#and i know that i'm never going to see him or speak to him again

[slutforpringles]

Hunter Lawrence and Jase McAlpine discussing Daniel's progress jumping on a dirtbike and how he's built a lot of new larger jumps at his farm in Perth

HL: But, dude, how far has Daniel progressed on a pit bike? Did you see the latest jumps he's built? JA: They're massive. He was inspired by Axel's. You know the coolest part too? So we, it's so funny, we were just riding some mountain bike trails at home, a couple of big jumps. And he's starting to do the bigger jumps. So then we get out to Axel's and we both are riding around and I'm like, this can't be the pit bike track, these jumps are fucking huge, like there's no way. Both of us were just like we're not gonna jump any of these jumps and I'm not, I don't really care. I don't want anything to do with it, I'm not doing it. But Danny, for his own reasons wants to do it - and it's not because of peer pressure and it's not because of any of that. But I kind of figured it out; he's had to spend the last 10 - 15 years of his life saying no and saying if I wasn't a Formula One driver I would do it, but in the back of his head he's like fuck, would I do it? So you literally see him and he's going through the battle with himself. There was one jump, did you see the jump he did at Axel's? Bro, I was not doing it and even he's like, are you even looking at this? I'm like, nope, not interested. And he stood on the, he was on the roll in and I'm said look bud, you've thought about it for a while, if I'm looking at a jump for this long, I'm not doing it. He's like, I'm doing it. I'm doing it. And it's just cool that he's proven to himself that all of the years of him saying I would do it if. And that's actually fucking cool, like that's a very genuinely cool reason to want to push yourself, there's no vanities not trying to be cool for anyone. It's like no I need to prove to myself that I actually can be the dude that I said I was gonna be for 15 years. HL: I remember the end of 2021, we were riding at one of his mate's places up in north of LA. And we were on the kids track, and I mean like kids track, like tabletop from here to here - tiny. And he was jumping, I don't think it was the first time he was jumping, but you know, he looked how a beginner looks and he was stoked on like a foot of air. He was like, dude, this is crazy and he'd jump and be like, boner air, stiff like just flying fish, you know? And now he's like hitting, dude, the stuff he's built back at the farm. I would be like, I've never really done much on a pit bike, and I'd be like, yeah I'll follow you over it, let me see you hit it a few times and okay. But nah, hats off to him. Stud. JA: Yeah, he's sending it. And it's only gonna, like his place is only gonna get bigger and bigger. HL: He's gonna be riding Axel's place next year. Two years from now, he'll be on a big bike maybe. JA: That's the next step, getting him on the big bikes. HL: Yeah, I did say to him the other day like I think he would get a bit better on a big bike because I feel like riding a pit bike is tough. It's a completely different style to a bigger bike, I think. It's easier on a big bike. JA: It's just his mentality though. Like it was very cool to see someone like, cause there's so many reasons you can do things, you know, but to see someone like it was just a good lesson in doing something for the right reason. And he's, I've said it a bunch of times, I mean, I'll just glaze him again, but it's just like, he's, and you could speak to this as well. There's a guy that's done everything. He's won the fucking Monaco Grand Prix. The top of the top of the top in sport. He's crazy famous. He's got literally millions and millions of dollars. The world is... He won. He won the game of life. And he is the fucking nicest, most humble and best person and like a good friend to the people that he's friends with. And it's such a lesson in humility. And it's a lesson that no matter what you do, no matter how far you get, no matter how great the world thinks you are, that is the level that a person should carry themselves.

via: Gypsy Tales Podcast | The Hunter Lawrence Story: Leading His Family to One of the Greatest Runs in Motocross History

[itzahazbinwriter]

Too Hot in New Orleans

(Human!Alastor x f!Reader)

CW: GRAPHIC SMUT. Alastor being a tease, referenced death, referenced violence

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT (one day I'll have a pretty banner thingy like other people do) - THIS IS AN 18+ STORY

(CRAZY thank you to my girl @degen-fics for betaing this for me and making sure i didn't use the same words/phrase 50+ times <33)

If you enjoy this, want to talk about this besides on Tumblr, or just want to - maybe come join the VoxTech discord server where I'm feral as fuck. And also there are some other amazing artists, writers, and fans! https://discord.gg/e6GXYCwqtu

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Hot. It was just too hot. Every inch of you dripped sweat in the unrelenting summer New Orleans heat. The thought of even the littlest of clothing made you too warm. Even your slip had been peeled away in a desperate attempt to cool down. You laid on the cooler wooden floors of your home, a silk robe discarded nearby. There was nothing on this planet that could move you from this only mildly cooler spot. 

As if summoned by the very thought, there was a knock at your door. You groaned, hoping they'd go away. Opening the door would mean more heat and you couldn’t handle even just the idea of that. You closed your eyes, just wanting to be cool. Please go away, you pleaded with them silently. But some things were not to be. 

After a moment, there was a pause in the knocking and you imagined they'd be listening at the door to hear if anyone was home. Thankfully, your bare form was tucked out of sight from the door. It'd be a scandal if anyone could see you lying naked in the parlor of your home. No proper young lady would dare! 

The knocking resumed and you groaned again. Wasn't it obvious that no one was home or didn't want to answer the door? You startled when you heard a familiar voice call out your name. Alastor... good gracious, how could you have forgotten about your plans? Quickly, you sat up, calling out, "Be right there!"

Standing, you quickly draped your robe around your form before answering the door. You opened it and instantly greeted Alastor, your smile matching his own. Before he could say anything, his smile faltered.

“Hello, Alastor! I--” You started to speak before you saw his cheeks start to turn pink as his eyes darted down your form then quickly back to your face. 

"Perhaps I should come back some other time since you are.... Ahem… indisposed." He averted his eyes, something he never did, favoring eye contact. You glanced down and let out a soft startled noise akin to a squeak. The silky robe you put on was falling off one shoulder and open down to your navel, showing one of your bare breasts to the famous radio host. 

"Al, I am.... oh my God, I'm so sorry!" Gasping, you clutched the silk robe closed so as to not expose yourself any more. Your cheeks burned as you fumbled over another apology, tears stinging at the corner of your eyes out of sheer horror. 

There was a long moment of silence that scared you more than anything. “Cher..." Alastor's voice was lower, more gravelly than you'd ever heard before, notably without his usual radio perfect transatlantic accent. A moment passed, as if he was trying to decide what to do next. 

You watched him with wide eyes, feeling your skin prickle under the scrutiny. Was this the end of your pseudo-friendship with him? You opened your mouth to speak but never got the chance. He pushed forward into your home, making you stumble back. The front door shutting behind him sent a chill down your spine. It felt so… final, but you had no idea what to expect.

For a moment, the only sound between the two of you was shaking breathing and eerie silence. Then, Alastor leaned forward, one hand softly cupping the left side of your face as he delicately pressed his lips to yours. You let out a small gasp before pressing your lips against his, scared but too enthralled to draw back. He pulled back for a moment, eyes seeming to search yours for something. You didn’t know what he looked for, but you nodded before he closed the tiny gap between the two of you. 

The second kiss sent another unexpected chill down your spine. Kissing Alastor felt so dream-like; never had he expressed interest beyond friendship with you. The faint early attraction you had to him never fully faded, but you were content enough with the situation. For him to now kiss you like this, react like this… it was a fantasy come true. You couldn’t believe this was real, but if you were dreaming, you never wanted to wake up as you moved your lips against his. 

Carefully, Alastor placed a hand on your hip and closed the gap between you, pressing against you lightly to make you step backwards into your home. You let him guide you as the two of you continued to kiss, too distracted to care where Alastor took you as long as the kissing didn’t stop. 

It didn’t take long for your knees to press against the couch and you eased yourself down, finally breaking the kiss and his hold on you. Breathing hard, you stared up at the smiling man hovering, hesitating over you. “Do you want this?” His voice was barely above a whisper. Despite it all, he was still a gentleman. 

Instead of answering verbally, you reached out and fisted the fabric of his shirt, having abandoned his usual suit in the unforgiving heat. He used one hand to hold your wrist before you could try to pull him down on top of you. “I need your words, cher. I… I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop once we…” His voice trailed off, leaving you a little breathless at the implication of you making him lose his careful control, making him crack from his perfected radio persona simply by showing him your body. 

“Alastor,” his name sounded like a prayer from your lips as you tugged his shirt despite his grip on you, “I want this. I need this.” Something behind the radio host’s eyes seemed to change and it sent a spark of desire through you as he let go of your wrist, leaned down and closed the distance again, biting your bottom lip before kissing you. 

You released your grip on his shirt as he closed the gap between you. Instead, you slide your hand over his shoulder and the nape of his neck, his hands wrapping around your waist. Thick brown curls tangled around your fingers as you tugged lightly. Alastor growls into the kiss, nipping at your bottom lip. Breaking the kiss, he pulled back long enough for you to get a good look at him. His eyes were wild, but stern. “Don’t tug, darling. I’ll have to tie you up otherwise.” Oh. That sent some thrill straight through your body. Your heart raced as you stared at him, mouth open and chest heaving. “Oh cher, you look good enough to eat.”

Alastor leaned back down again, kissing you even deeper than before, using his tongue to push past your lips. It felt like he was going to consume you, and you wanted nothing else. You arched your back to press your upper body to his; the silk of your robe teasing your nipples into hardness, sending an electric pulse to your loins. He swallowed your moan before sliding his hands down your back, gliding over the silk robe, to angle your hips against his. Arching into him, you moaned again when you felt firmness against your inner thigh. He broke the kiss and pulled back enough to stare into your eyes, and you whimpered. Another smile tugged at his lips, before he licked his lips. “I’m going to savor you…” He promised in a whisper before pulling away slightly. “But not on your couch, cher.” 

Alastor stood, pulling his arms from behind you. His eyes scanned over you and you could only imagine the picture you painted, panting and staring at him with your robe barely covering you anymore. Despite the heat, you shivered and bit your bottom lip, tearing open the tender flesh. Blood started to spill from your lip and his eyes focused on it with a sharp, thrilling intensity. Shakily, you took in a deep breath and felt the silk robe start to slide down your shoulder again as you started to sit up from the couch. “Alastor…” It was hard to recognize your own voice, low, gravely and breathy. 

He extended his hand to help you up. As you grabbed his hand, it felt like he was on fire, just like you. It took barely a tug of his hand for you to be pressed against him completely again, barely balanced on your feet. Quickly, he pressed his lips to yours again, tongue swiping at the blood from your lip. A wave of arousal crashed through your body again as you pulled away, hand still in his, and pulling him towards the stairs. His lips were stained a faint red as you stared at him. 

To you, there was nothing in the world but you and Alastor. Not even the oppressive New Orleans heat could compare to the desire burning in your heart and loins. You led him through your home, up the stairs, and to your bedroom, glancing behind you every few steps to make sure this wasn’t a fever dream. He followed, grin still in place. 

As soon as the two of you reached the bedroom, Alastor closed the door behind himself. “Darling, I simply must taste you.” You gasped as he spun you to face him, the light silk of your robe flying open. His eyes trailed over your skin, slowly moving from your lips to your neck, down to your exposed breasts and tightened 

nipples, tracing over your soft stomach and down to your most private area. Nervous, you bit down on your bottom lip and tried to move your arms in front of your body. Him being fully clothed… it felt surreal to be bare in a way no one but perhaps your mother had ever seen. Having forgotten you held one of his hands in your own, it startled you 

when he pulled the arm away from you. “No, cher. Let me see you. Let me worship you.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Please, my darling…” Hearing the proud man beg for you, your knees nearly gave out beneath you. You moved your arms out of the way and released his hand to shrug the robe completely off, breathing hard. 

“Alastor…” His name felt like a prayer falling from his lips. “Alastor, please…” you begged him breathlessly. He didn’t hesitate to close the gap between your bodies. One hand reached up to cup your cheek as he kissed you again. You felt the soft cotton of his shirt brush against your skin, teasing you even more. Shifting your legs, you could feel moisture between your thighs - the moisture that previously only came when you touched yourself. 

Alastor’s other hand drifted to your waist and pulled you completely against him, chest to chest, hip to hip. You shuddered at the feeling of him straining against his pants, opening your mouth to let his tongue move against yours again. His hand moved from your bare waist, up your side with the softest of touch so goosebumps formed, slowing down along the sides of your breasts. He pulled away to stare into your eyes, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re lovely, far too lovely for this lowly sinner… but I will cherish you as you’ve never been cherished before. Is that alright, my love?” 

You didn’t have a chance to answer before he reclaimed your lips for a passionate kiss then moved his lips down to your neck. He pressed delicate kisses to the column of your neck, moving down with each one. “Alastor, please… I, I don’t know if I can stand much longer.” You barely recognized your voice, breathy and desperate as it was. He pulled away from his kisses, grinning as both of his hands moved to your hips, gripping the fat of them tightly. 

“Of course, cher. I’ll take care of your every need.” He lifted you with ease and moved in such a way for your legs to be wrapped around him. The very core of your being pressed into the hardness in his pants and you let out a breathy whimper. “Oh, you make the best noises. I wonder what others I can get from you.” 

There was no way he didn’t feel your wetness seeping into his trousers and the thought made you blush and try to hide your face in his neck. He chuckled before he took a step forward and then leaned down. “Let go, darling,” he ordered once you felt the softness of your neatly made bed against your back. 

You obliged and fell back onto the bed, sprawled out so he could see every single inch of your body. His stare felt like electricity running through your body before he slid onto his knees. He hovered over your naked form, looking intensely at you as your flushed chest heaved. “Do you still want me, cher?” The whisper felt heavy in the moment and you knew he’d stop if you asked, but that was the furthest thing from your mind. 

“Yes, Alastor, please.” You reached up, lightly tugging him down on top of you, him having to brace himself with his arms to not fall completely on you - it was one of the few times he seemed just as off balance by this as you. Your lips met again. Intoxicating was the only way to describe his kisses - every move made you warm like whiskey, just as addictive on the tongue. He obliged you a few kisses before starting to kiss down your neck, each spot tingling for a moment after every time he pressed his lips against your skin.

Once he reached your collarbone, he switched from soft kisses to playful bites. His teeth scraped lightly against your bone and you shivered at the intense feeling. “Al…” He hummed in response before switching back to kisses as he kissed down the center of your chest, trailing towards your breasts but stopping for a moment as he reached the skin in between them. His eyes darted up to meet yours before he moved to begin kissing and nipping at the mound of your breasts. An animal-like whine escaped the back of your throat at the sensation of his mouth on you; the whine turned into a keening noise as he slipped his tongue over your nipple before dragging it into his mouth. He started to suck lightly against your breast, making your back arch towards him. His hand slid behind your back, your nipple hard between his lips as he held you close.

A light graze of his teeth against your nipple made you moan louder than you ever imagined. You felt him grin against your breast before he sucked a little harder. Your hands clawed at his clothed back, needing desperately to touch him, to let him know how good he made you feel. His chuckle against your back made your nipple 

vibrate, sending another sharp flash of arousal to pool in the bottom of your stomach, maybe even leak out of you with how you were spread out underneath Alastor. After a few more moments of sucking, he pulled away; a string of drool stayed connected between your nipple and his mouth as he moved to the other breast to give it the same attention. His hand on your back flexed, nails starting to press into your skin and trailing down in claw marks down your spine. Instead of pain, the pressure made you whimper again. “Alastor, Alastor, please.” You chanted his name, desperately wanting him to do more; whatever that was. 

The clawing down your spine stopped right at the small of your back and he pulled away from your nipple with a tiny last lick as he looked at you. You could only imagine with mild horror how you must look. Completely bare to a man that was fully dressed, not even one courting you as your breasts heaved after having your nipples teased even further. 

“Beautiful, cher. Simply beautiful.” He praised as he slowly drew back to kneeling on the bed, pulling his arm from behind your back. You smiled at the compliment before watching with rapt attention as his hands came up to his neck before he started to untie his bow tie. Letting out a shaky breath, you watched as his nimble fingers moved. He 

started to unbutton his shirt once the tie was tossed to the side. It was a sin, what you were doing. But as the first button came undone, as you saw more of his chest, the less you thought of heaven and hell. No, your eyes stayed on him, flicking up to his face to see him watching you with hazy eyes.

Before popping the second button on his shirt, he stopped. His smile turned mischievous as he instead took a small step back from the bed before falling to his knees. The change in angle made you gasp as you moved to stare down your body to see Alastor staring at your bare sex. Instinctually, you tried to close your legs but strong hands grabbing your knees kept you bare to him. “Now, now, cher. I did want to taste you…” He trailed off as he used his grip on your knees to pull you to the edge of the bed, bringing your sex only inches away from his face. You let out a gasp at how close he was as he moved his eyes to meet yours. “I just know you’ll be the sweetest thing I’ll ever taste.” He cheekily winked at you before leaning closer, still smiling. 

Your head fell back against your blankets when you felt his breath against your bare skin. His hands slid from your knees up the front of your legs until he grasped your hips again. A whimper escaped you and he chuckled before pressing a tender kiss to the inside of your left thigh, your right thigh, then just above your wet slit. It felt like forever and an instant all at once as he slowly licked his way into your slit. His low groan seemed to reverberate against your skin; your back arched at the intense sensation. 

Alastor took no time licking further into you, lapping at the wetness that he caused. Immediately, you had no thoughts in your head besides a chant of his name. The only thing you could look at was the white ceiling as you made noises you didn’t think anyone was capable of making. His tongue moved against your lower regions, dipping in and out of you and his hands slid from your hips down to your thighs, gripping the flesh hard enough to leave bruises. The idea of him leaving marks on you, a physical reminder of the intense pleasure he was giving you… You moaned loudly again and he paused in his tongue motion to look up at you. 

“Eyes on me, cher.” He commanded and you obeyed without question, propping yourself up so you can watch him devour you. His grin widened before he moved back in. But instead of going directly back to your slit, he licked his way a little further up until it felt like live electricity was running through you. You desperately tried to keep your eyes on him, whispering his name at how ethereal he was making you feel. “Ah, there she is…” He focused all of his attention on the nerve, sucking it into his mouth and pressing his tongue against you. 

“AL!” You screamed his name, eyes clenched shut . He didn’t pull away, instead choosing to continue lavishing attention on the sensitive nerve ending. After a moment, he stopped sucking and instead just gave it the tiniest licks. It completely escaped your notice that one hand slid away from its resting place on your thigh and moved in between your legs. The lightest bit of pressure from his fingertip against the entrance to your body made you whimper his name again. “Al… Alastor, Alastor… please…” 

“Shhh, darling,” he cooed in between licks. “I have to prepare you. You don’t want me to hurt you, do you?” The questions made you shudder, arousal overwhelming you. A moan came from the back of your throat as his tongue pressed against your clitoris and the tip of his finger started to enter you. You clenched your muscles as Alastor continued to push his finger in and out of you while his tongue worked against the sensitive spot. It felt like time stopped as he slowly licked and fingered the place that was only meant for your future husband, but all you wanted was Alastor. Nothing but Alastor. Slowly, you felt a second finger join the first, stinging at first but slowly he worked you open. He started moving faster than before; the squelching sound obscenely loud besides your panting breath. “Al… Al…” It felt like the only thing you could say was his name. 

Slowly, he pulled his mouth away and you saw the way your slickness coated all around his mouth, shining obscenely in the daylight. If your mother wasn’t already dead, you’d send her straight to the grave with how you were acting. You whimpered as he gave you one of his charismatic grins and then pressed a sweet kiss on your thigh. “You’re doing so well, darling,” he praised you easily before curling his fingers against a certain spot inside you. Spots danced in front of your eyes at the intense feeling, your whole body tensing up at each touch. He hit again and again, making sure to keep his eyes locked on you as he gave you ecstasy. “Do you want another finger, sweetheart? Can I prepare you to take my cock?” The only response you could manage was a long whine of his name as his fingers found that spot again and pressed, holding there until it felt like you were about to lose your mind. He pressed a kiss to your lower stomach, just above where his fingers were working in and out of you, as a third finger joined the first two. 

The stretch hurt more than you thought - it’d been so good until now. You tried to pull away but Alastor’s other hand moved to your stomach and pinned you there as he moved in and out of you. “I…I…” You struggled to get the words out as he kept you in place with his hand and his eyes. 

“Does it hurt, mon cher?” Amusement tinged his voice. “Poor thing… what if I just…” His words trailed off as he pressed the spongy spot again, making your back arch. The pain faded as he continued to move his fingers inside you. “There she is… my pretty little thing… such a darling, taking me so well.” Hearing his praise made you roll your hips against his hand. “Oh? Does she want more?” 

You didn’t finish nodding before he slowly pulled his three fingers out of you. Your throat went dry when he licked his fingers to clean your wetness from his skin. “You really are delicious, cher.” He stood again to his full, towering height and you felt so bare and vulnerable as his eyes raked over every visible inch of your skin. “But to really savor you… I’m going to have to ruin you.” It sounded like a promise and you nodded in agreement, reaching for him. 

But, Alastor didn’t let you reach him before he started unbuttoning his shirt. His dexterous fingers moved quickly, button after button falling open and baring his skin to you. Scars marred his skin, light indentions against his darker skin, and you made yourself watch the man’s hands as they dropped to his trousers. “C…can I?” You finally managed to speak, biting at your bottom lip. “I… I want to… you know.” Raising a hand to your lips, you hoped he knew what you wanted without you having to say the scandalous words. His fingers never stopped moving as he took off his belt, carefully setting it off to the side, though leaving his shirt open and fluttering around his chest.

“No need, cher. I much rather have all of you.” He gave you a charming grin and wink as he slowed down but still started to unbutton his trousers. Your mouth went dry as he pushed the pants and underwear down to the floor, revealing himself to you as intimately as he was seeing you. Head swimming a little, you wondered how he’d… fit inside you. He looked much larger than three fingers and that was painful at first. “Don’t panic, darling. I’ll take good care of you,” he promised, drawing your eyes from his narrow hips up to his face. “Now be a good girl and move so you’re completely on the bed.” 

There was a pause before you complied, moving to lay across the bed properly as it felt like there were a thousand butterflies in your stomach. You glanced quickly at the vanity that showed you how flushed you were, how debauched you look. A chuckle drew your attention back to Alastor as he moved closer to you. His warmth radiated from his skin as he climbed onto the bed next to you before positioning himself almost on top of you. The silky skin of his cock brushed across your thigh as he moved, drawing a breathy noise out of the back of his throat, one of the few noises he’d let slip during the whole time. 

The two of you met eyes and you felt like you couldn’t look away; he must have cast a spell on you to make you feel like this, to make you want him this badly. Alastor leaned down to kiss you again, his teeth grazing your tender lip. Not wanting to be an inactive participant any longer, you wrapped your arms around his neck and deepened the kiss. His tongue pressed against yours as you felt him adjust on the bed before you felt something brush against the bundle of nerves he’d found before. It took you a moment to realize that it was his… He greedily swallowed whatever mewling noise you made before prodding the tip against your entrance. “Relax for me, my love. It’ll hurt less.” 

Alastor distracted you with another tender kiss as he rolled his hips forward, using one hand to guide himself. His tip caught on the edge of your entrance before sliding in. The pain struck like lightning. “H…hurts…” you whimpered and he tensed for a moment before stopping moving. Closing your eyes tightly, you wanted to move away from him but his weight kept you on the bed. 

“I promise, cher, it gets better, just relax.” He shushed you, pecking you between each word he whispered against your lips. “I’ll make you feel so good… just…” His hips moved forward, pushing him further into you. Your body stretched around him, clenching against the intrusion. He hissed out your name as he stilled his hips again, moving the hand from his cock to hold onto your waist. 

The touch made you open your eyes again, taking in the wild expression of the man on top of you. Alastor’s eyes looked predatory as he gave you a smile with a shaky exhale. “Just a little more,” he promised before moving his hips more. You felt his hips press against yours and you never felt so full and whole, even with the pain of stretching around him. “You’re mine now, cher,” he promised in the stillness of your room. “I’ll never let you go now.” The possessiveness made you shiver and he hissed at the feeling. 

Another moment passed before he looked deep in your eyes, looking for something. Whatever it was, he seemed to find it as he started to move his hips back. The movement made you whine a little, the pain fading a little as he moved out. You could tell Alastor was starting to lose control because he wouldn’t stop talking - babbling, really, about everything he was feeling. “You’re so tight, so perfect for me…” Overwhelmed at the praise, you captured his lips in a kiss, desperate to find the pleasure he promised. 

As soon as it was just the tip of his member inside you, he started to push forward again, a little faster than before. The air seemed to be pushed from your lungs as the pain returned, though not as sharply as before. Alastor shifted his hips slightly to the left and the tip pressed against the spongy spot he’d previously found with his fingers. It felt like fireworks were going off in your head as pleasure shot through you. Was it possible to feel this good without him inside you? You doubted it and never wanted to try. Moaning, you moved your hips against his, wanting more. A choked laugh escaped him as you wiggled underneath him. “Shhh, cher, I’ll give you everything you want and more.” He promised, pressing his forehead against yours and exhaling as he pushed back into you sharply, hitting that spot and stretching your hole against the base of his cock. “Do you trust me?” You didn’t even need to think before nodding. His ever present smile turned a little sharper, a little more dangerous. It sent a thrill through you, knowing this man was all yours. 

Moving his hands, he intertwined his fingers with yours gently. He guided your hands above your head, all the while slowly fucking himself into you with a ferocity that should have sent you running but it was too late; he ruined you, just like he promised. “Keep your hands here,” he ordered before pulling his hands away. The backs of his hands trailed down your arms, along the sides of your breasts before pausing to squeeze them and flick at both nipples at the same time. He punctuated the movement with another hard thrust that was almost too deep, a touch of pain coming back but the pleasure never fully ebbed away. 

Your hands twitched as you tried to keep them where Alastor told you as his hands moved down from your breasts, tickling along the soft roundness of your stomach before clutching at your hips with bruising force. He nuzzled his face into your neck, pressing kisses to the soft, tender skin; you could only imagine the number of marks he was leaving on you. A tiny groan escaped you as he thrust his hips into you again, moving faster. Pressure was building inside you and you were only vaguely aware of what was happening to you. It never felt like this with the few innocent touches you’d ever given yourself. “Al… Al, please…” You didn’t know what you were pleading for; all you knew is that you wanted - needed more from the radio personality turned your lover.

“You want more?” Alastor spoke mostly into your neck before biting down a little harder than before. You cried out his name as he started to suck and lick at the tender spot. “I’ll give you everything I have and more, cher.” Your heart fluttered at the promise and you could almost imagine being married to him, having him take you like this every night. Whimpering, you arched your back and moved your hips against his as he moved faster and faster within you. He hit that magic spot within you with each thrust and you felt your everything tightening as you seemed to near a peak, closer and closer to tipping over from the sensations he was stirring inside you. 

Alastor squeezed tighter on your hips and hissed into your neck. “You’re so soft, so good for me, my darling. You squeeze me so well, making me want to give you a baby.” A gasp escaped you before you could stop it, quickly thinking of you being round with a child, his child, and him giving you as many babies as you wanted. “Is that what my girl wants?” 

You couldn’t stop yourself from whining what someone could only assume was a yes. He grunted and with a sharp thrust, it felt like a dam within you broke. Your whole body trembled at the overwhelming pleasure, fireworks shooting behind your eyelids. It only took a few more strokes of his hips before you felt Alastor collapse gently on top of you, face still buried in your neck. 

Several moments passed as you laid on your bed, drenched in sweat and trying to catch your breath under your lover. He pulled back and pressed a small kiss to your forehead, following one on your nose then lips, more chaste than any other you’d shared in the afternoon. You moved your arms down from where you’d been holding them to brush a hand over his sweaty hair, laughing lightly as you realized he’d never taken off his glasses, leaving them askew on his face. 

Slowly, Alastor pulled out of you and you blushed as he stared at where you’d been joined. You could feel his seed spilling out of you, making you blush as you tried to cover yourself. “It’s a little late for that, darling,” he cooed as he moved off the bed. With him standing in front of you, you took a moment to admire him as you sat up. “I hope it was… satisfactory for you?” The formality of the question made you laugh louder than perhaps you should before nodding. 

“You’re wonderful, Alastor,” you assured him as you slid to the edge of the bed. He offered you his hand and you took it, standing next to him, feeling the slick of his release beginning to slide down the inside of your thighs. “I’ll run us a cool bath. We should be able to cool down.” Standing on your tiptoes, you pressed a kiss to Alastor’s cheek before going to the bathroom to run the two of you a bath.

----

It hurt. When you realized that Alastor left while you were in the bathroom, daydreaming of a future that would never be. The news broke a few days later - Alastor, famed radio host and darling of New Orleans was the Bayou Butcher. Rumors said he died while cannibalizing his latest victim. You threw the paper away as quickly as you could, avoiding the radio entirely. That day… he could have killed you as easily as he fell into your bed. And then he vanished into the afterlife before you could even ask him why.

[batilenima]

Obsessive Clark Au!

(This one is a little darker than the other parts, so please, if you don't like it just ignore it)

It all starts slowly.

The kids pull away, not all at once, but enough for Bruce to feel it: missed calls, delayed check-ins, polite but distant dinners. Damian barely speaks at all unless it's mission critical, Jason stops showing up for game nights, Tim leaves the room when Clark enters.

Bruce tries not to notice, but he does.

And so does Clark.

Bruce brushes it off, tells himself they're growing up, becoming independent; but there's something cold forming in the pit of his stomach, something that aches every time he sees the empty chair at the breakfast table.

Clark, however, is always there.

He doesn't say much at first, just stays close, offers quiet warmth, replaces what the others have left behind. He brings Bruce coffee before patrol, helps sort casefiles without being asked, listens without interrupting.

And when Bruce comes back from a brutal argument with Damian (one where the door slammed hard enough to crack the frame) he finds Clark already waiting, sitting on the edge of the bed like he felt it happen.

Bruce doesn't say a word, just leans against the wall, arms crossed and his jaw tight.

Clark rises, slow and careful, wraps him in the softest kind of hold, an embrace that feels less like comfort and more like possession, his lips barely brush Bruce's ear when he speaks.

"You were never made for them" Clark whispers "You were made for me"

Bruce stiffens. But he doesn’t pull away.

And Clark feels it: that brief pause before resistance fades, that unspoken surrender.

Later, Bruce won't bring it up. He'll pretend it didn’t happen.

But Clark?

Clark will say it again. Every time one of them disappoints Bruce, every time they leave.

And eventually… Maybe Bruce will believe it.

(After this I want to ask you all, would you want me to continue this? I don't ask this because I'm tired or something, I just want to know If despite the darker tone that the Au is going to take, you will continue reading it or if it makes you feel uncomfortable. The most likely outcome with this AU is that it will end relatively badly, I'm warning you before you respond)

[lavender-girlfriend-88]

Future Lover - Chapter 2- Jason Todd x Reader

Synopsis: Trying to make it in Gotham, you are dragged clawing and screaming into a time travel mess with a man who claims to be your future husband.

Author’s Note: still messing around with the formatting of these posts, please bear with me! I've seen a lot of authors on here who have such amazing aesthetics, tryna figure mine out lol

So this fic was actually inspired by this post, by @cipheress-to-k-pop.

Thank you so much for your awesome writing and support :)))). Please go check them out!

And thank you to everyone who liked/reblogged/commented on my last post, it means a whole lot. I'm planning on expanding this into a whole chaptered work, so watch this space!

Also, in this chapter I had to write a fight scene, which I've never done before, so please bear with me <:)

Content: Blood, mention of injuries, violence. nothing too gore-y though.

Word Count: 2.7k

No Grammarly we die like men

The tunnel was cold, dark, and loud. The echoes of a battle commenced, requests for support, and slang that you couldn't understand, let alone fully hear, echoed through the eight-lane tunnel. You could barely see a thing, but you could feel the man holding you. His chest was heaving; he’d clearly been running and exerting himself. His breath was warm, and his armour cold. A thin sheen of sweat coated his face, and he licked the sweat from above his top lip. 

He grinned, almost stupidly, at you, before gently putting you on the ground. His bright eyes, one blue, and one bright green, stared down at you, with an unreadable but almost elated expression, before he pulls you aside to hide you both behind a small sedan. It was then you realised your mouth was agape. You quickly closed it.

“Hey, so, here’s the plan. You’re gonna have to wait here, and I’m gonna deal with these guys, and then I’ll explain everything, okay? Take you somewhere real nice, okay, ma?” His voice is low and mature, and a little bit husky, but he speaks to you with a boyish familiarity. A tone that confuses the hell out of you.

You just stare at him, wide eyed like an owl. No words leave your mouth, which has again fallen open. He stared back with a soft lopsided grin, panting. His hand reaches up to click his muzzle on, goggles attached, and when you look into his eyes again they are obscured by white lenses. He speaks again, his voice different under the mask.

“Hah. Yeah, okay. I’ll see you real soon, okay?”

And just like that, he was gone. And you were left staring at the concrete where he had crouched in front of you just seconds ago.

What the hell?

Your impending mental spiral is interrupted by a jarring screech somewhere to your left, but the car blocks your view. Not even thinking to mentally prepare yourself, you peer over the red sedan, and your eyes catch another car, skidding along the road of the tunnel, sending sparks flying. 

In front of you, the scene is chaos. The man who caught you, nowhere to be seen amidst the darkness. But you can see some familiar symbols. Red Robin, perched atop a white van that has toppled to its side, holds his hand to his ear and seems to be contacting someone.

You catch a glimpse of the deep plum cloak of Spoiler, as she flips and ducks, perfectly dodging some incoming arrows. Those arrows, where are they coming from? It’s hard to tell, as the shooter seems obstructed from your view behind another car, and it’s even harder to tell when Red Robin tosses in a smoke bomb, right into the middle of it all.

You blink and cough slightly, your eyes and throat burning slightly from the smoke, but you remain glued to the hood of the car, by the right front wheel; your front row seat to all the action. Your eyes dart to the right, seeing the opportunity to leave, sprint to the tunnel’s bright exit, but you hesitate. The man who caught you told you to stay put. You should, right? I mean, he’s a trained hero, he knows what he’s doing.

But as the smoke continues to billow out, and the sounds of violence continue, your resolve to stay falters. You make one last glance back at the battlefield, then run, low and fast, to hide behind a car nearer to the exit.

You trip and stumble, your kitten heels catching on the rough concrete, and careen forward, nearly faceplanting on the ground. The road shreds your knees and hands, tearing through the fabric of your pants, and you hiss and cry out in pain.

Fuck! I’m in the open, I gotta keep going!

You hobble to rest behind the car in front of you, and take a deep breath, trying to steel your nerves. Always so damn uncoordinated. Then you get back onto your feet, and carry on with your escape.

Keeping low and trying to stay calm, you cast glances backwards to make sure there aren’t any arrows or flying cars heading in your direction, and go again, this time to a smaller green hatchback. 

Huffing, you’re already a little out of breath and you lean up against the car, trying to catch your breath a little. Man, I have gotta cut down on the smokes after this is all over.

FFSSHHHH-VUMP!

Your head shoots up, towards the sound of an impact into the tunnel wall a few feet behind you. It’s a batarang, lodged into the side of an arrow, piercing the concrete, and glueing the two to the wall. But you can see a small light from the head of the arrow, pulsing, faster and faster. Your eyes bulge and your heart lunges, beating so hard against your ribcage you feel like a human drum. Instinct takes over, and faster than your brain can comprehend, you’ve tucked into yourself and have wrapped your arms around your head. Squeezing your eyes shut, you brace for impact, vibrating like a mouse’s heartbeat. 

“Oh, shit, shit, shit! Stay down!”

You feel the crash of another body into yours, arms wrapping tightly atop your head, kevlar plate pressed against your back-

BOOM!!

Heat envelops you, and your hair whips around your face wildly, like a thousand tiny thorned whips. Your skin burns slightly. As quickly as it started, its over. And then, a loud high pitched whining, and the feeling of… stuff, on your face. You open both eyes, and everything feels tight and loud. Your scraped and bleeding knees are pulled up to your chest, and you can see the bright green paint of the car your cower next to, and the wheel. Your breathing, rapid and pulsing, becomes your main focus, and you try to slow it down. I think I survived that…

You feel the body behind you stir, too. Large arms turn you around to face a broad chest, and you can hear muffled speaking, though it’s inaudible, under the loud white noise that now invades your head. Hands brush along your face, and you feel the grainy dust get swept away under gloved hands.

“-light……-ay here, okay?.....-ay…. Hey! -an you hear me? Hey!”

You look up at him, blinking the dust and debris from your eyes, but you don’t respond. It’s the same guy as before…. Red muzzle, white lenses, red hood. He’s looking at you, his hands placed on your shoulders, crouched between you and the blast. Your back rests against the side of the car, and you tilt your head back, sharp knives of pain shooting through your skull. It feels like someone has popped a balloon inside your head.

At least the white noise is subsiding.

“Hey! Focus up! I need you to stay with me, okay?”. Red Hood declares to you again, his voice slightly muffled by the mask, but audible all the same.

His voice is different this time. Still deep, and a bit gravelly, but less so than before. He sounds almost... younger?

“I’m here, okay. I can hear you”, you confirm, nodding softly, scrunching your face up in an effort to combat the headache you know is coming.

“Okay, good. Thought we had a bigger problem there, tha’s good.” He replies, shoulders relaxing just a touch. “We’re gonna need to get you outta here, okay? So you’re coming with me.”

You look up at him with furrowed brows, confused once again.

“But you said to stay put?”

He looks down at you, and behind the mask you can see his confusion.

“No, I didn’t-” He sighs, exasperated. “We don’t have time for this.”

He grabs you by the arms and hoists you to your feet, and now the both of you are standing, bent slightly to hide behind the hatchback. Your legs tremble like a newborn deer, and you look down to lightly brush some gravel out of your scraped and bleeding palms.

He peers over the hood of the car, to observe the battle ahead of you, and you follow suit. Spoiler and Red Robin hunch behind a flipped car, Spoiler holding onto Red Robin’s side. He’s bleeding.

A flash of electric blue, and you see Nightwing, with Robin in tow, running full pelt at a young man. He stands, chest puffed out, wearing dark combat clothes and hoisting a taught bow, firing multiple rapid-fire arrows that explode around Nightwing and Robin’s feet. But they’re too nimble, and he is forced to use his bow to parry Nightwings sticks.

Robin, meanwhile, is busy dodging a motorcycle that is hurled towards him. A few feet from him stands a young woman, with glowing blue eyes. Her hands are outstretched, clutching the air, and you can see now that she’s got some sort of superpower. She grunts and shrieks, but you can’t quite make out what she says.

You turn to face Red Hood, who observes the scene with a heaving chest. 

“W-what do we do?” You ask, still a bit dizzy.

He turns to face you. From this angle, the way he towers over you, he looks a bit like a rabid dog, or a wolf. His mask lenses are bleach white, and the muzzle bloody red. His hood, draped over his crown, barely covers his sweat-drenched hair, which sticks to his forehead.

“We’re gonna run, alright? I’m gonna get’chu to the mouth of the tunnel, then you’re gonna keep running, got it?” 

You barely even get the chance to react, before you notice the hatchback being lifted into the air. The shiny green car levitates towards the ceiling of the tunnel, and for a moment everything slows down.

A young woman’s voice rings out.

“Guess I’m gonna have to kill your girl again, Hood!”

It’s not taunting, more reverent and threatening than anything, and it’s followed by a howling response from a man.

“Don’t you fucking dare, Ophidia!” 

And your eyes track the voice. The first, from the young woman you saw deflecting Robin before. She’s closer to you now, and you can see her more clearly now. She’s young, younger than you, and lanky like a teenager. She’s frighteningly skinny, with pale blonde hair and even paler skin. Her eyes, glazed like pools of milk, stare at you and Red Hood, and the 1.5 ton car that floats above the two of you, with a look that can only be described as entranced, like she’s witnessing something holy.

The second voice rings out again.

“Get her away! Now!”

That voice, familiar in a way, comes from the man who caught you from your fall before. Red Hood. His familiar worn red muzzle and white-lensed mask adorn his face, but you can hear the panic and tension in his voice. His command is for Red Hood, who stands beside you. The man continues running towards Ophidia, guns drawn, and every muscle in his body seems driven to overpower and disarm the deranged young woman.

WHOOSH!

The car comes hurtling down, and in a split second the Red Hood beside you has pulled you away and down, and you’ve crash-landed onto his chestplate, adorned with the signature red bat-symbol.

CRUNCH!

The green hatchback is no more.

Glass and metal shatter around you, but you feel his gloved hands covering your head as he tucks and curls you behind him. Two-for-zero on the amount of times Red Hood has shielded me with his body in the past five minutes. God, I just wanna go home.

A shard of glass nicks your ear and you can move under the weight of Red Hood’s arms. But you don’t have to, because in a split second he’s scooped you up into his arms and is running full pelt towards the exit of the tunnel, only to screech to a halt as another car comes crashing down in front of his path. He whips his neck around, desperately trying to get you out of this. Your arms tighten around his neck.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

But you hear the whistling, whipping sound of fabric, and the both of you look towards the sound.

Batman. 

Oh, thank fuck.

Perched atop an SUV that has somehow managed to stay on all four wheels, he blends well with the shrouded darkness of the tunnel. But you can see his lenses, white ovals poking from underneath the cowl, as he squints at the adversaries his team faces.

“B!” Red Hood, the one who has you in his arms, calls out. His chest puffs out, in confidence and relief.

Batman looks over to us, nods solemnly, then launches himself towards the girl. From your position in Red Hood's arms, you watch as he completely overwhelms her in a flurry of tactical manoeuvres, all whilst dodging arrows from her counterpart. Supported by Nightwing, and Robin, the two of them are pushed further and further back, until the young man cries out.

“Ophidia, retreat!”

The response that comes is harsh and whiny.

“Felix, I’m not gonna-”

“Ophidia, we’re not gonna win this, we gotta go!”

She growls, then, like she’s pulling out the last trick she knows, reaches her hands to the ceiling, fingers crooked like claws. The concrete ceiling of the tunnel collapses, creating an explosion of rubble and pale dust that fills the air. You tuck your head into Red Hood’s chest, shielding yourself from the noise and debris. The dust settles quickly, and the two are gone.

Red Hood puts you gently on the ground, then breathes deeply. He looks down at you, a hand still on your back, steadying you.

“You alright?”

You look back up at him, blinking, and still in a bit of shock. You nod, slowly.

“Yeah, yeah. I think I’m okay.”

A figure comes running towards you, and you have to make a double take. He’s… wearing the exact same outfit as the Red Hood that stands beside you.

“Hey, sweetheart, you alright?” He pants out as he reaches you, and you have to glance between him and the hero that stands to your left, hand still placed on your back. It’s a bit disconcerting to be asked the same question…. twice.

The Red Hood beside you is the first to speak.

“Hey man, thanks for your help back there, but we’re not looking for copycats. So, kindly fuck off.”

The Red Hood in front of you, chuckles beneath the mask.

But before he can respond, Batman’s footsteps approach the three of you.

“Someone needs to explain this situation to me right now.” He states, gruffly. His voice, smooth in its commanding presence, brings a mixture of fear and awe to your chest. You stare at the looming Bat in front of you with wide eyes. Your mouth refuses to speak in such a presence. For some reason I feel like I’m in trouble.

The Red Hood next to you pipes up again. With a tone that tells you he’s totally and utterly done, he addresses Batman.

“It’s nothin’ serious, B, just another fanboy. I’ll sort him out.” 

“HAH! Fanboy? You wish, squirt.” The other Red Hood quips back, clearly smiling beneath the mask. Before anyone can respond, he flicks back the hood, and removes the mask from his face with one hand, letting it hang against his chest. It’s the man that caught you from your leap from the bus before. His hair, sweat-heavy and stuck to his forehead, same as it was before. Raven black, with a snow white streak in the front, salty flecks of white and grey throughout his hairline, showing his age. Crows feets, and the scars of many battles crease his sharp and defined face. Heterochromia; one ocean blue eye, one a radioactive green.

The Red Hood beside you stiffens. So does Batman.

“What the fuck?” Red Hood blurts out.

“Yeah. Still a fanboy?” Red Hood replies, arrogantly.

Your eyes dart from one reaction to another, and Red Hood removes his hand from your back. 

“Jason?” Batman murmurs, mouth slightly agape, showing slivers of pearly white teeth.

“The one and only!” The older Red Hood stretches his arms out, like a jester in a royal court, and puff his chest out proudly. “Well, not anymore.” He grins to the Red Hood who stands beside you.

“What the fuck, man! Put your mask back on, she’s a civilian, she can’t know what I look like.” The Red Hood beside you scolds him, incredulously. 

“Now why would I wanna hide my face from my lovely wife, huh?” The older one replies.

Silence.

“What?!” You and Red Hood shout in sync.

Tag list:

@c4xcocoa @coffeemin

@theendofthematerialgworl

(I hope i did that right.)

AHHHH I hope you like it. I spent all night working on it, and avoiding my actual responsibilities hehe

[zablife]

Double Cigarette Occassion

Tommy Shelby x female reader

Tommy Shelby Masterlist

Summary: You and Tommy have an undeniable attraction to one another, but circumstances have always kept you apart. How far would he go to make you his?

A/N: Ty to @runnning-outof-time for this request based on the song "Double Cigarette" by Allan Rayman.

Warning: hint of dark!Tommy

Quickening your pace along the empty streets of Birmingham, your eyes darted cautiously down each narrow alley for the hungry wolves surely lying in wait. Keenly aware that Tommy's protection no longer extended to you, you clutched the beaded handbag concealing your pistol tightly to your body. And with the fear providing ample distraction, you soon found yourself in front of a familiar haunt, the Garrison.

You hesitated slightly before stepping off the curb, wondering if you should have agreed to the meeting after a year of silence between you. It was then that the clouds parted to reveal the eery glow of a blood moon and what should have acted as an omen became an irresistible beacon urging you on.

Elbowing your way through the dense crowd of bodies in the dimly lit room, you found your way to the back where you knew he'd be waiting. As if on cue, a veil of smoke parted to reveal a pair of sharp blue eyes staring back at you and locking you firmly into place where you stood. He'd always had that effect on you and yet you couldn't remember it ever feeling quite so intense.

Your former employer stamped out his cigarette and rose to offer you a chair with uncharacteristic formality. "Thank you for coming," he began cordially, voice smooth and clear despite the smell of whisky on his breath as he lingered behind you to help remove your coat.

As your dress slipped from your shoulder to reveal a patch of bare skin, you gasped, clutching for the fabric anxiously to return it to its rightful place. You knew all too well that Tommy Shelby wasn't the sort of man who enjoyed teasing. However, he refrained from speaking, the lingering warmth of his body heat the only thing exchanged between you.

Staring down at your wedding ring, you began twisting it nervously as you ventured, "What's this about, Tom?"

Plucking a fresh cigarette from the crumpled pack at his elbow and placing it upon his lips, he merely shrugged. "I wanted to see ya again."

"Yes, but why?" you wondered aloud as he offered you a drag, an old habit that never quite died. "You know I'm a married woman now," you whispered on a low breath which he swore was laced with regret.

As he accepted the cigarette from your slender fingers, his eyes drifted from yours and he suddenly seemed very far away. "I'm happy for you," Tommy replied flatly.

"Look me in the eye if you're going to lie to me," you challenged.

Tommy raised his head slowly and deliberately in compliance, eyes meeting yours in a steely stare as he asked, "Did you get my wedding present?"

You scoffed as you pictured the intricately wrapped box holding a single butcher's knife. "That wasn't a present, that was a threat," you clarified, pursing your lips into a pout of disapproval.

"To let him know I'd be watching if he hurt you," Tommy stated, pointing his cigarette at you to punctuate the remark.

"Careful, you're starting to sound jealous," you taunted, unable to bite your tongue at his hypocrisy. The only reason you'd ended up in Alfie's arms was Tommy's relationship with Grace.

"You're right," he acquiesced. "Every time you talk, all I can think of is your mouth on mine," he confessed in a hoarse whisper full of need. His hand reached for yours across the table, but your fingers twitched anxiously at the contact and you pulled away moments later.

"You shouldn't say things like that," you scolded softly, eyes betraying you as they lingered on his lips.

"Careful, someone might think you actually want me," Tommy countered using your turn of phrase against you.

"If you don't stop talking, I might just kiss you to make you shut up!" you retorted playfully.

That earned a roguish grin from Tommy and he gave you a moment of reprieve as he motioned to Harry for another round. "Rum?" he asked.

You huffed out a little laugh before raising your brows in suspicion, "You know Alfie says rum's for fun and fucking."

"Which did you come for, sweetheart?" he asked, looking pleased with himself. The smirk tugging at his lips was a familiar remnant of the past, the kind of grin he flashed when he knew his charm was winning.

But he was no longer acquainted with the girl who would swooned over his bravado. Now a respected businesswoman and faithful wife, you prided yourself on making wiser choices.

Tommy knew nothing of your life in Camden and didn't appear to want to learn which is why you decided to leave. "This isn't the sort of conversation I came for," you mumbled. Leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek, you gathered your things.

"You're leaving?" Tommy asked, unwilling to accept your goodbye.

"When every sentence is tip toeing toward fornication? Yes, I have to leave," you stated bluntly.

"You think I won't chase after you?" Tommy called out in a bold, clear voice that made you blush.

You turned to face him, hands smoothing his rumpled shirt front as you agreed, "That's the problem, I know you will."

---------------------

When Alfie made you promise to stay away from Small Heath you wondered if it was his pride he was protecting more than you. It didn't take a mindreader to see the unspoken jealousy lingering in his eyes. And though he knew he'd never have your love, Alfie demanded loyalty.

You accepted the conditions of your marriage much like a prisoner resigned to a long sentence and found happiness elsewhere. There was more than enough to occupy your time between the bakery and your charity work in the community.

In this way, time passed rather quickly until Alfie began talking about retirement. He bought Margate on a whim after you once noted the lovely color of the sea on a postcard. It was enough to convince him you'd be happy there. And you were for a time, strolling along the sandy beaches with Alfie and the dogs. A hard won peace blanketed your existence until the fateful day Tommy saw fit to shatter it with a single bullet to Alfie's temple.

It was barely a month before the calls and letters came flooding in. It seemed the only way to make them stop was another visit. This time it was a large manor in Warwickshire, far from the grimy streets you navigated years earlier. How things had changed in five years time.

As Tommy lit a cigarette for you and passed it between his fingertips, you jerked it away harshly. Taking a long drag to steady your nerves you felt ready to confront him.

"You made me a widow," you accused, voice coming out in a sharp register you hardly recognized.

"A rich one," Tommy added cruelly as he stopped to light his own.

"What do you want from me?" you asked, exhausted by the emotional toll of late.

"I want the chance to do what he couldn't...make you happy," Tommy replied, reaching for you and stroking his thumb over the back of your hand in delicate circles.

Suddenly your only instinct was to flee, you couldn't bear the tenderness he'd reserved for this moment. "I can't do this," you exhaled harshly, tearing your hand from his.

"Don't pretend you don't want this too!" Tommy shouted.

You spun around to face him, fire lapping at your insides as you reached up to slap him hard across the face. "Now you fight for me?" you shouted, tears collecting along your lash line that you willed not to fall in front of him. "Where were these declarations when Grace was alive?" you demanded.

Tommy's brow knit with concern. He'd never thought of his marriage to Grace as a choice over you as he proposed long after you'd left to become Queen of Camden Town. Suddenly the details weren't important though, he wanted you to know how sorry he was about the time wasted between you. "I'm going to make you forget all about what we've been through," he promised.

You bit your lip hard, hand sliding off your hip as your guard came down for the first time in years. There was no point in denying what you wanted now, body wracked with nervous shivers.

"You're shaking," Tommy noted as he approached you slowly, his own hand trembling slightly as he reached out to comfort you.

"So are you," you noted, locking eyes with him.

Throwing all caution aside, he hooked your waist and pulled you into him forcefully, devouring you in a long awaited kiss. "You're mine now, say it," he prodded insistently.

And you couldn't help declaring what you'd always known, "I'm yours."

--------------------

Tag List:

@peakyswritings

@shelbydelrey

@lovemissyhoneybee

@theshelbyslimited

@kittycatcait219

@callsign-fangirl

@christinasyellowflowers

@theshelbyclan

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@lyarr24

@the-fangirl-diaries

@kmc1989

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@helen06dreamer

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@aesthetic0cherryblossom

@allie131313

@mrs-bellingham

@duckybird101

@writers-hes

@radioactiveradarzoneuvb-76

@mrsalwayswrite

[scorpioriesling]

but what about a poly smut/ angst fic with violet and xaden with female reader ? would love it

Blinding Love

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Xaden x Violet x reader

Warning(s): smut, mdni, 18+, angst, arguing, light injury

Summary: After a knock-down, drag-out fight with the two people you love most, the three of you are able to come to a mutual understanding. Not only with eachother, but also with yourself -- at the end of the day, it's your blinding love for one another that will prevail.

SR’s Note: Only thing I have to say is... happy pride month, everyone! Much love to all, and thank you once again for your patience as I work through all of my requests and WIPs. xoxo

Tags: @mellowmusings @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @bookofriverr @kitsunetori @velarisdusk @nctsawrus @lreadsstuff @paintedbyshadows @freakishfandomfiend @littleemissperfecttt @loveofmychips @bodhidurrans (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

You paced nervously, your pointer finger and thumb pinching your chin. What could be taking them so long? They'd left nearly two hours ago -- surely, Panchek didn't have that much to say.

Sighing, you sat on the corner of your bed, deciding to redirect your worry toward something else. You reached beneath the covers, your fingers searching for the familiar hoop -- if you couldn't see them right now, you might as well work on your sewing and at least do something productive.

You'd barely run the needle and thread through the fabric before your two favorite people burst through the doors. Your eyes lit up, excitement welling as you caught sight of them. The excitement was short-lived, however; the two were in a shouting match as they thundered into the room.

"YOU SAID YOU WEREN'T GOING TO BRING IT UP, VI," Xaden roared. Violet scoffed, charging through the doorway after him.

"What in Dunne's name did you expect? For me to just let the Colonel speak for us? Are you really, of all people, okay with something like that?"

Your eyes widened as you stared between them, watching Xaden's cheeks redden and the vein in Violet's forehead pulse.

"Oh don't act like that's what I'm saying; it's not, and you know that," he griped, dropping the bag he carried from his back to the floor. It landed louder than you'd expected, and you jumped at the sound. Violet payed no mind as the threw her hands in the air.

"I never know exactly what you're saying, Xaden! I can't always tell what you mean or what you're thinking -- you forget, not everyone can read minds like you," she spat. Xaden's eyes widened as she crossed her arms gruffly, and at that you stood from the bed.

"Violet! Why would you say such a thing so... loud?" You glanced at the still-open doorway, thanking all the Gods that no one was passing by. "You know such a thing could get him killed-"

"Yeah? And what happens if he gets you killed?" She sneered. "Did you consider that, maybe, I'm fighting for you right now?"

Your head reared back as though she'd just slapped you.

"W-what?" You asked quietly, turning to look at Xaden. His gaze was downcast, and damn near shameful. Violet laughed humorlessly.

"Yeah! Go ahead, ask him -- ask him why, of all the meetings we've had with leadership, this one was so damn hard for him to defend you at." She glared at the male. "Go on; ask."

Your eyes roved over the male's face, contorted with discomfort. He looked angry with his furrowed brow -- but beneath that hard exterior, you could sense something wasn't sitting right with him.

"Xaden?"

He glanced up at your whisper of his name, his eyes watery. You'd never seen your boyfriend cry, and you hadn't suspected today would be the first. That look, that one look though -- it had your heart aching for him.

He cleared his throat before he spoke, every word measured and calculated.

"Panchek called the meeting with leadership to discuss this week's assignments," he began quietly. Violet stood firm, her arms still crossed as she studied him. "They wanted to go over rotations, and... who would be leaving the vale for the outer posts."

He paused, and Violet shrugged.

"Yep. Go on," she urged. He glared as her, continuing his explaination.

"Panchek's idea was to send a few of the third years out to Hedotis. He wanted riders with more experience to go, thinking they'd be able to better withstand the flight." He continued. Violet shook her head slowly.

"Yeah, which makes the most sense," she interrupted. You looked to her again, meeting her pleading stare. "We should send the most experienced riders. Especially ones without ties to that region-"

"Anyway," Xaden took control of the conversation again. "When he considered sending Dain, Bodhi, and Imogen, I knew that was going to be a disaster. So, I forged an idea I thought would be best."

Violet's hands balled into fists. "A stupid idea! Xaden, your mother is not exactly at the top of any of our lists right now-"

"Which you so kindly reminded Colonel Aetos of -- thanks again for that," he bellowed. "That's why the prick was so quick to agree with me, all because you couldn't keep your mouth shut-"

"I was trying to change their minds!" She shreiked. Your eyes began to well with tears, watching them fight like this. However, you stood frozen as they continued settling the score before you, nothing but a small whimper coming from you.

"Guys, please that's enough-"

Violet continued. "You can't tell me for one second you truly believe that the three of us should go instead-"

"I think we're more than prepared to go!" Xaden's voice rose in octave. "Y/N's been honing her signet, you're one of the strongest women in the wing, and you've got me-"

"Oh yeah, right," Violet griped, matching his pitch. "We have you, so we'll be fine. Sure! Again, I bring up the fact that Y/N's never actually fought yet-"

"I said ENOUGH!"

Both parties gasped and covered their heads as wind blew forcefully through the window panes, shattering the glass and scattering it across the floor. You remained still, knowing this would happen; and you'd been in a relationship with the other two that you'd figured they'd know it, too.

"What is wrong with you?" You asked to neither of them in particular, breathing heavily as tears began to run down your cheeks. Both of them turned to look up at you, and in that instant you registered the small cuts the glass had left on the both of them.

"You both are always making decisions for me, deciding what I am and are not capable of, and speaking for me in that sense too." You said defiantly. Violet's lips parted, and Xaden only gazed up at you shamefully. They both remained quiet as the wind ripped through the room, sending your embroidery to the floor as well as the various papers strewn about.

Sniffling, you quickly reached to wipe your tears, not feeling guilty for the hurt on both of their faces.

"You need to understand I am a person too -- just because I can't weild lightning," you looked to Violet. "And I'm not the Duke of Tyrrendor," you looked to Xaden again, who dropped his head. "It doesn't mean my words are any less; not in life-threatening discussions, or any discussions for that matter."

You turned, a fresh wave of emotion coursing through you. Behind you, the sound of Violet moving to stand was heard, her boots crunching on the shattered glass as she chased after you.

The bathroom door was tossed open in an instant, and you stepped inside. Her hand braced the wood before you could shove it closed, and you met her worried gaze as she stared at you.

"Please Y/N, we just want you safe-"

"I need to shower."

It was all the explaination you offered, your tone clipped, as you shut the door behind you.

･ﾟ: *✧

The water had been running for fifteen minutes before the door opened again. The bliss you'd allowed yourself to enjoy was halted, a cool breeze brushing past the doorway and beyond the curtain of warmth you'd been enjoying.

"Ugh - go away," you grumbled, letting the stream of wet run over your face. Your tears had been since washed away, your mind beginning to clear a little. But, instead of leaving, the curtain was drawn back, the familiar greenish gray eyes gazing to you once more. You rolled your own, turning your back to the curtain.

"I don't want to talk right now."

Violet didn't seem to care as she stepped onto the tiled floor behind you. The curtain rod squeaked as she tugged the fabric back into place, and in a moment you felt her ragged, uneven breaths hitting the back of your neck.

"Fine. Let's not talk."

You loosed a sigh as her fingers brushed your skin, cold to the touch at the tips. She must not have weilded today as your usual concern for her singed digits wasn't present this time. Her touch began at your waist, her fingers brushing over the dampened skin; that was, before her hands travelled around your front, stroking up and down your abdomen.

Though you still had so many words, so much to say not only to your girlfriend but to Xaden too -- this was what you needed. This was your temporary fix.

Your lips parted as her palms rested beneath your breasts, the cool touch causing your nipples to harden. Her lips came next, gently kissing the side of your neck as her hands travelled further north, cupping and kneading you as you leant into her.

Water fell around the two of you like a curtain, trailing over your collarbone and running down the valley of your breasts as her hair was drenched in turn. Her kisses became harder, needier -- and when you turned to face her suddenly, looking right into her eyes, you could see it. She needed this too.

Feeling more confident, she pressed you against the shower wall, her thigh slotting between your parted knees. The silky smoothness of her skin elicited fire as it pressed just right against your core, and she smiled softly as a breathy moan escaped your lips. Her hands left your upper body in favor of sliding slowly to your ass, cupping a cheek in either hand. Her fingers guided you, pressing your hips forward and back as you began moving them in time with her.

Your eyes fell shut as you continued rocking your hips against her leg, and she chuckled softly at the way your jaw hung open. She leaned in, her lips to your neck once more as one hand reached to pinch and roll over your nipple. You gasped sharply as the pending sensation within you threatened release, especially with the added friction of her fingertips against your chest.

"Vi..." you breathed, your hands reaching to brace her shoulders. Her teeth came fast and sharp, biting lightly near the column of your throat. You squeaked at the delightful sting, your release coiling near the base of your spine.

"Let go for me," she whispered, her suggestion sending you over the edge. Your eyes widened as you released upon her thigh, your lower half shaking as the sensation coursed through you. You clutched her shoulders, gasping as you rode out your high -- but, even then she didn't stop.

"I want you in our bed," she panted, leaning down to take your other nipple in her mouth. You moaned, loud this time, and shook harder as her palm cupped your leaking cunt. "Now. Please," she added, her pleading eyes looking to you once again. You nodded, reaching behind you to shut the water off. In seconds, the two of you had toweled off, stepping out one after another and making for the doorway.

The sight before you had you halting in your tracks, emotion swelling in you once more. The glass that had scattered around the room had been completely picked up, a small pile of it lay atop your shared vanity. Next to it, a fresh bouquet of lilies sat in a vase -- your favorite. Yoru gaze settled on your bed though, where Xaden lay, securing the starch-white gauzy wrap around his palm. He was shirtless, clad in only sweatpants as he sat on the edge of the mattress, his long legs hanging off of it.

"I figured it's the least you deserved, after all we said and did," he said softly. You glanced sidelong at Violet, who met you with a knowing nod. Your eyes followed her naked form as she strode for the male, her knee bending as she braced the mattress beside him. His fingers immediately found her waist, tugging her up next to him. She straddled him, glancing over her shoulder at you in an effort to entice you.

It worked.

"Come here, baby." Xaden suggested lowly, reaching to brush Violet's dampened strands over her shoulder. You prowled closer, watching as she moved from his lap in favor it sitting next to him. His hands lightly took yours, pulling you close until you stood between his parted knees.

A single tear slipped as your fingers brushed the gauze covering his palms, surely cut from picking up the glass you'd shattered with your wind-weilding outburst earlier. His brown eyes gazed up at you lovingly, as his thumb reached to brush the fallen tear away.

"Hey, hey," he cooed, lifting you to sit on his lap. You obliged, sniffling as he gently cupped your jaw. "It's the least I could do. We can both be better towards you, and today was a prime example of just that."

You nodded slowly, taking in his words. Violet moved to her knees beside you, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth. Xaden's fingers inched you closer, until finally your lips were on his. You sighed, the feeling of his mouth pressed to yours once more so refreshing.

Unable to ignore the elephant in the room, you instinctively began swaying your hips once more, excited again by the feel of his hardening cock beneath you. He groaned, kissing you harder, sweeping his tongue past the seam of your lips in an effort to explore deeper. You let him, nearly so caught up in the moment that you didn't register Violet running her fingers lightly through your hair. Xaden's hands found your hips, settling there as he relished in the way your hips rocked atop his lap.

"We'd do anything for you," Violet whispered. "Anything you'd ever ask."

Tears stung the back of your eyes as Xaden broke the kiss, breathless.

"We love you, Y/N," he said, his voice raw. "More than anything."

You had to fight to keep the tears at bay, working to express the emotion beyond the lump in your throat.

"I... love you guys too," you choked out, your heart warming at their soft smiles. Xaden's hands gently repositioned you once more, setting you on all fours near the edge of the mattress. Violet quickly shimmied beneath you, her eyes gazing up at you prettily as your hands braced either side of her head. Xaden palmed your ass from behind, moving to stand at the edge of the mattress.

"I would warm you up but... it seems we have Vi to thank for that," Xaden chuckled. You giggled at the humor, watching Violet wink up at you from below. Biting your lip, you braced for the stretch -- but the feeling was far more pleasureable that you'd remembered.

Xaden entered you slowly, his cock sliding inch by inch along your gummy walls. Violet reached a hand down, her middle and ring finger connecting with your clit. She rubbed slow, tantalizing circles there as Xaden continued pressing into you, all the way until his hips became flush with your ass.

You breathed out slowly, your bottom lip releasing from it's hold as you spoke.

"More... please, more."

Xaden was quick to draw back and re-enter, grunting as you clenched your pussy around him. Violet sighed as she rubbed her fingers faster, her wide-eyed stare adding to the increasing slick as she gazed up at you. You moaned as you leaned low to kiss her, Xaden's thrusts becoming more and more frequent. You stayed there, your chest pressed against hers as she pleasured herself with her free hand, the hand once pressed against you now moving to circle your waist. Your breasts bounced as Xaden fucked you, the movement small as your nipples pushed against Violet's.

"Oh Gods Y/N... you're fucking perfect," Xaden breathed, his grip on your ass firm as he pounded into you. You squealed in delight as his hips snapped against your butt, the light feeling of his balls spanking against your clit driving you wild.

Your attention was turned back to Violet as she gasped, the fingers she'd been working against herself finally bringing her to the brink of release.

"Oh Y/N..." she moaned prettily. "So pretty, baby -- you're gonna make me cum."

You grinned slyly at that, your teeth catching her bottom lip and nipping at it. She cried out, announcing her impending release.

Xaden groaned behind you as he pressed forward, ramming into you at a new, deeper angle. You cried out, the sensation bringing you closer and closer to the brink.

"Xaden... oh Gods, Xaden-"

"Cum for me baby," he insisted, his voice thick. "Cum all over me, please Y/N -- let me paint your walls white."

At that, you released, screaming as the built up tension finally clawed its way through. Violet panted heavily below you, her fingers running up and down your spine. Xaden followed soon after, calling your name as he came. The instant warmth filled you as he spurted cum deep within your pussy, gasping as he spilled every last drop.

Once he was sure he'd released everything, he collapsed on the bed beside you. Violet wiggled to lay on your other side, and you fell forward, lying comfortably on your stomach. You found Xaden's warm gaze first, his fucked-out expression gazing sidelong at you as though it held a million unsaid words.

You swallowed, preparing for the conversation you'd dreaded having. "I wanted to... apologize. I was way out of line-"

"You need to apologize for nothing," Xaden assured, reaching to brush your cheekbone with his fingertips. "We -- I -- was in the wrong today for speaking on your behalf without talking to you first. I shouldn't have done that." He said honestly. Violet piped up from your opposite side, and you turned to glance at her.

"No no no -- I should've thought before speaking. I was only thinking for myself, and truly just wanted your safety is all. I hadn't considered your opinion, or that it may be different, because I didn't ask you first." She admitted, ashamedly. You leaned in, kissing her cheek as you gave her an assuring look.

"I appreciate your concern for my safety -- you're always looking out for me, it's one of the things I love most about you."

Her cheeks pinkened before you turned, finding Xaden's eyes again.

"And, you always think so highly of me, and value my strengths as though they're your own -- that is one of the things I love most about you."

You leaned in to kiss his cheek, but he turned to catch your lips instead. You melted into him as his abs flexed beneath the weight of your ribs, and before you could think more of it you pulled yourself away slowly, smiling at the slow grin spreading across his face.

"We have a lot to discuss, that's for sure -- starting with what you want," he said softly. His mouth widened as he yawned, his arm stretching all the way until his hand slid beneath Violet's head. You took the memo and slotted yourself between the two of them, lying on your back as they both turned inward to cuddle you.

"Tomorrow, please -- for now, let's sleep," Violet said dreamily. You let out a soft yawn, following Xaden as you closed your eyes, nestled between both of their bodies.

"Sleep," you agreed groggily, beginning to drift off. "For now, lets just sleep."

✧･ﾟ: *

[detectivestucks2]

Mean, Rich, & Mine Pt.1

18+ content, Minors do NOT interact

Pairing: Frat Boy Sukuna x F!Reader

Warnings: bullying, degrading

Summary: The rich students at Calvary University frown upon the scholarship girl who doesn't come from money. However, Sukuna intends to make her pay for thinking she can come on campus and pretend to be one of them. What he doesn't expect is her reaction.

Art Credit: @innaillus

Word Count: 2.6k

Life as a scholarship student at Calvary University isn’t what you’d expect. At the elite school for the wealthy and well-bred, there’s no congratulations or respect for being a genius. Only the president cares that you aced all six entrance exams. Being smart enough someone’s willing to pay your share of tuition isn’t an achievement, in the eyes of the students, it’s a disgrace. Your tenure is full of painfully obvious signs that you don’t belong, like the car you drive or the brand of your backpack. You’re not some country club debutant, you’re the hard working daughter of a nurse. You have a part time job, a work study, and a perfect GPA. Those are your assets. 

And still every time you open your laptop in class, someone sneers at its make and model, but you… you pretend. You choose to ignore their ignorant scoffs, their sniggers and snorts. They’re just rich idiots. Rich connected assholes with jobs you’re twice as qualified for, already lined up after graduation. You’d kill to have those kind of connections… but again, you pretend. It’s all you can do to cope with being the black sheep of the campus. 

Some days it eats you up. Some days it doesn’t. But then there’s days like today where you get noticed by your crush for all the wrong reasons. He stands in the middle of the grassy mall. His nearly seven foot stature filled with bulking muscles, and skin painted in black tattoos. Even the lines of his face are emphasized by ink. Then there’s his messy pink hair and those red eyes. The contacts he wears are intimidating and oh so sexy. He’s the kind of man they write villain tales about; the kind that end in smut. Every time your good girl eyes land on him, your core clenches, wanting him to do terrible things to you. But now that he’s talking to you, you wish he’d never noticed you in your knock off chunky loafers and Levi jeans, and graphic tee crop top. 

“Hey charity girl” the unfairly hot pink-haired bad boy calls, “what’d you do to earn our payments towards this little charade?”

“Charade?”

“You know, pretending to be one of us.”

You shake your head upset that he’s no different than the rest, “I’m not here to be like you. I just wanted a really good education.” your words lose their volume as you speak, your eyes dropping to the ground.

“Sure, whatever you say. So how does this charity thing work? You dance or sing or sum’n and we pay you?”

“Wha-what? No! I’m just really good at school. It was an academic scholarship cause of my GPA and Entrance Exam scores.”

“What’r you sayin? You think we’re dumb or something?”

“No! Nothing like that. Look, I'm sorry to have bothered you. See you around.”

You know you have nothing to apologize for, you’re just trying to get away without a fight. Quickly, you bolt out of the situation, speed walking away before he can twist any more of your words. You know you never knew him, but your heart still thunders with heartbreak as you come to terms with the fact that even your crush will never view you as anything other than the poor girl. The one who infiltrated their campus and darkened their doorstep with her Sketchers shoes and Shein clothes. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you tell yourself to get it together. You’re here to learn, nothing more. These Calvary jerks will be a thing of the past in a few more semesters. Only three and a half to go. You’re more than halfway through, just a little longer.

You assume after your short encounter with your tattooed antihero, he’d forget about you. But he doesn’t let it go. Only a week later you pass Sukuna on the sidewalk. To avoid confrontation you begin to speed walk out of sight when you hear a faint “oh no you don’t” followed by the sound of someone jogging. Soon a heavy hand is placed on your shoulder, “Hey, Charity.”

“That’s not my name.”

“Doesn’t matter. Hey, you free this Saturday?” you press your lips together, feeling like a trap is being set. 

“Well, I was going to focus on my research project that day. Why?”

“I’m having a get together. You’re invited.”

“You’re serious?” disbelief knocks you off kilter. Is the sexy hunk in front of you actually trying to invite you to a party?

“Yeah, here’s my number, text me and I’ll send you the address.”

In spite of your foreboding that he’s probably just trying to fuck, later that evening you message him. Quickly, he sends you his address. You’re surprised by his eagerness. Only when you enter it into your phone is it revealed that it’s directions to a soup kitchen. 

Ha. Ha. Very funny. 

What? I thought it could be helpful. You know, since money’s tight. 

I’m blocking you. I don’t have time for your stupid games. 

Wait, I’ll give you my real address, the one to the frat house. Look it up. 

You enter the new address he gives. 

You check yet?

Yes, but idk what you want me to do with this. 

Come over. 

A treacherous part of your heart wants to do it. You want so badly for him to be extending an olive branch but you know he’s not. Someone like him has no business with someone like you.

I’m sorry, I can’t. I’m busy with school and I still have to go do my work-study hours. 

Work-study? What is that?

It’s when you work at the college in exchange for tuition assistance. 

Damn. You must be broke-broke. 

No, you’re just rich-rich and tuition here is insane.  Anyways, thanks for the invite but maybe some other time. 

For a few weeks, he left you alone. Yet, for some crazy reason, you kept checking your phone, a small part of you wishing he’d text you again. The stupid part of you did at least. But he let you be, abandoning you and leaving only the normal microaggressions to keep you company. However, less than a month later his name appears on your phone once more. 

Hey Charity

Still not my name

Come over. 

Why?

I need help with class

What’d your professor say?

And admit that I’m stupid? Hell no. 

Fine. Which class?

Just come over. 

I guess. When are you free?

Tonight. 

You check your schedule and your homework agenda before responding

I can squeeze you in but you really should talk to the professor. They tend to like students who reach out to them 

Nah, that’s embarrassing. I’d rather have a peer. Plus ur the one who said you’re good at school. Be here in 2 hours?

A heavy sigh pushes its way out of your chest.

Sure. 

Is it probably a bad idea? Sure. Is it possible that one of these assholes could be a decent human being? Dear gods, you hope so. 

You step up to the brick frat house fresh from your most recent lecture, textbook and laptop still in your bag, your chunky loafers toeing against the stoop of the kitchen’s’ back door. This is a bad idea, your gut knows it, but hope spurs you on. Your shaking fist raises and raps a quick knock against the door after you text Sukuna you’re here. 

It sounds loud inside. Certainly not an environment for studying. Then the door swings open and the smell of cigarettes, weed, and alcohol waft past the threshold. You cough while you wave your hand in front of your face. 

“This is where you live? How can you concentrate?”

He shrugs. “You get used to it. Why, you live in a public library or sumin’?” You scowl at him before he turns around and walks away. You assume you’re supposed to follow him so you step lightly into the house and close the door behind you. 

The place looks nothing like it smells. Your eyes oogle at the white kitchen with marble countertops and stainless steel appliances. The floors are black and white printed tiles, like what you see in the movies. There’s Corinthian columns framing the entrance to the living room where the floors switch over to hardwood. This frat house looks more like a governor’s mansion than a college student dwelling. Once you enter what looks like a parlor off the side of the living room, you see a group of men piled on various black leather couches surrounding a stripper pole. Disgust flares your nose. These men seriously go off to college and use their parents’ money to pay for strippers?

“What? You don’t like it?” Sukuna turns to look at you.

“Why would you even need that?” you say gesturing to the metal in the middle of the room.

“To help girls like you. You said you earn money for tuition by working for the college. We thought we’d offer you some employment for your ‘work-study’.”

Your jaw drops in outrage. “Are you serious?!”

“Hey Sukuna, is this that girl you were talking about?”

Your head snaps over to where three of the men stand up and stride over to you.

“Yeah, she’s not half bad.” one says, trying to take your backpack from you while the other sniffs your face. You rip away from them when the third snakes his arm around your waist and reaches up to grab your breast. You stomp on his foot and start backing away towards the kitchen.

“You fucking asshole! I work in the libraries and department offices! Not as a damn stripper for your amusement!”

“Why are you getting so bent out of shape, Charity?” He pretends like the question is innocent but his eyes gleam with mirth.

“Just fucking leave me alone!” You storm out of the house, tears streaming down your face. But before you pass their manicured lawn you make sure to block Sukuna’s number. The too-hot-for-his-own-good asshole is not going to bother you again. You will never come back here and you will never believe another word he says.

Meanwhile back at the house Sukuna’s laughing, enjoying how perfectly you took the bait.

“Damn, does being poor put a stick up your ass” his friend Mahito asks still sitting on the couch.

“Yeah, any of the other girls would’ve played along just to keep getting invited over here” Geto piles on, sinking back down in one of the leather chairs.

“That’s cause half the girls at this school have daddy issues. I bet her’s was never too busy with work to ignore his family” Sukuna mocks, waiving off your outrage as he takes a seat on one of the recliners among his buddies.

“Psh, fuck that. Daddy issues keep my bed warm,” the long-haired frat bro continues.

“Geto and his stage 5 clingers, no wonder you have so many.”

“What can I say? I like when they call me daddy.” he shrugs

Sukuna chuckles at Geto, still feeling smug about pulling one over on you. He enjoyed your attention more than he thought he would. Usually, when he fucks with girls it’s not this fun. Yet, part of him wishes you played along. There’s something hot about you, especially when you’re mad. You're small and petite with thick thighs and perfect tits hidden under your cheap clothes. If he could’ve gotten you half naked before pissing you off, he’d probably try to fuck you in front of the entire house. But you’d never allow that, you’re not like other girls. You have more dignity than these rich sluts and a fire that only comes from someone who worked for everything they have. All that might, contained in your little frame, makes him ache in a familiar way.

Later that night Sukuna’s lying in bed thinking of more ways to mess with you. He can’t seem to get you out of his head. Especially the way you yelled at him. The balls on you. He decided he wants more. Time for the next phase in his plan to get you into his bed. Surely a poor girl like you would do anything to be with someone rich like him. So in a classic move, he texts you

Hey, you up?

Only the blue iPhone bubble turns green. …She blocked me.

The next day you're traveling across campus, running from one class to the next, trying to make it to the math building on the other side of campus when a giant shadow appears behind you. Anger immediately flares in your chest, knowing who that shape belongs to. You come to a halt, spinning on your heel. 

“What do you want? You gonna try to hire me as a prostitute next?”

You almost miss the anger on his face before he spits his venom. “No one rejects me! Especially not some charity case.”

“So you’re pissed that I walked out on your little perverted party? You thought I should be grateful to you for insulting and demeaning me?!”

“Blocking my number was the wrong move, princess.”

“Oh, so I'm a princess now. Fuck off. Some of us are actually here to learn.”

You take a single step before his muscled hand grabs your bicep. Why does he care this much? You’re supposed to be for sport? Maybe it’s just the insult that a nobody like you would dare stand up to someone like him. “Don’t walk away from me.” he growls, not understanding his own anger.

“Watch me.” you bite back, your eyes narrowing. 

Shocked, Sukuna accidentally lets go. You seize the opportunity and stomp away so livid you can taste iron in your mouth from frustration. Still amazed that anyone, especially some nobody, would defy him like that, the herculean king of campus just stands there, watching your retreating figure. Part of him mad, part of him impressed, and most of him suddenly bored and ready to find a new toy. 

Months go by without a word from your ex-crush. Blocking him was definitely the right move as much as it hurts to look at your phone and really he’s one of the only people who texted you all semester. Fortunately, you also figured out how to avoid him by staying away from areas where Greek life likes to hang out. However, the dumb part of your brain is slightly sad that the powerful and fearsome Sukuna lost interest in you.

Then you think back to that day at the frat house and you can’t believe you ever liked that walking trash can. You guess the outside doesn’t always match the inside, but why does it have to look so damn appealing? His absence is for the best. He’d only destroy your life if he continued to be in it but, when the new spring term started the last thing you expected was for Ryomen Sukuna to walk into your chemistry lab. 

Fuck

Seeing him before he sees you, you discreetly tuck your head to the side, letting your long brown hair obscure your face. Your mind races, calculating how you’re going to navigate the semester without him realizing you’re there. However, minutes into the beginning of class, the TA reads off your lab partners for the semester and as fate would have it, yours is the polished turd himself. 

You glance across the room, mouth agape, to find a devious smile grinning back at you, his lips stretching ear to ear with his canines prominently on display…

“Everyone, go sit next to your partners!” the strong voice of your teacher’s assistant calls.

However, you’re glued to your seat. You can’t believe your rotten luck and watch in horror as Sukuna grabs his bag, slinging it over his shoulder, and walks towards you. The way his eyes pierce through the room and fixate on you makes you feel more like wounded prey as he wolfishly descends upon your lab table. Those red eyes never leaving your brown ones. 

He pulls out the stool next to yours and takes a seat, his gigantic frame shadowing your much smaller one even as you sit up straighter.

“Well, well, well, guess you’re forced to unblock my number now. Aren’t you, Charity?”

Masterlist I Chapter 2

[houseofaegon]

ENCHANTRESS ╱ BOB REYNOLDS SERIES

✷ ─── +18 MINORS DNI 𓏲  ◟ ♡ ˖ ࣪ trauma, vivid nightmares, grief, emotional vulnerability, tarot symbolism, magical possession, enchantress x void dynamic, heavy sexual tension (non-explicit), longing, mutual restraint, intimacy.

✷ ─── AUTHOR'S NOTE. things are escalating and i'm unwell. i love bob and arabella, their longing, their love, how they care for each other, i want that for myself and i want them so baddddd. may this love attack me ffrrrrr. i am a sucker for slow burns, so prepare to burn with me. thank you for reading, thank you for being here and cheering for this fic, and thank you for letting me be deeply unhinged and obsessed about these two broken people that i love so much. i hope you guys like this short chapter. more are coming, be ready. love always, bri.

✷ ─── ENCHANTRESS SERIES. chapter one: beauty in tragedy. chapter two: the devil you know. chapter three: the witch. chapter four: moonlit waters. chapter five: divine hunger. chapter six: to burn & be burned. chapter seven: of teeth & tenderness. chapter eight: bound by blood. chapter nine: ashes between us. chapter ten: salt in the wound. chapter eleven: blood moon. chapter twelve: whispers in the dark. chapter thirteen: the witch and the void.

Bob couldn't sleep.

Again.

He lay flat on his back, arms crossed over his chest, the room dark except for the sliver of moonlight slicing across the floor. His eyes were wide open. Staring at the ceiling. Breathing like he was afraid of making a sound. The sheets were twisted around his legs and the silence pressed in like a second skin. Something felt wrong. Too heavy. Too loud. Like static in his bloodstream. He didn’t know what he was waiting for, only that he was waiting. And then—it moved.

The Void didn’t speak often unless it wanted something. But tonight, its voice came without warning, curling through his skull like smoke and syrup, amused and hungry and knowing.

“She’s unraveling.”

Bob sat up too fast, breath caught in his throat. His hands were shaking and he didn’t know if it was his or if something inside him was pulling the strings again.

“She’s calling you. Not out loud, but it’s there. I can feel her. The pain. In her blood. In her magic. She’s having a nightmare. Go.”

He didn’t argue. He never did. He didn’t even bother with shoes—just threw on a hoodie, ran a hand through his hair, and stepped out into the hall barefoot, the air cold against his skin.

The tower was silent. No movement, no light, no sound.

Except one door.

Hers.

Closed.

But humming. Like it was holding its breath.

He didn’t knock at first. Just stood there, heart pounding, hand halfway raised, unsure of what waited on the other side. But the Void didn’t hesitate.

“She needs you. Let me see how she breaks.”

Bob ignored it. Lifted his hand.

And knocked.

Arabella was dreaming. Or maybe not. It felt too real, too vivid, too sharp at the edges, too heavy on her chest to feel anything but real.

The air was warm and golden and smelled like motor oil, machines, and fresh coffee. It smelled like home. The compound was alive—lights on, music playing low in the distance, voices floating in and out of the background. She was walking through the halls barefoot, laughing, holding a cup of tea in one hand and her boots in the other.

Steve passed her and nodded, smiling easily and real, and she felt the warmth bloom in her chest before she saw Tony—leaning against the railing, arms crossed, a crooked smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth. He said something she couldn’t quite hear, something about her not sleeping again, and she rolled her eyes and said she’d sleep when she was dead, and he laughed. Really laughed. It echoed through her ribs like a promise.

Then the light shifted.

The colors bled out of the room, everything fading to gray around the edges, and her mug slipped from her hand, shattered against the floor.

Her feet were wet.

Not with tea.

With blood.

And she looked up just in time to see the arc reactor dimming in Tony’s chest, his body crumpling forward, his mouth open like he was still trying to speak. Her hands were glowing. Her mouth full of ash. Steve turned away, his eyes cold and blank. Natasha’s laughter stopped mid-sound, and she was gone—just smoke in the doorway.

And Bucky—Bucky didn’t move at all. He stood in the hallway, staring at her like she was something he didn’t recognize. Something he didn’t want to.

She tried to move, but her legs were locked. She tried to scream, but her throat burned.

The fire caught fast, licking up the walls of the compound, eating everything she loved in waves. The floor cracked beneath her. Her hands sparked again, too bright, too hot, and the Enchantress stood behind her in the glass, smiling with a mouth full of teeth and power and blood.

Arabella reached out to stop it, to pull it all back, but her fingers burned when they touched the air, and the fire just kept going, and Tony’s voice rang out again—only this time it was twisted. Warped. He was saying her name, but it wasn’t his voice anymore.

It was her own.

She whispered “I’m sorry” but it didn’t matter. The world burned anyway.

She woke up choking.

Air ripped into her lungs like it had forgotten how to live there. Sweat poured down her spine, her night gown tangled around her body like a net. Her breathing was too loud. Her heart was a war drum. Her hands were shaking, and every candle in the room had burned low to its wick.

The tarot deck lay scattered in a rough half-circle around her, like it had been thrown. She didn’t remember reaching for it. Some cards were upside down. Some face up. The Tower. Death. The Lovers. The Hanged Man crossed them all like a warning.

The room buzzed. Her blood buzzed. Her magic was crawling just beneath her skin like it wanted out.

And then—

A knock.

Soft. Gentle.

Her head turned slowly toward the door. She didn’t know how long she’d been breathing like that, didn’t know how long her fingers had been curled into fists. She stood on shaking legs, stepped over the cards, barely registering the sting in her feet from the salt circle she’d broken.

She opened the door.

And there he was.

Barefoot. Hoodie half-zipped. Hair a mess like he’d woken up in a rush. Bob didn’t say anything at first, just stared at her with those wide, storm-soaked eyes like he knew. Like he felt it. Like he heard the scream still echoing in her chest.

“Are you okay?” he whispered.

She nodded. Too fast. Too practiced.

He frowned, took half a step closer. “Don’t lie to me,” he said, softer. “I felt you.”

Arabella didn’t answer. She just turned and walked back into the room. And Bob followed. Quiet. Careful.

And she let him.

The door clicked shut behind him, soft, and for a long moment he just stood there, breathing her in—sage, lavender, salt, and the lingering ache of magic.

Arabella sank to the floor without a word, folding herself down in the center of the scattered circle of tarot cards and candlelight like a girl worn thin by ghosts, like someone too used to falling apart alone.

Bob hesitated only a second before joining her, sitting across from her cross-legged, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hands resting lightly on his knees. He didn’t ask. He just watched her hands, still trembling, as she began to gather the cards slowly, gently, shuffling them with muscle memory rather than intent.

The candles hissed softly as the air shifted. Her hands moved through the deck like water—sure but quiet, slow but steady—and then she laid the cards down between them, one by one, turning them with care.

The Moon. Reversed. Fear. Illusion. Nightmares.

The Tower. Upright. Sudden collapse, breaking point.

Death. Upright. Not an end, but a transformation—one you don’t come back from the same.

The Lovers. Reversed. Desire unmet. Connection crossed. Unspoken longing, something you crave but can't touch.

And last, The Hanged Man. Surrender.

Arabella stared at the cards like they were speaking in a language only she could hear, her eyes scanning the shapes, the symbols, the meanings she already knew by heart but hated more each time they were confirmed. Her voice came quiet. “Do you ever have nightmares?”

He didn’t blink. “All the time.” Then, softer, his eyes not leaving hers, “But they’ve been quiet lately. Since you got here.”

She didn’t react, not at first, just stared at the cards like they might offer some answer she hadn’t already burned through.

“Mine never stopped,” she said eventually. “I see them all. Every night. Tony. Nat. Steve. Bucky. Sometimes alive. Sometimes bleeding. Sometimes it’s me that kills them. Sometimes I let them die. Sometimes I don’t feel anything at all.” Her voice caught, sharp and bitter, but she pushed through it. “Tonight, I was back in the compound. It was warm. Familiar. And then it started burning. Tony died again. Only this time—this time I didn’t try to stop it.”

Bob didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just listened, and in the silence between them, she kept going.

“The Enchantress was there too. In the mirror. Smiling. She didn’t do anything. She just watched.” Her hands had stopped shaking, but her eyes were wet. “It felt real. Like a warning. Like she’s getting stronger every time I pretend I’m fine.”

Bob’s voice was hoarse when it finally came. “Are you scared of her?”

Arabella’s eyes lifted to meet his. “No,” she said. Then, quieter, more honest, “I’m scared of what she’ll do to you.”

He didn’t flinch. “I’m not.”

“You should be.”

“I’ve seen monsters, Bella. I’ve been a monster. But none of them ever looked at me like she does.” His voice dropped. “None of them ever looked at me like they understood.”

Arabella reached for one of the cards, fingers dragging lightly over the face of The Lovers, still reversed, and for a second her hand trembled again. “I don’t know what to do with that,” she whispered. “I don’t know how to let someone see all of it and still want to be close to me.”

“You don’t have to know,” Bob said. “You just have to let me stay.”

She looked at him, candlelight flickering across her skin, eyes too soft, and said, “Just for tonight?”

And Bob nodded. “Just for tonight.”

They sat like that—knees almost touching, breath synced, the air charged with something too sacred to name. Bob looked at the cards again, then back to her. ���Can I ask you something?”

She nodded.

“That day. In the subway. When everything fell apart... she spoke to me. The Enchantress.”

Arabella stiffened. Her breath hitched. He could feel it. Like the air got colder. Like the room was suddenly listening.

“She didn’t say anything out loud, but I heard her. In my head. Like the Void does. She told him she saw the darkness in me. Said she wanted to taste it.” Bob’s voice was steady, but quiet. “And the Void replied. And she answered. Like they were... talking. Like they knew each other.”

Arabella’s heart slammed into her ribs.

Bob’s gaze didn’t leave hers. “No one’s ever been able to hear him before. Not like that. Not in my head.”

Inside her chest, the Enchantress stirred, stretching slow and satisfied.

“He’s letting us in,” she purred. “He’s opening the door. He wants to know how far we'll go.”

And in Bob’s head, the Void trembled.

“She’s listening,” it whispered. “She feels me. She hears me. And she doesn’t run.”

Arabella blinked at him. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I didn’t want to scare you,” Bob said. “But I think… maybe you’re the only one who wouldn’t be.”

Arabella exhaled slow, uneven. Her hand hovered over the last card still face-down, her fingertips trembling just slightly above it. She didn’t turn it over. Didn’t need to. It sat there between them like something half-alive, like a secret neither of them was ready to see. The air between them had thickened, heavy with unspoken things—fear, yes, but more than that. Longing. The kind of longing that wrapped itself around your throat and didn’t let go.

Bob stared at her fingers. At the way they trembled. At the way she never touched him, not even accidentally. He swallowed hard. “Why do you never touch me?”

Her head snapped up, startled by how quiet he’d said it—how gently. “What?”

“You never let yourself. Not even a brush. Not even by mistake.” His voice stayed low, full of something he didn’t know how to name. “Do you think she’ll hurt me? If you do?”

She looked away, down at her hands. At the cards. At the space between them that felt like a live wire, buzzing and electric and hungry. “I know she will,” she whispered. “And I don’t think I’ll be able to stop her.”

Her hands ached to touch him. To feel him. His skin

She should’ve stopped there. But the words came out anyway.

“I want to,” she said, voice breaking. “God, I want to. I want to touch you. I want to feel your hand on mine. I want to know what it’s like to be held without something inside me trying to tear it apart.”

Her throat burned. Her chest ached.

“My hands,” she whispered, looking down at them, “they’ve never just held. Not without consequence. Not without… taking something. And I don’t want to take anything from you.”

Bob didn’t respond at first, just looked at her hands like he could read the ghosts written across her skin. When he did speak, his voice was low, hushed—like he was afraid to scare her off. “But you’ve let Bucky touch you.”

It wasn’t a question, not really. She didn’t flinch. Just exhaled.

“Yes,” she said. “But that’s different. That’s Bucky. He’s… always known when to stop. When to pull back. He never reaches unless I reach first.” She paused, eyes still on her hands. “With Bucky, I let myself be small. That’s why it’s safe.”

Bob’s brow furrowed. “And with me?”

Arabella finally looked up. Her gaze locked with his, soft and bruised with exhaustion. “With you,” she said, “I want too much.”

The silence snapped taut between them.

“I want to reach out and not stop. I want to be touched like it means something. I want to feel. And that’s where it goes wrong. That’s where she starts listening.”

Bob’s breath hitched. “What if I touched you?” His words weren’t casual. They landed heavy, deliberate.

She froze.

The silence cracked. Split wide open. The Enchantress howled in her chest

"Yes. Yes. Let him. I want to feel the darkness inside him."

Arabella’s breath hitched. “Bob—”

“I mean just once,” he said. “Just your face. Just to see.”

And she couldn’t say no. Because she wanted it. So badly it hurt.

She nodded, barely.

And Bob reached out. Slow. Gentle. Like he was touching something holy. His fingers brushed the curve of her cheek—just once, soft and reverent.

The Enchantress exploded.

She purred, deep and vibrating in Arabella’s chest like thunder, sultry and electric and so awake. “He’s mine,” she moaned, hungry and hot, “I want to keep him—I want to feel everything he’s buried. I want to drink him.”

Arabella gasped. Her body jolted, eyes flying wide, light sparking at her fingertips. The magic flared so violently the last candle blew out, plunging the room into shadows that pulsed with her heartbeat.

Bob didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch.

He just watched her, his thumb still hovering near her cheekbone, like she hadn’t just summoned a goddess from the pit of her soul.

She pulled back—not far. Just enough.

Her voice trembled. “I told you.”

His hand dropped. But his eyes never left hers.

Inside his mind, the Void shivered.

“She’s tasting us,” it whispered, voice thick with want. “She wants inside. Let her in. I want to show her what we’ve become.”

Inside her, the Enchantress answered.

“He’s cracked open. I can see all of it. All that hurt. All that rage. And it’s beautiful. Let me keep him. Just for a night.”

Arabella looked away, trying to catch her breath, to contain the magic fizzing just beneath her skin. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she whispered, voice frayed. “You don’t know what it’s like—to feel that and have to lock it down. She’s louder now. She wants you. And I don’t know how long I can keep her caged.”

Bob’s voice was quiet. “Then don’t.”

Her head whipped toward him. “Bob—”

“Let her want me,” he said, still calm, still steady. “Let her scream. Let her reach. I won’t break.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” he said, leaning in just enough for her to feel it. “Because I know what it’s like. To live with something inside you that wants everything you’re afraid to ask for. I’ve been there. I am there.”

Arabella’s lips parted, but no sound came.

Bob looked down at the cards again. The Lovers. Still reversed. The Hanged Man, still crossed. “They’re always upside down,” he said. “But it doesn’t mean they’re wrong. Just… not ready.”

She swallowed hard, nodding, barely. Her voice cracked on the way out. “Thank you. For not running.”

“I’d never run from you.”

And somewhere in the space between them, thick with longing and fear and the ghosts of darkness that lived in their blood, the Enchantress smiled.

And the Void whispered.

“Next time… let us finish what we started.”

𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐅𝐀𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐍 © 2025. DO NOT STEAL, REPOST, OR COPY THIS STORY TO TUMBLR, WATTPAD, AO3, OR ANY OTHER PLATFORM. Moodboards and graphics made by @houseofaegon DO NOT repost or reuse without credit. chain divider by @cursed-carmine

♱ ˖ ࣪ . taglist: @the-a-word-2214 @favestxrboy @uraesthete @abbysbenchpr @sammystarswrite @pey2618 @qardasngan @lunaoieoie @orithyia-eriphyle @amatiswayland @madzzz6958 @all-by-myself98 @dark-silhouette @ghost-ghost-13 @wyvernthekriger @gayfiretruck @watermeezer @lvmxla @novausstuff @mommymilkers0526 @natureartisian @feralgoblinbabe @misaki-evans @uracowboylikemee @sxlsvv @stillinracooncity @deltamel @princess312 (if you would like to be added to the taglist, please let me know in the comments. love, bri.)

[uriwonu]

pretty, pity, pity (jww)

He loudly clears his throat. “So… you’re like a camgirl?”

You wince. “I prefer streamer with benefits, but yeah.”

the one where reader is a camgirl and asks her roommate to fuck her on stream.

౨ৎ roommate!wonwoo x cam girl! mc ౨ৎ w.c: 4.9k ౨ৎ genre: pwp. minors do not interact. ౨ৎ warnings: explicit content🔞, wonwoo's a little too good at playing pretend, also he's a little mean in this (during sex), sex on livestream, use of sir (like three times), mingyu is reader's friend, uhh i think that's it? please tell me if there's anything i missed im not good at this. ౨ৎ date posted: june 07, 2025 ౨ৎ notes: title from the song novacane by frank ocean! this is also my first fic on tumblr so please be nice to me i will cry okay. i haven't written fic in ages 😭 please come to my blog and hang out i want to make friends !! masterlist | inbox

“Hey, Wonwoo-yah,” you softly call, knuckles taping gently against his half-open door.

Wonwoo looks up from his desk, pausing his game and slipping his headphones down to hang around his neck. His brows lift in that quiet way he always greets you — surprised but gentle, like he’s glad you’re there. The light from the hallway outlines your silhouette, casting a soft glow behind you.

You step in slowly, hands twisted nervously in the sleeves of your oversized sweater. It's one of his, though you’ll never admit that out loud. Your fingers fidget in the fabric as you search for the right words.

Wonwoo tilts his head, “What’s up?” he asks gently prodding you to speak whatever is making you nervous.

You open your mouth, close it again, then finally manage, “I… have kind of a weird favor to ask.” You finally admit as you plop yourself down on his bed, grabbing one of his pillows to wrap your arms around it, a makeshift shield.

He leans back in his chair. “Yes.”

You blink, face contorting in astonishment. “You don’t even know what it is.”

He smiles, soft and sincere. “Doesn’t matter. I’d do anything for you.”

That makes your stomach flip, and you have to look away for a second. “That’s… really sweet. But you might want to hear it first. I need you to…” You suck in a breath and rush it all out: “Pretend to be my boyfriend.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Sorry?” he says, blinking like he didn’t hear you right.

You force yourself to slow down, squeezing his pillow for comfort — and not that you'd ever admit it, take a massive whiff of his cologne, something that always seems to calm you. “I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend.”

Wonwoo stares for a second, face blank in that quietly-processing-everything way of his. You can tell he’s trying to decide whether this is a prank, a cry for help, or some unspoken code he’s supposed to understand.

You let out a frustrated sigh and flop down on his bed, clutching his pillow tighter. “Okay. Context. Remember how I told you the pay from the studio isn’t amazing? Like, I love it, but it’s not really paying all my bills?”

Wonwoo nods, clearly still confused.

“Well, the pay is actually, really bad, like I don't make enough to cover my portion of the rent—”

Wonwoo cuts you off, “If you need me to pay more I can, it's really no problem, I just got a huge bonus for the—”

“No!” This time you interrupt, “I've got it covered, that's the point. I was complaining to a friend, and well she told me about this website…” Your words trail off giving Wonwoo a look like he's meant to use that big brain of his and fill in the blanks.

“You have a sugar daddy?” He guesses. God, for someone so smart he is also completely clueless.

“I'm a sex worker.” You admit, staring at him, waiting for his reaction.

There’s a very long silence. You wait for the judgment. The discomfort. Anything.

Wonwoo looks like he's trying to remember how to breathe,

“Uhm,” His voice is startlingly high when he speaks, in a way you've never heard, he clears his throat, “So someone you uhm…” you can see the tips of his ears going red, “had business with is being a creep so you need me to scare them off.”

You can't help the burst of laughter that bubbles out—Wonwoo? Intimidate anyone?

“No, no.” You shake you head, laughter still on your lips, “Look, I, I don't fuck any one. I'm a streamer, people pay to watch me, fuck myself, that is.”

You can feel the heat flushing to your face but at least Wonwoo isn't in better shape, the red has creeped its ways from the tips of his ears down his neck and touches his cheeks.

He loudly clears his throat. “So… you’re like a camgirl?”

You wince. “I prefer streamer with benefits, but yeah.”

“And… the fake boyfriend?”

You sigh, “I like started this false narrative around this boyfriend I had, so people wouldn't get too lost in the fantasy, because my friend shared all types of horror stories about doing this. And I guess I kind of just get myself off and tell them stories about this imaginary boyfriend I don't have and well on my last stream for reaching a fuckton of subscribers I said I'd do a request to the highest donation and well… they want my nonexistent boyfriend to fuck me. And I just, I can't ask anyone else because I can't even imagine how they would take it, like can you imagine if I asked Jihoon? That would be so embarassing. God, or Mingyu? He'd say yes but I don't think he's capable of having sex without catching feeli—

“I’ll do it.”

You slow down from your spiral, startled. “Really?”

Wonwoo nods, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Of course.”

౨ৎ

A few days later, you're at the kitchen table, half-draped over it in shame, while Mingyu sits across from you absolutely losing his mind.

“You—” he chokes out between wheezes, “you asked Wonwoo to fuck you. On camera. In front of an audience. I—god, I’m gonna pass out. This is the greatest day of my life.”

You groan into your arms. “Stop saying it like that.”

“Like what? Like the truth? Like the guy you’ve been crushing on since forever is going to dick you down live in front of thousands of horny strangers?”

“It’s not like that—”

“It is exactly like that,” he howls. “You asked your crush to clap you like a goddamn cymbal monkey for money. What is this, fanfiction?”

You glare at him, snatching the spoon from your tea and brandishing it like a knife. “I swear to god, if you don’t shut up, I will FaceTime Yuna right now and tell her exactly why you broke up with her.”

Mingyu pales instantly, hands in the air. “Okay. Truce. Fuck, Noona. Harsh.”

You slump back into your seat, pressing your fingers to your temples. “This sucks.”

“Correction,” he says smugly, “this is your origin story. You’ve been in love with him since he "fixed" your wifi, and now you're gonna get railed on stream by him. It's the slowest burn friends-to-lovers-to-livestream-fuck arc I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s not romantic,” you mutter, glaring into your cup like it might drown you.

“Really?” Mingyu raises a brow. “So you’re telling me you're going to let the guy you’ve been mentally undressing since 2022 fill you up on camera, and then what — fist bump and call it a night?”

You don’t answer.

He grins. “That’s what I thought.”

“…Shut the fuck up, Mingyu.”

౨ৎ

Friday.

Wonwoo walks into your room just as you're adjusting the camera angle and checking the lighting. He's wearing a simple black shirt, chain at his neck, hair slightly mussed like he just rolled out of bed looking unfairly perfect.

You swallow.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” he replies, then nods toward the bed. “You ready?”

Your heart is pounding. “Only if you are.”

He steps closer, eyes flicking over your outfit—an oversized sweater, one of his, and shorts so short you can barely see them—his Adam’s apple bobs slightly as he swallows.

“You look nice,” he says.

You force a laugh. “Thanks. You do too.”

That gets a real smile out of him, and your stomach flips.

You go live, and watch as the first messages roll in.

Your usuals, the ones who know you don't like to go right into.

You let yourself forget that Wonwoo's there as you fall into another version of yourself—slipping into the role like a second skin. Your eyes flicker across the screen reading the message until you find one worth responding to

tigersgaze: god i needed this, work deadlines are killing me. hope your week was better than mine.

“Aww, I'm sorry, tiger. I hope stream will help you relax.” You say leaning back, with the practiced ease of someone who's been doing this for ages.

angelface666: is this finally the stream where we meet the elusive boyfriend? mommyplease: show us your perfect tits please mommy? cumslut44: i like your sweater baby singledad95: please show me your cunt, i miss it so bad.

“Hmm, my boyfriend is here. Maybe if you're good I'll let you meet him.” There's an unspoken request in your words, and the viewers seem to get it clearly. The donations start flowing in.

You spentd a few more quiet moments just talking with your viewers, letting more people come in.

You glance to your left. He’s just out of frame, waiting. Calm. Cool. You reach out and tug him into view.

You know exactly the vision he looks on screen—his hair falls in his face, just brushing against the frames of his glasses, the sharp jawline. He sits beside you on the bed, one hand possessively on your thigh.

You watch as the chats roll in.

angelface666: oh. he's pretty. justherefory/n: god i know his dick is big. tigersgaze: i bet you look so pretty on him.

You can’t help but laugh softly. “You're right tiger, I do look pretty on him.”You slide closer to him, deliberately swinging a leg over his lap, your hips settling just against his. “They’ve been very curious about you,” you say it like it's a confession between lovers and not like it's your best friend simply playing a role.

Wonwoo’s fingers flex on your thigh. “I don't share well.” And you know he's playing his part but the truth in the statement makes you giggle, Wonwoo's never been good at sharing.

You shift your hips slightly in his lap, just enough friction to draw a sharp inhale from him.

You lean in, brushing lips against Wonwoo’s ear again.

“Ready to give them a show, baby?”

His reply?

A hand around your throat and a dangerous smile.

Wonwoo leans in. You tilt your head. And then his lips meet yours. It’s not for show. It’s not practiced.

It’s soft. Deep. Slow. Like he’s wanted to do this for a long time. You’re too breathless to keep pretending.

Your thighs clench involuntarily.

Wonwoo pulls back just far enough to brush his nose against yours. “Color?”

You blink, dazed. “Green,” you breathe.

He hums in approval, a low sound that rumbles in his chest and vibrates through you. His hand slips lower, fingers tracing the hem of your shorts, and your pulse spikes.

You look back at the chat to distract yourself.

facefucker29: hurry up and fuck already dirtywhitetee: i knew you'd look pretty with a hand around your throat y/nsdirtylittleslut: i want him to make a mess of you mommyplease: that should be me mommy i'd treat your so well

You gasp a little when his hand sneaks beneath the fabric and settles possessively on your thigh. He doesn’t move further — not yet — but the message is clear: mine.

He leans in again, lips ghosting over your ear. “You’re doing so well for me,” he whispers, just loud enough for the mic to catch. “You want me to keep going?”

You nod. Then realize they can’t see that, and breathe out, “Yes. Please.”

His laugh is low and dark. “Then beg.”

The room spins. You forgot you asked for this. You forgot you wanted him to play rough — like the dominant boyfriend your viewers fantasized about. You forgot that Wonwoo could look at you like that — hooded gaze, parted lips, one hand gripping your thigh, the other loose around your neck like he owns every inch of you.

“I said—” his voice dips, something low that has you clenching around nothing, his grip on your throat just the slightest bit tighter, “—beg.”

You almost forget the camera is even there.

“Please, Wonwoo,” you whisper, and it’s more than a performance now. “Touch me. I need you to.”

He pats your thigh gently. “Good girl.”

The words hit you like a freight train. You whimper, openly this time.

Your eyes shift back to the chat again, trying not to get lost in him—a small part of you fears it's already too late.

singledad65: i knew you'd make such a pretty sub. what a pretty mess already

tigersgaze: fuck i'm so hard already. wanna see you choking on his cock baby.

mommyplease: mommy show us your tits please please please i'm so hard.

Wonwoo shifts slightly, demanding your attention, enough for his knee to knock your legs apart, spreading them just enough for the camera to catch view of the blooming wet spot on your cotton shorts.

You feel dizzy. You’re wet — obviously, hopelessly wet — and every part of you is pulsing, aching, desperate for more. You don’t even care about the stream anymore. You only care about him.

And then, without warning, he grabs your wrists and pins them gently above your head, pushing you back onto the bed.

It’s not rough — not really. Just firm enough to make your whole body light up.

“Keep your hands right there,” he says, voice like velvet-wrapped steel. “Let me take care of you.”

You nod helplessly. “Yes, Won-.” you gulp stopping yourself from saying his name aloud. You never discussed if he was okay with his name being used on stream.

He kisses down your neck, slow and deliberate, pausing just above your collarbone as his fingers graze the curve of your waist.

You can't imagine how you must look on camera right now, the image of you splayed out just for him. You almost whimper at the thought, your hips rolling up to chase friction.

But before anything else can happen, he pauses.

Pulls back just slightly. Meets your eyes.

“This okay?” he asks, quietly this time. “You sure?”

Your heart clenches.

God. Even now, with your legs spread and your body shaking and the camera still rolling, he’s checking in.

“I’m sure,” you whisper. “I trust you.”

His smile is soft. And just like that, you're ruined all over again.

“Good.” Wonwoo kisses you again — deep, filthy, and completely in control.

Your hands twitch against the pillow beneath your head, instinct screaming at you to touch him, to grab his shoulders, tangle your fingers in his hair, something — but but the larger part of you is begging you to listen, to be rewarded for being a good girl.

“You stay right there,” he murmurs. “You take what I give you.”

You nod, panting. “Yes, W-sir.”

His free hand slides slowly beneath the hem of your sweater, palm splaying flat over your stomach. He doesn’t move higher. Not yet. He waits — lets the silence stretch until your back arches off the mattress and your hips squirm beneath him.

And then he laughs, low and mean. Almost cruel, if not for the affection in his eyes.

“You’re already so needy,” he taunts. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”

His thumb brushes your bottom lip. You suck it in instinctively and the growl that slips from his throat makes your thighs clamp together.

He sees it. Of course he does.

"Open."

You do. Without question.

He pushes his thumb between your lips, slow and steady, eyes fixed on your face the whole time. You swirl your tongue around it, moaning as you suck, and the flash in his eyes makes your whole body light up like a warning sign.

He pulls his thumb free with a wet pop, then brings it down between your legs, slipping it just inside the waistband of your shorts — not enough to touch you, but enough to make your hips buck toward him.

"You're gonna be good and cum for me like this," he murmurs. "Still wearing your pretty little shorts. Think you can do that?"

“I—yeah,” you pant. “I can.”

“Good girl.”

The two words hit harder than any touch. Your whole body clenches at the sound of it. He starts to rub, slow firm circles over your panties, and your head drops back against the bed.

You’re so wet it’s humiliating. You can feel the damp fabric clinging to you, feel the friction sparking with every motion of his fingers — and you dig your nails into into your palms to keep yourself from reaching out for him.

You’re moaning now, high and choked, not even bothering to hold it in. You can’t. His voice, his hand, his weight on top of yo —it’s all too much.

“Keep your hands up,” he growls, and there’s no mistaking the real edge in his voice now. “You want to cum? You earn it.”

You nod, frantic. “Yes, yes, please—”

“You don’t get to cum until I say so.”

“Sir—!”

He presses harder. You cry out, thighs trembling, hips jerking uselessly as he works you faster. Your breathing is ragged. You’re so close it hurts.

And then—

He stops.

Your eyes fly open.

“Wonwoo—!” You cry out in shock, not even pausing to think about using his name, the nager clear in your tone.

“Shh,” he soothes, lips brushing your cheek. “You’ll get it. But first…”

His hands slip beneath your sweater, and this time he doesn't hesitate. He pushes it up, exposing your bare chest to the camera.

You had honestly forgotten about the stream—about the chat, and clearly they had noticed. Your eyes rake the comments:

singledad95: poor baby she's gone already dacefucker69: fuck i'm gonna cum. mommyplease: thank you daddy, look at mommy's perfect tits. can i cum please? tigersgaze: god i think she forgot about us, but i don't care you look so good like this baby

You gasp. You should feel embarrassed, but you’re so deep into this you don’t even care. You just want his hands back on you.

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything at first. Just stares. His lips part slightly. There’s something reverent in the way his gaze drags across your skin.

Then he looks up — into the lens. Into the eyes of everyone watching.

“She’s mine,” he says, voice low and lethal. “You can look, but you don’t get to touch. Ever.”

Then he looks down again, and he smiles — slow, devastating, like a man who knows exactly how fucked you are.

“Now beg again, baby. Real pretty for the camera.”

You choke on your own breath.

“Please, Wonwoo,” you whisper. “I need to cum. I—I need you so bad, please, I’ll be good, I swear.”

His hand slips back between your legs.

And this time, he doesn’t stop.

You don’t know if you’re begging in words anymore or just making sounds — the kind of half-choked whines you never thought would leave your mouth outside of your most desperate dreams.

And he’s still touching you, still working tight, devastating circles against your clit through the soaked fabric of your panties. Your hips buck wildly beneath him, your legs trying to close, but his free hand pins your thigh open with ease.

“Don’t fight it,” he murmurs. “You wanted to cum so bad—so do it. Cum for me, just like this. Let them all watch how sweet you sound when I ruin you.”

You gasp, a high-pitched sob, and your fingers claw into the sheets beside your head, straining to obey his earlier command to keep your hands to yourself. You're on fire, every muscle drawn tight and twitching, a livewire underneath his touch.

“You're so wet," Wonwoo growls. "You really were gonna cum for me in your shorts like a little slut, huh?”

Your whimper is confirmation enough. Your body is spiraling out of your control now.

And then he leans in — mouth brushing your ear, voice so low it’s filthy.

“I'm not even inside you yet and you're already a fucking mess.”

Something in you snaps.

Your mouth drops open in a silent scream as your orgasm slams into you. Your thighs shake, your breath catches, and your entire body locks up beneath him as he works you through it, never slowing down — rubbing mercilessly until you’re twitching and gasping and trying to twist away from his hand.

But he doesn’t let you go.

“Oh no, no, baby,” he coos, voice suddenly cruel again, deceptively sweet. “You can cum more than that.”

“Wonwoo—” you plead, voice broken.

“You’re gonna cum again. For them,” he says, nodding toward the camera, “and for me.”

Your body is oversensitive now but his hand doesn’t stop. It changes. Slower now, deeper pressure, coaxing you through the aftershocks.

You try to speak. It’s just a stuttering, useless gasp of air.

“Come on,” he says gently now. “One more. Be good.”

And then he bites you, open mouth, right over your collarbone, and that's all it takes for you to fall apart.

The second orgasm crashes over you before you’re fully recovered from the first. It drags a low moan from your lips this time, ragged and raw, and you sob out his name like a prayer as your body convulses underneath him.

Your vision goes blurry for a second.

The only thing anchoring you is the press of his hand between your thighs and the sound of his voice — murmuring quiet praises you’re barely coherent enough to understand.

“Just like that. That’s my girl.”

And you're just coming down from the last waves of your orgasm when Wonwoo shifts you, until you're once again his lap, laying with your back against to his chest, your legs hooked on both sides of his thighs, he pushes your shorts down and off. He removes your sweater too, you're completely bare, body flushed and looking all too fucked out and he hasn't even fucked you yet. Exposed and bare on his till clothed form.

You don’t even notice the camera at first.

He turns his gaze to the camera and smiles. He smirks, really — eyes heavy-lidded, lazy with satisfaction.

You're too fucked out to really pay attention, he says, “If you want more, you know what to do.”

The dings of incoming donations flood the room, one after another until Wonwoo is seemingly satisfied.

He trails a finger up your thigh, playing with your dripping pussy. He looks at the chat for confirmation, you try to, too, eyes still unfocused from pleasure as his fingers tease your core.

“You're so dirty baby, I haven't even got my fingers in you yet and you're dripping.” A sharp whine leaves your lips at his words. His finger teases your opening, before pulling away to brush lightly against your abused clit.

"Tell me, what do you want? Do you want me to touch you here?" He pauses, his breath warm on your skin as he whispers near in your ear, "Or maybe somewhere else?"

His hand slowly moves upwards, caressing your stomach, then higher to cup one of your breasts. He squeezes softly, feeling the weight and shape of it in his palm, brushing a finger against a peaked nipple. “Use your words, baby.”

“Wonwoo,” You whine, rocking your hips softly, feeling his cock, thick and hard beneath you, you feel oh so empty, “Please.”

Wonwoo slowly pushes a finger inside you, he groans softly, the sound vibrating against your skin as he continues to place gentle kisses along your neck and collarbone. "Mmm, so tight," he murmurs, slowly pumping his finger in and out, building a steady rhythm.

With his free hand, he reaches up to tangle his fingers in your hair, and pulls, hard enough to sting. He trails his lips over the sensitive skin, nipping and sucking gently as he works another finger into your slick heat, stretching you out.

"Does that feel good?" he asks, his voice rough with need. "Do you like having my fingers inside you, stretching you open?"

You nod, mouth open in a moan—you're so lost in your own world, in the pleasure, it's easy to forget that this is all for show, that this moment is just an act and Wonwoo isn't yours. But in this moment he is.

“More, please.” You whine rocking your hips, simultaneously grinding down on his clothed cock and against his fingers inside you.

His fingers fuck into you with a purpose until—“Ahhh” you moan, shaking, when he pushes against your g-spot with a determined persistence.

His eyes go sharp again as he stares down the camera, he's staking his claim. You're his.

“What do you think? Should I make her cum again like this?” He asks, a smirk on his lips as he stills his hand, you rock your hips shamelessly chasinging your release.

“Wonwoo please please please please please.” A litany of pleas leave your lips, tears nearly forming in your eyes. You're so close you can taste it.

“Don't ask me, baby.” He chuckles low and deep, unbelievably sexy. “Ask them.”

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the viewfinder, fucked out, a mess, eyes heavy lidded. You look debauched, and pretty.

“I want to cum,” Your voice is raw from all the moaning, your lips are plump from biting on them, you look the very essence of sin, “please.”

The chat explodes with tips and that seems to be enough for Wonwoo.

He kisses you like he owns you.

And maybe, in this moment, he does. The way he’s touching you says it — the way he’s holding your hips down, dragging his fingers up your thigh, says it. You can feel the tip of his cock brushing against your entrance — you hadn't even noticed he'd pulled it out of his sweatpants, and it’s not even in yet but your body is already begging.

“Ready?” he murmurs low against your throat, lips brushing your skin like a tease.

You nod, wordless. Already wrecked, slick and throbbing under him, your thighs trembling with every shallow breath.

“Words,” he reminds you, and you feel the tip press just slightly inside.

“Yes. Yes, Wonwoo, please.”

He groans like he’s been waiting to hear that all night. “Good girl.”

And then he pushes in.

Your gasp catches high in your throat, nails clawing at the sheets beneath you as he splits you open, inch by inch, his hips slow and deliberate. He’s thick, the stretch almost too much—almost, but then he bottoms out, presses flush against your body, and you swear you see white.

Wonwoo pauses there, buried inside you. His voice is a low growl when he speaks.

“Let them see you like this,” he says, staring down the camera with a smirk. “Stuffed full of me.”

You don’t even care that they’re watching. Not when he starts to move.

His thrusts are deep from the start, slow at first, but with that tight rhythm that makes your brain melt. One of his hand wraps around your throat, thumb resting just under your jaw, and the contact makes your whole body tense beneath him. The other steady on your hip, moving you like a ragdoll, his personal fuck toy as he lifts you up and down on his lap, meeting his every thrust.

“You like that?” he says, almost mockingly sweet. “Getting fucked in front of a live audience?”

“Wonwoo—” you gasp, already spiraling.

“You’re taking me so well,” he praises. “Look at that. So tight. So fucking wet.”

Each thrust punches a little sound out of you, his cock hitting that sweet spot over and over, and when he pulls your hips down to meet his, the slick slap of skin echoes off the walls. You don't even try to stop the sounds falling from your lips anymore—you're beyond pride, beyond shame.

“Gonna cum already?” he teases, kissing along your jaw, grinding deep. “Not even halfway done with you, baby.”

“I—I can’t—” you whimper.

“Yes, you can,” he growls. “You’re gonna cum around my cock like a good girl.”

The orgasm builds fast, your body tight, trembling, every muscle locking up as you struggle to hold back. But his voice is right in your ear, coaxing you through it.

“Let them watch you fall apart for me,” he whispers. “Now. Be good. Cum.”

You shatter.

It’s too much. Your vision goes white, your body clamps tight around him, and your orgasm tears through you like a storm. You cry out, maybe even sob his name, but it’s all blurred in the wave of pleasure. You can’t think, can’t breathe.

Wonwoo groans low in his throat as you tighten around him, and it’s like a switch flips. His hips snap into yours harder now, faster. His grip on your throat tightens as he chases his own release.

“You feel too fucking good,” he hisses, fucking into you like he’s about to lose control. “So perfect. Gonna cum inside you. Fill you up. You want that?”

You nod frantically, barely coherent, and that’s all he needs.

He slams in once more and holds there, hips pressed hard against you as his body trembles, his breath catching in a deep, guttural groan. You feel the heat of it, the way he pulses inside you, and it only makes your body twitch around him again.

Silence.

Except for your ragged breathing, the camera still rolling in the background, and the sound of his heartbeat thudding against your chest.

Wonwoo finally exhales.

He gently eases out of you, hand trailing softly down your thigh, and your body gives a full-body twitch—overstimulated and still shaking.

Your eyes meet his, no teasing now. Just something real.

The camera light is still on.

He gives it a final look, then leans forward, and with the same casual dominance as before, clicks it off.

Then he looks back down at you. Smirking. But softer now.

“You okay?” he asks quietly.

You nod.

But your voice is hoarse when you whisper back, “Yeah. But that didn’t feel fake.”

He just brushes the damp hair from your cheek and says, “Because it wasn’t.”

[m3chanical-s0ul]

TRIGGER WARNING MECHANICAL GORE!!!

@noti-mportant @lame-zany you two wanted to see the wip but...this is the full thing

Idk what to title it but yeah random fanfic based on my favorite mind headcanon

It was quiet. Too quiet. Soul narrowed his eyes as he paraded the halls, his boots thumping against the very stable wooden stairs. He was faced with three rooms. One to his left, untouched. The middle one was his, but he barely used it. The one on the right was plastered with stickers and signs, one he could make out reading "Hearts room! No Minds allowed!"

Soul shook his head. How childish, he scolded in his head. How unnecessary. He could hear a faint humming coming from Heart's room to his right. He wasn't surprised by this. What he was surprised by was the lack of fighting.

He gently knocked on Heart's door, careful not to knock any signs down. He knew Heart didn't like unexpected intruders. "Hold on-" he heard, muffled from inside the room.

He watched the door open to Heart's cozy room. He could barely see inside due to the dim lighting, the curtains blocking out the sun from outside and most of the lights turned off. "It's me," Soul announced, staring down at Heart. He watched a few emotions cross Hearts face- happiness (from the fact that it wasn't Mind), fear (from how scary Soul could be), before ending on a particularly blank face, not showing any emotion yet speaking a thousand words by masking.

"What do you want?" The bitterness in his voice didn't go unnoticed by Soul, who scoffed. "Just wanted to ask if you've seen Mind. It's quiet."

"No, I haven't seen him." Heart crossed his arms, looking to the side suspiciously. But Soul knew this was Heart's normal state. The suspicious tone of voice, the small guilt in his face. "He's probably in his room doing Harmonia-knows-what," He added, gesturing with his hands towards Mind's door...or at least the general direction of it.

"That's the place I was going to check next, yes," Soul murmured back, his head turning towards the eerily quiet hall. "Did he do anything before...presumably entering his room?"

"Why?"

"Just wanting to know what I'm dealing with here." Soul rolled his eyes at Heart's stubbornness. "Just a simple yes or no answer. I'm not going to punish you."

"Again," was muttered under the other's breath, but he sighed and gave in. "He seemed pretty...annoyed. Like any little thing could make him explode like a living bomb." He raised an eyebrow. "Can he explode? That would be nice."

How childish. "He's not gonna explode." Soul pushed himself off the doorframe, shaking his head. "Whatever. You can go back to whatever you were doing, I guess."

"Hmph."

I swear to Harmonia if it's this bullshit again...

He gently tapped his knuckles against Mind’s door. “Mind? Are you there?” There was no answer. He tried the pristine, golden colored handle- it was locked. It was only locked if Mind had something to hide, or if he was about to make a particularly dumb decision. “I know you’re in there, Apollo,” he scoffed. “Unlock the door.” Soul waited a few seconds before scoffing and digging out the barely touched keys in his pocket. Due to being, well, him...he had keys to every room in this house. Magically.

The keys were rusted and different colors. The three that stood out were gold, silver, and a dark metal he never identified. Each of them had unique engravings for the doors they unlocked. The first one had random perfectly straight lines that ran with a hint of blue across the shimmering surface, the second one had blotches of pure black that reflected his own eyes, and the third had carefully constructed curls that reminded him of vines, and shone a midnight purple. He plucked the golden one out, slowly jamming it into the keyhole in front of him and turning it quickly.

He had no patience left.

He pushed open the door with his foot, the black leather forcing it open once it was unlocked. The lights were blaringly light, the sun just outside the window parallel to the door. Mind’s room was neat, with a workshop desk pushed against the left wall, and his extravagant bed laid in the middle. Soul had no time to study his room as he noticed a lump of white and blue on the bed.

God damn it.

Soul let out a tired, long drawn out sigh as he approached the figure on the bed. He was met with leaden eyes staring back at him, the absence of pupils as chilling as ever. He was also met with quite the mess.

Mind was in a pool of oil, his chest piece ripped out forcefully. Screws and wires were all over the place, thrown about and mixed together. A lot of wires seemed to be hot red at the tip, as if somebody had tried melding them together, or melting them apart. The sheets underneath Mind were stained black by the oil. He glanced around for Mind’s chest piece, finding it on the floor a few feet away from the bed. He picked it up, inspecting a few of the dents.

He placed the sheet of metal down on the desk, walking up closer to Mind. Peering inside the open chest cavity, it was even more of a mess inside than outside. Wires were ripped apart from each other, in tangles or just outright missing. The faux heart that Mind had, the thing that kept him alive, had scratch marks and it looked as if someone was trying to rip it out forcefully.

He sat on the bed, careful to avoid the puddles of oil.

“Again, huh?”

Soul made a popping noise with his mouth to fill the silent response Mind gave him. That was all Mind could give right now. He messed with his gloves and sleeves, barely sparing the lump of a barely alive Mind a glance.

“I really thought you were better,” he added in a quiet murmur, shaking his head shamefully. “This has happened one too many times. Aren’t you supposed to be the smart one?” He leaned over, pressing a pale finger to Mind’s nose and clicking his tongue. “Mister ‘My logic is the absolute’.” He let Mind sit- or lay- with his words for a minute or so before reaching over. He knew those words would get into Mind’s head. He was predictable, after all.

“Alright. Let’s get you up and fixed, big guy.”

He lifted Mind with relative ease, carrying him to the workbench and laying him on it.

“I’m not cleaning up that mess,” He pointedly gestured towards Mind’s bed as if he could respond. “Just so you know.” He pulled the tools out of the drawer, feeling the weight of the metallic tools in his hands before putting them down slowly and carefully. It was now quiet with Soul focusing on working.

He ripped out some of the already damaged wires, causing the automaton to jolt. A thought crossed Soul’s mind at the first reaction. Maybe I should turn off his nervous system. He thought for a second, before shrugging physically. Nah. Teach him a little lesson. He grabbed the replacement wires, carefully inserting them.

Next, he worked on the lost oil. It was basically the substitute of blood in this case. He grabbed the can on the side of the desk. It was almost empty- he’d have to bug Mind to get some more, or else he would have to stay like this next time, if he did this again.

When he did this again.

It took Soul a good few hours, working until the sun went down to at least get Mind working again. He sat back, content but annoyed to be wasting time, the same time Mind sat up. He flexed his fingers, one of his hands going to clutch his chest. “Don’t do that-” Soul interjected, swatting Mind’s hand away from the open cavity. “It’s not finished yet, you’ll make it worse.”

Mind glared at him. “I know what I’m doing,” his deep, mechanical voice rang out. “I’m not an idiot.”

“You are sometimes.”

“Fuck off.”

Soul crossed his arms. He was expecting a different set of two words, preferably of gratitude. Mind mimicked him, crossing his arms as well. They were staring at each other, waiting for the other to either give in or give up.

“Fine,” Mind scoffed. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

[kazutteoks]

GO FOR IT! 𝜗𝜚 ; 18. year is over and we're still the same (1.09k wc)

the one were heeseung and you have been rivals since you started hogwarts, and only takes one event that will turn your world upside down to realize what heeseung's presence in your life truly means for you. you have to do something! you just have to go for it!

pairing: ravenclaw prefect!lee heeseung x ravenclaw prefect f!reader

a/n: taglist open! lmk if you want to be added!

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⋆. 𐙚 ₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ °. ₊˚⊹

ℋogsmeade station is full of children, teenagers, and recent graduates who have now become adults. there's an air of liberation around, of freedom, of joy, and at the same time nostalgia and sadness.

it's exactly the same every year, but this time y/n and her friends experience it differently.

“i'm going to miss you guys so much!! life is going to be so weird without you around!” says keeho as he squeezes yunah in a suffocating hug. contrary to what everyone thought since they were always fighting, the girl was hugging him as if her life depended on it, babbling and crying non-stop.

“will suck having to beat all those slytherins now that you're leaving. was always easy but, you know, now will be even more easy” wonhee murmurs next to beomgyu. reality is, anyone could notice her red and irritated eyes from crying so much all afternoon. and the fact she hadn't left beomgyu's side since they left the castle spoke volumes more than her attempt to appear nonchalant.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⋆. 𐙚 ˚ - read more undercut! ˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ ₊

“i'm sure you will... ah, seems like an amazing day to get you back into the groupchat, doesn't it?” but beomgyu wasn't any better. hiccuping every five seconds, holding back the soobs that begged to come out of his throat loudly.

and speaking of soobs, while wonhee was heard shouting “finally!”, soobin was being hugged by dongmin, wonyoung and y/n at the same time. he tries to comfort them because they couldn't stop crying since the day started. “shshsh, it's okay guys, we're not dying!” something really funny was seeing everyone with tears in their eyes. even gyuvin, who never showed his affection was crying before asking for a 'time out' to go wash his face.

but the only one laughing completely happy with no sign of tears, was soobin, someone everyone expected to see cry inconsolably like a damsel in distress.

he was in fact having the time of his life.

“a-are you sure you don't want to do your internship here at hogwarts?” wonyoung asks, stepping back a little to look at him with a pouty face.

“wonyo i love you, but hell no!” the boy laughs as if it were the best joke he'd ever heard. “i'm finally free! fucking peeves will never see me again! this is actually the best day of my life!” far from comforting those three, they begin to cry louder, insulting the ghost between stutters.

“okay, came back to my senses, stop the drama. we'll continue to see these three— they'll literally move into snow and wonyo's neighborhood together and will come see us every time we go to hogsmeade. they're not dying.” gyuvin begins to separate the three crybabies from the tallest one. he mentally swears if anyone mentions anything about his puffy eyes he'll kick some asses. “plus, next year we're also graduating and moving near them too!”

keeho and yunah complains when they are forcibly separated. “let us have this! i deserve it after nearly frying my brain for those damn newt exams!”

“i didn't even cry for my brother when he graduated and now he lives in the fucking romania. you guys move nearby and have me here crying like a bitch. i've had enough.” everyone starts laughing at gyuvin's statement and they finally start to relax when the train arrives.

all of them starts to get on and finally, when only wonyoung and y/n remain outside, she stops the black-haired girl. “uh wonyo? i'll be with you in a sec.” y/n says without moving from her place, trying to act calm.

wonyoung giggles covering her mouth with her hand and nods. “just don't take too long.” and with a wink she finishes getting on the train.

y/n sighs letting out all the air contained in her lungs, beginning to search around for a certain someone without success. her stomach turns after a couple of minutes, thinking maybe he is already on the train.

“looking for someone?” the voice near her ear makes her jump for two reasons: the unexpected voice behind her, and the unexpected voice behind her she already knows perfectly well, too close to her.

so close she can smell that same scent of chocolate, books, new parchment and ink she smelled during her final potions project.

y/n turns her head just a little, meeting those big eyes that always looked at her attentively, at her, only at her.

“hey... you're still here.” y/n does everything in her power to pretend her heart wasn't about to burst out of her chest.

“i was... busy with something” he lets out a laugh that sounds more like a cough. “ready to go home?” he asks, finally standing next to the girl, where she could see him completely and breathe normally again.

y/n nods softly after a few seconds. “yeah, i think so...”

heeseung smiles. “i know we talked about this last week, but i think it doesn't hurt to ask again... are you feeling better?”

“you worry too much, you know?” she laughs, looking at the floor, flustered. “but yes, i'm fine now... in the end you were right, i gave a lot of my mind to something wasn't worth it. look at us now, nothing i feared really happened... year is over and we're still the same.” last thing comes out of her throat with an uncertain taste, as if she were trying to assure herself before him.

he looks at y/n for a few long seconds with eyes full of warmth and understanding. “are you sure we're still the same?” he asks after what seemed like hours and she finally looks up.

“...just better.” she whispers after swallowing hard.

maybe deep down she knew he was asking that in a different context, but for now she preferred to leave things that way.

you'll figure it out y/n, just not NOW.

heeseung laughs under his breath, as if he had expected such a response, but he doesn't look bothered, not at all, never for her “sure we are.”

before either of them can say anything else, the train begins to smoke, signaling it's time to board and finally depart.

“well, see you next year, head boy.” y/n smiles, gently hitting his shoulder with her fist.

she climbs the first steps of the train before turning to look at him one last time and wave softly.

“until then, head girl” he waves back at her with a smile.

both wishing deep inside september 1st would come quickly.

prev | masterlist | next

a/n: just wanted to say this comeback has literally left me flabbergasted, i have no words so i'll just say: stream desire unleash thank you very much amen etc etc 🙏🏻🙂‍↕️

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[rivereverie]

I also think that fundamentally, the concept of "fixing someone" disregards their own autonomy and the (sometimes very hard) choices they make. No matter how much love and support you give someone, they're not going to change unless they choose to. And you cannot make that choice for them. This is what Astarion's story is all about. The PC influences his choices in that they show him that there is another way than the one he has lived for 200 years; they don't tell him what to do or counsel him. They stand there by his side during the hardest moment of his life and say I'm here, there is another way, and you can be something more. You can't change someone, and it's not your place to, no matter how well-meaning. All you can do is point out a better path, offer your hand, and walk with them into that brighter future. But they are the only one who can take each step. Astarion chooses to take your hand, time and again. Every time he's vulnerable. Every time he cares about another person. When he refuses Ascension. When he frees all those spawn. He stumbles and second-guesses all the time, looking longingly into the darkness behind him, but he keeps taking the next step. Always the next. Just as likely is a story where you give someone all the love and support in the world and they just... continue in their toxic ways. I'm sure we all know someone like that in real life. But Astarion is different because, like OP said, a part of him already cares, to a degree. He can be reached. If no part of him wanted to be better, then no amount of kindness would change his mind. When Astarion is given a safe place to exist, the softer sides of him come out naturally, and he reaches out on his own. I love how Astarion's spawn ending doesn't show him becoming a completely different person, even if everything has changed. He's not a soft, harmless kitten. He still has fangs, so to speak, and he's only just begun his healing journey. What the PC does in this story is offer Astarion a safe place beside them, support, and understanding. It's patience as a form of love, and I adore how their story is told. We as people do influence one another, and love does often change people, but there is no such thing as "fixing" someone, in my opinion. People like the idea that you can, because it soothes a wound within themselves. Wanting that doesn't make you a bad person (I've been there), but it's never going to actually help either of you heal. It's just another way of seeking validation in others. It is natural and good to want to help others and see them become better and thrive, but you need to understand the boundaries of what you are and are not responsible for. Making someone your pet project, intentionally or otherwise, will only end up disrespecting and hurting you both. Sorry for the ramble but this very concept has annoyed me for years and it's especially irksome when people imply it of Astarion of all people.

Here I go again, venting about the whole "I can fix him" thing that all spawn Astarion fans get accused of. But seriously—what the hell are we even talking about?

First of all, having a moral compass is not a flaw. It’s a good thing. It means you’re not a sociopath. Let’s stop promoting the idea that being a piece of shit is somehow okay—because in real life, it’s not. In the game, sure, do whatever you like and enjoy it—but that doesn’t mean it’s justifiable in the real world.

Secondly, Astarion is not some one-dimensional monster whose sole purpose is to gain wealth and power at any cost. His goal is to be safe. Period. If you didn’t get that, then you missed the entire point of the game and the character. And safety doesn’t come in just one form.

Most importantly: Astarion contains both light and darkness. It’s up to the player to bring out one or the other. This isn’t about fixing him. It’s about recognizing and valuing the qualities that are already in him, for fuck’s sake. There’s no way you could talk him out of the Ascension if he weren’t already having doubts about it! He’s meant to be ambivalent—designed that way to let different players make different choices and enjoy the journey.

And let me say this again, because it’s a hard myth to kill: rolling the dice to convince Astarion not to ascend isn’t making the decision for him. It’s cutting through the bloodlust and fear clouding his mind and saying, “Hey, babe, have you considered this, this, and that?” Nothing more, nothing less.

The person who convinces him not to ascend doesn’t change him—they reassure him. They show him a different possibility.

So no, it’s not “I can fix him.” It’s I see you.

And for the record, if you choose the spawn ending, Astarion stays exactly who he was—just with a new perspective on the world and the people in it. So what the hell was “fixed”? Nothing. He has to fix himself from that point on, using the tools he’s chosen to reclaim: connection, friendship, and—yes—some level of morality (he’s still an antihero and a vampire with needs, after all).

The Ascension literally changes him—turns him into something he’s not, into a type of unnatural vampire that didn’t even exist before. And it’s in that exact moment that he becomes a true monster with no chance of redemption—because he chooses to go from victim to predator. Once again, something he wasn’t before.

And who pays the price? Not enemies—mostly innocent people, including children who will be damned to hell for all eternity.

And for what? The gain (which, honestly, is highly questionable—and for me, not worth it) of one person. A person who, again, gains things he didn’t originally have—wealth, power, sunlight, no more hunger, etc.

So isn’t that what trying to “change” or “fix” him really looks like? Making him different? The excuse that “he was always just a piece of shit with no hope” doesn’t hold up—even if it helps someone sleep at night.

And let me be clear—I don’t give a fuck what people prefer or how they play the game. I ascend Astarion too, in some of my runs, when and how I feel like it. But seriously, this whole “fixing him” narrative? It needs to die—especially when tied to morality.

Shocking news: everyone should have a moral compass and use it. It’s not about “conforming.” It’s about the fact that without it, the world—which is already falling apart—would be completely doomed.

And by the way: the only reason some people get to ignore morality is because most of the idiots on this planet do follow it. Otherwise, it’d be absolute chaos.

[thefallenangel2008]

I came up with a Gravity Falls AU, and idk if I'm gonna write/draw anything about it, but here I go.

!TW!

So. Tijuana. Yeah, Stan just kinda. Ended up there. Running away from some "friends". And he needed money for drugs (hey, he was going through some shit, he deserved the drugs). Long story short, he stripped for some guys, provided a bit of a "service", and yeah, that was it. Or so he thought. Because ofc it's never easy and ofc life has to keep fucking him over. So he was stuck in the industry.

Stan was no quiter, and as much as his body was hurting, as much as he hated his life, he refused to die. Nuh-uh. At least, not before he got to speak to Ford again... And no matter how much hope he kept losing every day, the thought of seeing his brother again was the only thing that motivated him. At least it was the only thing that motivated him.

Because he saw a little girl there. A kid. A kid in the fucking porn industry. She had tired and hunted eyes and a thin frame, marks on her body and yeah, it was- it was bad. So there was a small change in his escape plans. He was going to take the kid along! And he did. He doesn't know how he did that, it was all a blur, but in the end, they got out, found the Stanleymobile and drove off.

So now Stan has a traumatized kid on his back he has to take care of. And he can't do much, considering he's homeless. And the girl maybe develops attachment issues on Stan because he's the only person who's shown her basic human kindness in a while, so Stan doesn't know what to do with her. They both go to Gravity Falls, yada yada yada, Ford falls through the portal, so now Stan has ended up raising a kid.

Idk, it's late, and I had this idea floating around my head for the past couple of days. So here ya have it.

[porty]

hotties reunion tour

lovestruck!oikawa x f!reader

summary: six years after oikawa left to argentina - he found out he’s going back to japan to play for the official team for the 2024 olympics. today he’s meeting with repsentives of the JVA, his new coach, and trainer(s) (efficiently through a zoom call). he’s excited to see his favorite snuggle pookiekins, iwaizumi. unexpectedly, he sees someone else too…

contents: fluff | time skip!oikawa | kawa is feeling things... I idk... I red string of fate trope | lowercase is intentional | someone help iwaizumi... | lmao kageyama mentioned

word count: 1.8k words

AN: iwaizumi loves LMFAO, he plays them often while working out. tbh he's thrilled because is is going to play them all the time and no one better not say a word to him. lalala is oikawa's favorite song and dedicating it to you.

masterlist | part 1

oikawa sighed, he didn't even start packing to go back to japan. he just got the news the day before and just wanted to soak it in. also, despite him agreeing to the offer in a matter of seconds. to the point the representatives of the jva jumped.

he wasn't nervous, no, but he just had a strange feeling. knowing iwa would be there was great. this is going to be fun, it’s going to be great, his one and only, his pookiekins. Going home for a while and a summer in paris, this is going to be good for him.

but he didn't tell his team. well, he was expected to play for japan, but he was accustomed to playing with these guys. to play with new people... oh god, playing with that bum kageyama. he rolled his eyes just thinking about that bowl cut germ coming up to him all like, “hi oikawa…” like the nerd he was...

what a sickening thought. he shook his head and started to set up his laptop for this zoom meeting, before iwaizumi starts to text the poor boy. he crossed his legs and propped his laptop. he found it strange that he had to be in this meeting two hours before he would have to leave for japan. when he asked iwaizumi, he only responded with: “don't ask me questions…” how rude of him… oikawa rested his hand on his cheek. he was like this for about two minutes, but to oikawa, timing really felt like 18 years and 7 kids later. he looked down at his string that was tied around his pinky, that dimmed pink string… he didn't know why he needed to look down at it. but his heart started to race. that strange feeling heightened, now feeling it in his chest and stomach.

at this point, it's been about 6 years since he last saw her, the girl that his string glowed for. he doesn't remember your face, but he knows you're beautiful. probably a great person too… oikawa sighed while rubbing his pinky. also strange, he hasn't thought about that night much. it would come and go in waves… with the dreaded ‘what if?’ a question came up. before he got completely lost in his thought process, his screen lit up and another person came into view.

tetsurou kuroo…

“glad you could make it, oikawa,” kuroo said, still distracted while letting in the others. “how you’ve been?”

oikawa's eyes widened, almost embarrassed to even speak. he just prayed to the heavens above that he wasn't caught thinking about some girl he is never going to see again. he cleared his throat and fisted his hands, “i'm doing well. how are you, cat boy?”

“pretending i didn't hear that last part, but i'm good.” kuroo smiled while peeking at his camera. “alright, everyone should be here shortly. but this meeting is for you to introduce your coaches and your athletic trainers. i will be here as a representative for the jva and for marketing purposes. hope you don't mind?”

oikawa shook his head, and kuroo continued, “alright, with that being said, i'll let everyone in.”

slowly, everyone started coming into the call. everyone was visible besides one square that was still blacked out and labeled ‘ln’. oikawa just stared at that small section of the screen while everyone was greeting each other and going on with their idle chatter. he tapped on his lap, his heart racing, he felt his face getting hot.

why is this happening? he wasn't feeling sick… what is he feeling right now?

before you know it, you turned your camera on and waved. it was you, the girl he saw all those years ago. the one that brought some life back to his string. poor oikawa just froze. he couldn't say anything. the only thing he could do was look at iwaizumi, just for iwaizumi to look away. which made oikawa bite the inside of his cheek really hard. oh iwaizumi, honey, you got a big storm coming when you pick oikawa up.

after a few seconds, you finally spoke. which made oikawa swoon. that soft tone he gets to hear again. remember, professionalism… “hi, sorry, i was trying to find a quiet place. the boys are in mid-practice right now. it’s a bit challenging getting away.” you chuckled.

“you’re fine, everyone just got here. we can get started.”

kuroo went down the line and introduced him to everyone, leaving iwaizumi and you last. this has to be set up by kuroo. he knows something that oikawa doesn’t, and right now he's feeling bothered by the cat boy. “well, you obviously know hajime iwaizumi. he will be one of the athletic trainers. this is also ln yn… she will be the other athletic trainer.” you just looked at him and smiled softly.

oh god, this is going to be rough. oikawa nearly exploded when you smiled at him. oikawa made the dumbest mistake and looked down at that damn pinky, and that glow came back. that healthy red glow was present.

the butterflies were making him want to throw up. all he could do was smile and nod, “hope we can get along…” he somehow managed to muster out. iwaizumi looked at oikawa and raised an eyebrow. he knew something was wrong, in which he let out a small sigh. but someone else picked up too, mr. tetsurou kuroo. he was expecting this meeting to have more flare to it. besides, it was just oikawa looking like he just saw a ghost.

this meeting was not going as planned… one of their star players just seemed off. kind of annoyed kuroo. how is he supposed to work if this guy is giving them nothing? “so oikawa, when are you leaving for japan?” one of the coaches asked, breaking the silence and oikawa’s 17th crash-out.

“in a couple of hours actually, my ride should be here soon.”

“are you excited to come back home?” you spoke up, leaning. oh god, you are interested in what he has to say… fucking sick. but also aww…

“uh, yeah i am. i love it here in argentina, but i do miss home. i can see my friends again and work with one of them. plus, i know iwaizumi missed me, like a lot.” he said, a little nervously. which was odd. he knew how to talk to girls… but you… you were different. you nodded attentively while letting out a soft giggle. oikawa didn't know how much he could handle this. he's going to throw up and possibly do a backflip at the same time if you say one more thing to him. you're a horrible person for doing this to him.

then iwaizumi finally spoke, “i don't actually…”

kuroo laughed along with everyone. damn that stupid cat. “well, it’ll be nice seeing the two of you in action,” kuroo added. “speaking of, have you and yn thought about how the two of you are going to handle this? this is a big group.”

iwaizumi nodded, “yeah, we’re just going to do everything together. it’ll lessen the confusion with the coaches and, more importantly, the players.”

that wasn't a question for oikawa, so he just drifted into his thoughts. to avoid looking at his pinky, he subconsciously looked at you in that tiny square in the corner of his laptop, pretty sure he thought he looked inconspicuous. you spoke up once again, “fortunately, most of the players have either played on the same team or played against each other at one point in their lives, so it wouldn't really make sense to do this separately. we will have our breaks, but we just want to make sure the boys are in tip-top shape and obviously come back with something.”

at this point, oikawa just wanted to rip his hair out. he needed a way out. from the corner of his eye, his string was glowing. the butterflies in his chest and stomach were going crazy, too much blood was rushing to his head, and his cheeks were turning red. he couldn't breathe. he needed to go. he raised his hand and spoke quickly, “um hi so my ride is here… sorry but i have to go now.”

thankfully, everyone understood. they all said their goodbyes, not that oikawa was taking in what they said. until he heard you, “can't wait to work with you, oikawa. have a safe trip.”

“bye…” he spat out while quickly trying to leave the call. he slammed his laptop shut and shoved it in his bag. while booking for his uber, he couldn't help himself but to pant… he's panting like he just ran a half marathon. he wasn't panicking. or maybe he was, but this was a bad panic. but he was panicking. everything just felt so confusing. he’s about a day away from seeing the potential love of his life and he needs to get it together.

ding!

oikawa looked at his phone and saw his notification:

your driver is coming in 2 minutes.

oh god. the poor thing felt his heart drop. it’s time. he was going to japan and had to face the girl… just the girl. his everything? he does not even think about the olympics nor his friends. he was going to meet his inevitable doom: being rejected by the girl that made his string glow. not once, but twice. while grabbing his things and heading outside, the stupid butterflies came back. he didn't know if he was excited or shitting his pants. whatever it was… it needed to stop.

“this is a work trip… remember professionalism… professionalism.” oikawa kept mumbling to himself. praying it would work… and it wasn't, but he’s still going to do it.

mission abort!!! mission abort!!! it’s not working!!!

oikawa just stood there waiting for his taxi and was just smiling to himself. it was a smile of bliss. no, unfortunately, his smile was defeat. he didn't know what else to do. better yet, how else to compose himself. so he just smiled, regretting saying yes to this opportunity of a lifetime. he shut his eyes for a few moments. hoping that his guardian angel will just swoop him up… his guardian angel that was in the yellow car aggressively honking his horn…

nope. it was just his uber driver rushing to get in… a fate worse than death itself.

he got in his taxi. he’s off to japan. he’s off to see you and be around you for like the next six months. he for sure will throw up at one point, so he should apologize to you in advance.

oh and also, iwaizumi is going to hear his mouth. that stupid gym rat… and that cat boy too… throw it in there, that germ kageyama… but mainly iwaizumi.

divider credit: @/saradika-graphics

@porty || do not plagiarise or translate any of my work. I do not own any of the Haikyuu characters all rights goes to Haruichi Furudate.

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

I’m not sure how things went down in the book, it might’ve been covered, but what if Charlie had point-blank refused to let Bella get married?

TRADITION!

A Reminder of How Things Went in the Books

Once, when Bella first moved to Forks, out of nowhere she announced that Edward and her had broken up, therefore she decided Forks was smelly and she hated it, AND SHE WAS MOVING BACK TO PHOENIX RIGHT NOW.

Charlie stared at her, aghast, begging her to talk about this--

She ran out of the house without another word, driven off in a Jeep, and was immediately on a flight to Phoenix.

Except that Charlie didn't necessarily know she'd gone to Phoenix, or anywhere, because she did not call him after that point. He hears less than 48 hours later that Bella is indeed in a hospital in Phoenix, because she somehow fell out a window in a hotel (don't worry about it).

Also, she's back together with Edward and she's moving back to Forks because Boyfriend.

A few months later, Edward dumps her again, and leaves her abandoned deep in the forest where they have to send out a search party to look for her. She then falls into a months long serious depression where she hardly talks/eats/functions.

Charlie suggests she move to Florida to be with her mother. Bella loses her shit and as begrudgingly as possible tries to show that she's totally normal right now, totally.

A few months after that, without a word, Bella runs away to Italy. She does not tell Charlie this. She only tells him when she's already returned and GOOD NEWS, CHARLIE, SHE'S BACK WITH EDWARD. See, she went to Italy (a fucking foreign country) without a word because there was this whole misunderstanding (so silly) where Rosalie told Edward that Bella had tried to kill herself because somehow Rosalie thought she had.

"Did you???" - Charlie

"What? No, why does everyone think that?" - Bella, unironically

And yes, she's back together with Edward.

Charlie is... understandably not thrilled.

A few weeks after that, "We're getting married dad!"

And a few weeks after that, "Bad news dad, I have a tropical disease from that honeymoon in Brazil and am going to die in Switzerland!"

And a few weeks after that Jacob tells him "Yeah, I'm a werewolf, and Bella's a vampire. Don't let her move."

The life of Charlie Swan.

What Was the Point of this Recap?

First, Bella lives in a time and place where no one has any control over who she marries. She's an adult when she marries, all she and Edward have to do is go to the courthouse. That's it, nothing anyone can do about it.

He can write her out of his will, he can threaten to throw her out, but these are all drastic actions that will destroy his relationship with his daughter: which is already on the rocks and he doesn't want to do at all.

Even in ye olden times, there were options. Drastic options, but still options. They could elope, she could again be disowned and such, but it could happen.

And then we get to Bella: she's made it perfectly clear that she will do what she wants, always, and Charlie and everyone else can go fuck themselves.

It's not just Charlie, but Renee, Billy, Jacob, even Edward for that matter.

And Charlie knows that if he objects to this marriage--Bella will do it and never speak to him again. Hell, he sees in Breaking Dawn how Renee... doesn't get to know... the truth...

TL;DR: you are very funny, anon

[vitriol-and-alcohol]

Hey, I ran across this post again!

I reread both original novels and I have some ✨thoughts.✨

I'm assuming the match is between the novel versions of Drs. Frankenstein and Jekyll and the comic/gameplay version of Dr. Ludwig.

Basically, there's no version of this fight where Ludwig doesn't win. Getting a bit pedantic, he benefits from a century or two of advances in agriculture and medicine out of the gate.

Ignoring that, let's look at our fighters:

Victor Frankenstein is a wealthy young man from an influential family in Geneva. He was an intelligent child, though he didn't have a lot of guidance in what he studied early on. He consumed a lot of debunked and pseudoscience, for which he was teased by his professors later in life. He finds the natural sciences interesting as well, and to study further he enrolls in the University of Ingolstadt in Germany. Before he leaves, his mother dies.

While in Germany, he claims to have discovered the secret to animating the inanimate. He's not very clear about his methods, but it seems to involve quite a bit of chemistry and, if I remember correctly, electricity. He spends long nights in his workshop afterwards assembling a giant man. Because it is relevant to his fighting statistics, I want to note that, from what I understood, he does not go grave robbing for this endeavor. He says he visited charnel houses for his materials. He designed his creature, his Adam, to be beautiful. Something goes wrong the moment he completes the process, however. He's revolted by the very sight of what he's done and goes to sleep in a churchyard over it.

That becomes a bit of a theme for him. He's disgusted by his Adam, and for a long while whenever he sees him, Victor sleeps outside about it. He's so messed up after the first time, he's incapacitated for nearly nine months. He then returns home to find that his younger brother has died and their family maid, a childhood companion named Justine, has been accused of his murder. He's sure that somehow, Adam is the true culprit. He reassures his beloved cousin/fiance Elizabeth (a much more important and awesome character in the story than I've given her credit for here) of their friend's innocence and guess to find the scene of the crime. He sees his creation in the distance and sleeps outside over it.

At the trial his brother's murder, Elizabeth speaks eloquently as a character witness for Justine. Victor, who saw an 8 foot tall man at the crime scene decides to keep his mouth shut. I know it's not CSI Geneva, but the murderer left a handprint on William, and I assume Adam's hands are much larger than Justine's. The only reason they suspect her is because she had a cameo in her pocket that William was wearing. Elizabeth points out that she wouldn't have had to kill him over it if she wanted it, she could have just asked. The court has literally no other evidence and Victor never says a single thing. So she's executed after being coerced into a confession in order to receive Last Rites.

In the meantime, someone else has inadvertently taught Adam French, so he's able to eventually have a conversation with Victor. He asks for a female companion. Victor agrees, then changes his mind, then a lot of other people die. Adam figures out guns at one point. They chase each other as far North as they can go. He's kind of a dick to the one guy who's nice to him, the captain of the boat who rescued him from freezing to death, then Victor dies too. Adam finds his creator lifeless on that boat and goes to live in solitude.

IN CONCLUSION:

Victor does have a bit of raw strength and endurance. He wasn't building muscle by digging in graveyards, but moving around human bodies isn't easy. He's generally healthy when he's not worked himself into hysterics over the uncanny valley existential question mark he created. He's intelligent, but incredibly cowardly. The disaster he finds is largely of his own doing and obsessions.

We know much less about Henry Jekyll. Like Victor Frankenstein, however, the act of creation he's best known for is also largely chemical, though it seems to lean a bit more into alchemy and medicine.

We know he's a well respected doctor in Soho and from his large house and serving staff, likely well off. He spends a lot of his time trying to live up to that image of the philanthropic doctor and makes a potion to try and help him repress those urges. He later writes that if he'd been trying to enhance his benevolent side, the resulting split person might have been more like an angel than the evil person that did emerge.

And... That's kind of it. He tries to stay himself eventually, but he loses control of himself in his sleep and eventually can no longer make the potion. He dies as Edwin Hyde.

IN CONCLUSION:

I'm not including Hyde in this equation. We know Hyde is incredibly strong, but we only ever see Jekyll sickly. They have very different physical forms, with Hyde the younger and stronger one. Henry's smart, but again, he brings his disaster on himself with his obsession. He keeps Hyde's memories, but it's not like Edwin's a skilled fighter.

Finally

A lot of Herbert Ludwig's early life is also a mystery. A retcon of his origin gives him the hometown of the "vaguely European" city of Rottenburg, Germany. The blurb also, interestingly, hints that he comes from a long line of mad doctors who swap townsfolk's organs until they get carried away and are run out of town by a torch and pitchfork wielding mob.

He ends up, eventually, in America in the employ of Team Fortress Industries where he's hired as the team Medic. Between fleeing home and the end of Comic 7, he 1) steals a box truck containing wedding doves from some Prime Minister's wedding, 2) absconds with one of his patients skeleton mid-surgery (they survive), 3) invents a fluid that can heal nearly any wound on the battlefield, 4) brings back a teammate hours after his death, 5) sells his soul to what looks like the devil, then later performs soul transfer for the inevitable reckoning with that devil where he negotiates himself into five more decades of life and a soul left to bargain with before he has to start worrying, 6) invents or at least uses several weapons where he is able to shoot health into a teammate from afar.

As far as in-game stats go, he's tied for second fastest base speed (average gay walking speed) with pretty average health. Like most TF2 classes, he has a melee attack, but not an unarmed one. He does, however, tend to keep his weapon of choice, a surgical saw, nearby.

I think that gives us enough information to set up this fight.

There's one stat I didn't bring up until now, one Drs. Jekyll and Frankenstein have that Dr. Ludwig does not, and that's shame. If you set this fight in Geneva, the man who could not even speak up to save Justine's life is going to be too busy holding the weight of his family reputation to swing at two other mad scientists. Similarly, set in Soho or not, Dr. Jekyll had to invent soul alchemy to wriggle out of the societal expectations that are placed on a doctor of his status. Neither is going to do well in a fist fight in public. So, let's say you put it in Dustbowl.

I can see why Henry Jekyll came in second, but the question did not bring Edwin Hyde into the equation. He loses on general health over the appearance of his novel and, given that he has like half a dozen degrees, probably age. He does have those dark desires that he worked so hard to quell, but it's not exactly clear what those are. Is he violent in his Jekyll persona, or just horny? I think he's going down first.

Victor is close behind him though. Even alone, he does not seem to show much more courage. Given the time, both novel scientists might be able to come up with some interesting chemical traps, but they do not show the inclination to do so in their stories.

The real advantage Dr. Herbert Ludwig has, besides the lack of crippling societal expectations, is that he starts where we typically picture the other two. Medic is a B movie horror antagonist that escaped containment. Not only that, but he has a whole found family's worth of equally unhinged support network. He's not hiding his experimentations, he's sharing them with the other mercenaries and getting feedback to improve them. That's important, because like Henry Jekyll, he uses his experiments on himself.

Final analysis; it's not a fair fight. Switch out the scientists for their creations or their own B movie selves, and you might have an actual scuffle.

Bonus: I was trying to come up with a more balanced trio by using more modern iterations of the characters. I got as far as Dr. Frank-N-Furter and the Glass Scientists version of Henry Jekyll.

I don't know if they'd fight exactly, but I'd read the hell out of that crossover.