai, Ranpo, Fyodor, Sigma, Chuuya, Atsushi)

Dazai - Drunk Decorating

“Whaat? Gimme the unicorn here, I have a feeling about this.”

And you’d watch in horror, giggles bubbling out of your lips as the dumbass would duck-tape the poor plush to your Christmas tree, eyes sparkling with child’s delight. The alcohol swirling about in both your veins would’ve started manifesting at some point during the evening, all according to Dazai’s precise calculations. Totally.

If there was one thing Dazai was good at, it was being unconventional. Decorating for Christmas while being drunk off your asses was not on your to-do list, but boy does it leave an impactful memory. Nobody remembers whose idea it was. Most of the night consisted of snippets of hyper-intense clarity… followed by what the actual fuck random scraps of memory. 

Did we really snatch the Agency’s decorations from reception? Of course not, duh. Why is Ranpo’s overcoat hanging from our Christmas tree? How mysterious. You’d be giggling uncontrollably at everything as the night progressed.

You’ve never struggled so hard for your life as when you had to outrun Dazai’s lanky frame, his sticky fingers at the ready to steal whatever shiny ornament you fought tooth and nail to secure. All efforts would end up futile though. Especially when you’d find yourself barely keeping your balance atop Dazai’s shoulders with no clue as to how he managed that.

With tape in one hand and his encouraging instructions as your guide…

Your ceiling had never looked this sparkly and hideous.

Get prepared for an intense hangover and even clingier Dazai the next morning. He will not, under any circumstances, let you leave him alone for the whole day. Suffering together is an act of love, after all.

Ranpo - Snowball Fight

The moment the first snow hit, it would be like a switch had turned on in Ranpo’s behaviour. He’d be used to your antics by now so being extra aware of his surroundings–just in case–was a mandatory tactic for survival on his part. Especially the more it snowed…

You knew how much Ranpo loved being coddled and cuddled all the time, so it came as no surprise his complete despise of cold weather, the sensation of freezing in wet clothes making him shudder in distaste. 

He always had a grumpy face on, cheeks flushed and lips pouting as you waddled through the snow every time you had to leave home. 

He was adorable… and completely at your mercy.

You both knew what was to come. The first snowball would barely scrape his hat, Ranpo’s body spinning around quickly to face you, eyes betrayed. 

“Aw, come on! I knew it.”

He’d whine a lot, making you giggle even more as you prepared for the upcoming battle.

Ranpo’s not a very agile person, but his observation skills combined with years of practice being with you made him nearly impossible to hit, dodging like his actual life depended on it. There was no mercy for you either, taking every hit with pride as you chased each other down the snowed path. 

It would go on until you were both freezing, you grinning like a lunatic and Ranpo’s face of defeat bordering on exasperation. He’d absolutely not like you tackling him down on the snow either, hair soaking and nose as red as it could get. Shame he looked so cute like that; it’s not like you could help it.

Get prepared for extra snuggles as you get back home. That and Ranpo’s cold feet being shoved against your calves the moment he had you locked in an unassuming hug. 

Sweet, sweet revenge, here it comes.

Fyodor - Ice Skating

Fyodor’s not a very social person if he could help it. Spending quality time in a quiet, peaceful place was more down his alley than being jammed up beside people, most of whom were probably barely able to stay on their skates to begin with. An unpleasant hassle, in his opinion.

It would take some convincing and a good dose of bribing before you had him sighing in defeat, your hands interlocked as you towed him along to the skating rink. 

Of course the bastard knew how to skate. Of course. 

Very careful around you, and absolutely refusing to hold onto your hand until you got the hang of how to balance properly. Ungodly amount of patience, even if you caught a whiff of annoyance from him here and there– it was mostly directed towards people veering too close for your comfort, making you clutch harder to the railings, your progress forgotten every time. 

A surprisingly encouraging teacher, with praise where praise was due. Yet strict enough for it to feel more like a coaching session than an actual date. That is, until you figured out how to glide your skates without support, smile wide and exited as it matched Fyodor’s content nod of approval. 

Hands interlocked as he pulled you along, the fun of it engulfed you more as your worry slowly dissipated. Dragging Fyodor to the centre of the ring on wobbly legs was harder than expected, but the sappy kiss you managed to pry out of him was all worth it. 

There was something about silly little romantic moments like those that melted your heart on the spot. And having Fyodor pull you flush against him, hands cupping your cheeks as he rubbed some warmth into them–yeah, you could only look at his lovely violet eyes, your gaze filling with affection.

Sigma - Christmas Shopping

You know how a cat looks when it gets excited to see its human get back? No? It’s the exact same thing with Sigma. 

He’d be all swirling emotions and anticipation on the inside, yet barely any signs of it slipping through his demeanor of collected calmness. You might even mistake it for indifference for all the Christmas shopping you have to do. Maybe even a chore that needs to be done than a fun activity for you two.

You’d be so wrong. 

Christmas is a family holiday; the time of year you spend with your loved ones. At home. He’ll be home, with you. And he has to choose whether orange or red garlands would go best with your kitchen curtains. Sigma’s this close to losing it and having a full breakdown from how happy he actually is that Sigma.exe has stopped working properly. 

Constant battle between being happy with whatever you choose to buy, and the internal desire for everything to be perfect. He has to give you the best Christmas you’ve ever had. Would absolutely go crazy on the shopping lists. You mentioned something offhand that you liked? There’s three of it waiting for you the next day. Can’t choose on a tree? Why, you can have one in the living room, and one for your bedroom too. He’ll take care of it, don’t you worry about anything.

Sweats the whole time as he tries to take care of it all.

Absolutely needs reminders that you’re in this together, and no, you being there with me is enough, Sigma. I don’t care for anything else. Refuses to let go of your hand anywhere you go, basking in the warm feeling of being loved to the fullest.

Chuuya - Cabin Getaway

Absolutely his idea. 

As absurdly far away from the city as you could get, deep in the mountains with the most beautiful view that steals your breath away. You’re afraid to ask how much it cost. Better not. 

Warm blankets with and a fireplace to snuggle by, any ambitions for trying your skills at setting up dinner were soon forgotten. Not when Chuuya’s chest was firm against your back, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your shoulders. You were practically melting into him, losing yourself in his warm breath beside your cheek, the deep, low tone he talked with as you enjoyed each other’s company. He was so full of passion usually, the emotions spilling out of him in a constant stream of need for action. 

Not now. Now Chuuya was… here. All soft smiles and light laughter as he poured more wine into your glasses as the night progressed. Talking about life and its meaning, enjoying the moments to the fullest. Having his arm thrown around you as he kept you close was a bliss you never wished to end.

The night was long and filled with a sense of being right where you were meant to be. And when you rose up, pulling Chuuya by the hand as hooded eyes met yours, his grin widening–you found yourself kissing him then. And you didn’t stop until you were both stumbling back to the bedroom, your clothes leaving a trail behind you.

He was all yours for the taking, warm and willing for your every whim. Such a lovely place he found, it’d be a shame not to have a bit of fun… everywhere. 

Finding your clothes in the morning was definitely a hassle, one both of you couldn’t stop laughing about even as Chuuya’s hat definitely wasn’t supposed to be hanging from the chandelier.

Atsushi - Sledge Date

It was an idea you’ve both had for a while. Neither one of you knew how to navigate a thing like that, but hey–it was happening.

Atsushi swears he did not steal a sledge. He only asked Dazai if he had one by chance, and he was so kind to offer it half an hour later, all wide grins and wiggling eyebrows. You’ve never seen Dazai own a thing like that, let alone have it at such a quick disposal. Maybe it was best not to ponder too much over it.

The moment you saw the hill you were meant to glide gracefully down from, you stomach did a double flip. Yeah, you were both going to die, this was not the cute little slide rides you had imagined. 

It took Atsushi some encouraging words and a promise to not let go of you no matter what, and you were gingerly sitting behind him, hands gripping firmly around his torse as you glued your stiff body to his back. His hand rested atop your own, warm and soothing as he rubbed your knuckles.

Atsushi was surprisingly calm about this. Maybe he felt your need for a secure presence beside you or he just naturally took on the role. It didn’t matter, really. Not when he didn’t shut up the entire time, whether it be panicked rambling as you slid down or his general chatter. 

Atsushi kept throwing glances behind him, checking in on you each time you went down. And he held your hand firmly as you groaned from having to climb back up every time. His attentiveness was cute, even more so every time he asked you how you felt. Knowing you had someone who didn’t get annoyed at your complaints or belittled your worries felt… nice. Yeah, really nice. 

You couldn’t wait to shower him in kisses once you got back home.

[atebyflowers]

toxic!dealer!ellie who favourites you over everyone else, yet refuses to make your relationship offical. one in the morning parked outside of a gas station, rain drops falling outside the smoke-fogged windows, tears streaming down your face, your head laying on her shoulder — she's rolling another blunt and rubbing your thigh in an attempt to make you calm down. "i know baby, i'm sorry" she rasps out, dragging the blunt to her lips before placing it between yours. "you're not sorry" you choke out, sniffling as your wiped away your own tears with the sleeves of the sweater ellie lenses you whenever you smoked together. She sighed at your words in slight annoyance, trying to keep her tone relaxed — she leaned back further in her seat as she watched you clear your eyes, taking the blunt from your hands before speaking. "there's nothing to cry about y/n, you knew this from the start" she replied, taking another hit.

holding your face in your hands for a moment — in the limited space, you turn to face her. your eyes puffy and red, hers identical though for a different reason — she lets out another sigh before sitting up to be closer to you. your faces closer than ever, she places the half smoked blunt back on the tray before moving her hands to caress your cheeks. Giving into her touch, you let your eyes close for a moment taking in the feeling of her.

"you know why it's like this... can't lose business" she'd remind you. something everyone had reminded you. your friends called you an idiot for getting involved with her in the first place, insisting she was nothing more than a fuck girl who bribed every pretty girl she came across with free weed. constantly reminding you that she wasn't willing to settle down, that she needed to be available so girls would keep buying from her thinking they had a chance — just to end up fucked before she moves onto the next. with you, it was different in your mind. she never persuaded you the way she did with the other girls. with you, she spoke gently. never pushing for anything more than what you wanted. always prioritizing your needs over her own, something even your friends didn't believe at first.

yet, despite any of this — you weren't hers. you could never be hers she warned you from the beginning. ellie insisted it was nothing more than a friendship, telling you anything more would ruin her income. "then why do you keep me around" you spoke just above a whisper, her hands still placed on each side of your face. "i don't get it ellie. we've fucked so many times.... so many fucking times. you've got everything you needed. why do you keep bringing me back?" your eyes began to water again — ellie scoffing "you can't put all of the blame on me" she says, "you run when i call y/n". and with those words your laughing in disbelief. "god ellie you know why the fuck i come back" you raise your tone, ellies eyes locked on you as you push her hands away from your face — ellie letting you before she slightly guides your chin back to face her. "look at me" she breathes out and you obey — tears blurring your eyes. "you have more of me than anyone else..." she informs, using her thumb to catch the single tear you let fall. "isn't that enough?" she questions, her tone seeking your cooperation.

with her desperate eyes piercing through your body, you stood no chance playing against her games tonight. it was tiring to say the least, but everything in your body craved her. even if she wasn't yours — she was right. you had more of her than anyone, you should cherish it while it lasts. pleased as you give in, she kisses your temple before brushing your hair out of your face. "i'm yours right now" she adds on, "be mine right now" she states, you staring up at her with wide yet drained eyes. "are we done with this bullshit now baby?" "got it all out?" she questions, her tone almost mocking you. embarrassed, you simply nod, pulling yourself into her embrace. "atta girl" ellie praises, placing kisses on the top of your head as you conceal your remaining tears by burying urself into her body — back at square one.