#but he was never taught how to ask for it

[rafesweetie]

say it to his face. (toxic!ex!rafe)

rafe’s not a very respectful ex. in his defence, seeing you in that little dress triggered him. it had been a while since he’d seen you, let alone those pretty thighs, and he didn’t know how to contain himself. he had bought you that dress, after all.

rafe’s eyebrows furrow from the pool table when he sees you finding another boy at the party. so you’re wearing a dress that rafe bought you while hugging your newest boy toy. it’s almost sad, he thinks, so certain it mean you must still want him.

so, arrogantly, he walks over. “shiiit, y/n, looking good,” he smiles, his hand on your shoulder from beside you so you look over — he always taught you to keep eye contact when he spoke.

you whisper something to your date, a little explanation as to who the hell this was. rafe snaps his fingers in your face when he sees the side conversation and obvious annoyed expression on your face. “hey, hey, what’s going on, huh?”

“rafe, please stop,” you sigh.

“nah nah nah, if you, uh, if you wanna say something about me to your pathetic guy, say it to my face,” he insists, bending his knees a bit to get to your level. “say it to my fuckin face,”

he starts slapping his defined cheekbone with his hand, condescendingly reiterating his former request. “stop it,” you insist. he leans his face in closer.

“and what if i don’t?” he asks, and when you don’t provide an answer, instead just rolling your eyes, he continues. “i just wanna know what you said, baby, don’t be stubborn,”

“i said you were my stupid ex and i apologized to my date for your immaturity,” you say honestly. he stands to his full height once more

“immature?” he repeats, scoffing at the blow to his ego. “yeah, does this guy run his own business? does this guy pay for his own house in figure eight, or do his parents still take care of him? does he even know what fuckin’ aftercare is? cause i sure do, baby, you know that—“

“rafe, stop!” you raise your voice, even though this is the third time you’ve told him to stop and he hasn’t yet.

he scoffs. “no, you stop. call me immature again, dare you,” his face moves over as if he wants you to whisper in his ear.

“you are,” you repeat.

“uuhhh huh,” he nods, as if in thought. “look, i moved houses, i don’t live in tannyhill anymore. here’s my card, has my number. call me and ill send you the address tonight, i’m going home and i’m gonna insist i see you there later,”

“rafe!—“ you start, glancing at your date.

“no, don’t start. don’t say shit. see you there,” he leaves, and in return leaves you standing beside your date, watching him go.

you hate yourself for dialling his number the minute your date is out of sight. you’re in the dress he bought you, for gods sake — you’re never getting rid of him.

[samleerandom]

Winchester Genes

“We have your son”

“My condolences. Please try to die quickly as his dinner's almost ready.”

In the beginning, Castiel had no clue what he was doing. It was a human baby that he and Dean were taking care of. Castiel had little experience with that. But, then the baby turned into a toddler, and Castiel knew even less. How did humans learn anything if all they did was question and whine even from that age?

And to make it worse, Dean was acting like it was completely normal. He would argue back and answer the same question over and over, and-. That was the first time Castiel had heard such a thing about a child. Castiel had walked into Dean’s ‘Dean-Cave’ to talk to Dean.

“We must address-” Castiel had started before seeing Dean holding a beer to his temple, something he only did when he was stressed. “What’s wrong?” Castiel asked, pivoting on the spot to lessen the weight of his gaze on Dean.

“Nothing. That damn kid has Winchester genes.” Dean said. Castiel went to argue that the kid was, in fact, not related to them -in any substantial way- related to them. But Castiel quickly remembered that humans often used metaphors and spoke strangely as their words sometimes had nothing at all to do with what they meant. And before he could ask if this was one of those times, Dean spoke again.

“He’s just as stubborn as me, as curious as Sam, and as direct as you.” Dean added gruffly. Castiel had to agree with all of those points. It would seem that the toddler had grown to be more like them. And it was at that moment that the toddler began to mean more to him than before.

As the toddler grew into a child, he became more like Dean and Castiel than Sam. Stern, stubborn, and direct. Castiel learned to predict the outbursts of anger that Jessie, the child, had picked up from Dean. He had also learned Jessie’s own ebbs and flows as they child had something none of them really knew where it came from: a lack of respect for anyone who hadn’t earned it. This meant the start of every grade was hard.

To curb this behavior, Dean started teaching Jessie how to fight so he could learn discipline. Castiel had set a firm boundary that Jessie wasn’t going on his first hunt until he was at least eighteen. However, Dean set an even firmer boundary.

“If he starts hunting, I’ll kill him, myself.” Dean said flatly. Castiel would never call Dean a lair. Dean didn’t lie about things like that. But he did tend to assume he was more like John, Dean’s father, than he really was. Dean would certainly be pissed. Probably even fist fight Jessie over it, but Castiel knew Dean would never kill him. Not for that.

And then that child turned into an incredibly kind and thoughtful teenager, which Castiel was informed was a blessing, a miracle, and very rare. Castiel disagreed, most teenagers were kind, but only to those who they had been taught deserved it. But he didn’t voice his disagreement. But then came the day that Castiel had dreaded most. His first monster. He had handled it beautifully.

Sadly, Dean hadn’t gotten angry at all. He had gotten scared, so his reaction had been far worse. Dean had grounded him to the bunker for a month and wouldn’t let Jessie out of his sight for three. But, eventually, Dean gave in and let Jessie hunt with them. Not often, only on the weekends or on breaks, never more than a county away from the bunker, and only if his grades were good.

Then, one afternoon, when Jessie was 18 and was supposed to be about to open the bunker door on his way in from school, Castiel got a phone call. When he looked at his phone he saw it was Jessie’s number. Castiel instantly knew something was off and he showed Sam. Sam and Dean immediately started tracking his phone as Castiel answered.

“Yes?” Castiel asked simply. The moment he heard them inhale he knew whoever it was wasn’t Jessie so his jaw tightened.

“We have your son.” A voice said over the phone. Castiel quickly left his vessel and tracked the signal while keeping his vessel alive, but as he found them, less than a mile from the bunker at a busted motel with Jessie breaking free of his bonds but was locked in the bathroom alone. Castiel knew better than to intervene.

“My condolences. Please die quickly as his dinner is almost ready.” Castiel said as soon as he had returned to his vessel less than a second after the threat had been made. With that, Castiel heard a shout of pain from the other line so Castiel hung up. Then he turned to Dean and Sam, preparing to take them to comfort Dean and Castiel’s son.

"We have your son."

"My condolences. Please try to die quickly, his dinner's almost ready."

[mimiii-3]

Batsib finally getting attention because daimg goes off on everyone ??

Imagine this.. batsib and darling are rlly close and batfam hates it. Darling eventually getting annoyed of the neglect that batsib is getting so they go off on the family, and the family realizes and now give the yandere treatment to batsib instead 😭‼️

Great idea!

…

Saboteur: Obsession

Yandere Platonic Batfam x GN Neglected Reader

Notes: typical yandere themes

…

What if Batsib became the family’s new obsession…

🦇- it has only been about a month since darling’s outburst but it feels like a whole year

🦇- you lay in bed, numbly staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars scattered across the ceiling

🦇- the freshly planted camera in your room adjusts its lens to focus on your motionless form

🦇- you should have never said anything. You should have been grateful

🦇- sure your family could care less about you…but at least you were free

🦇- you let your thoughts drift to the day that this all started

🦇- the day that darling accidentally ruined your life

1 month ago

🦇- you lay on the fuzzy rug, attempting to pinch the worn material of the old jean jacket

🦇- you bite your lip in concentration as you thread the needle

🦇- darling chuckles at your focused state while attempting to sew a small tear in your jacket

🦇- “Didn’t Alfred teach you how to sew,” they ask before snatching the needle and jacket out of your hands.

🦇- you purse your lips in irritation and embarrassment. “Of course he didn’t teach me,” you think.

🦇- Darling expertly sews the torn jacket and throws it back to you.

🦇- you catch the jacket and eye their handiwork. It’s good. Alfred must have taught them well.

🦇- you look up to find darling staring at you expectantly. They’re waiting for an answer

🦇- “No, he never taught me. He doesn’t like me much.”

🦇- they pause and think for a minute. “That doesn’t sound like Alfred. Are you sure he doesn’t like you? Maybe you should try and ask again,” Darling rambles.

🦇- your rub at your forehead in irritation. They just don’t understand

🦇- “Alfred doesn’t like me. None of them do.”

🦇- Darling quiets down at your statement. They crawl over to your side on the bright pink rug, “well even if Alfred doesn’t like you, I’m sure dad does.”

🦇- you shake your head. “Dick?” You shake your head again. “Tim?” You sake your head for the third time in row. “Damian?” At the mention of Damian you let out a deep laugh

🦇- “Those three have told me how much they hate me more times than I can count. I appreciate that you care but they will never love me the same way they love you,” you sigh melodramatically.

🦇- at the thought of just how much your family hates you, your laughter kicks back up again

🦇- it’s funny really. They love their kidnapping victim more than their actual family. Why wouldn’t they?

🦇- while getting over your bout of laughter, you miss the stormy look in darling’s eyes

…

🦇- you were working on your book nook when out of nowhere you hear screaming and the sound of glass shattering

🦇- you quickly drop what you’re doing and race down the mahogany stairway

🦇- in the hallway, darling stands in front of a mess of shattered vases and picture frames that were impossibly expensive

🦇- your father and brothers surround them. Nervously assessing the damage and what could have possibly set them off

🦇- Damian looks up and spots you on the stairs, “what have you down now you hellion?!”

🦇- “no,” Darling interrupts, “I won’t let you talk to them like that!”

🦇- Damian’s eyes widen at darling’s tone. He drops his tough guy act and looks down in shame

🦇- “you all have to start being nicer to them! They’re my big sibling and if you can’t respect them, then I don’t have to respect you,” Darling huffs

🦇- Bruce puts his hands up in a show of peace and tentatively approaches darling. He takes their hands in his and offers a small smile, “sure thing, kiddo. Anything you want.”

🦇- darling looks back at you with a wide grin. They shoot you a quick thumbs up before taking your father’s hand again and dragging him to the cinema room

🦇- you can feel the air shift and your stomach drops instantly. Dick, Tim, and Damian all stare at you with unreadable expressions.

🦇- Dick clears his throat, “well come on then. We’re watching a movie.”

🦇- Dick holds his hand out to you. It’s different than the way your father reached his hand out to darling. It feels like an obligation. What would happen if you didn’t take his hand? What would happen if you ran back up the stairs?

🦇- Dick seemingly reads your mind and closes the distance to grab your hand. He pulls you down the remaining steps so quickly you almost fall.

🦇- His grip on your hand is tight as he marches down the unending hallway. Tim and Damian walk on either side of you and Dick. You can feel their stares burning the back of your head.

🦇- Your heart feels like it’s about to beat right out your chest. This doesn’t feel right. Darling says one thing and they all just obey. That’s it?

🦇- Your thoughts are interrupted by the feeling of a new pair of eyes watching you. You tilt your head back a bit and look up. Dick is staring at you. His piercing blue eyes look like they’re gazing into your soul.

🦇- You try to read him but fail. You look back at your feet as you all round the corner into the cinema room. You can hear the opening score. It’s The Shining.

🦇- “How fitting,” you think bitterly.

Present Day

🦇- hot tears cascade down your face and dampen the pillow beneath you

🦇- you’re so stupid

🦇- you should have never said anything to darling. They meant well, they truly did. But this is not what you wanted

🦇- your quiet tears transform into hiccuping sobs

🦇- the loudness of your cries shocks some sense into you. you quickly slap your hand over your mouth

🦇- with bated breath, you watch the door

🦇- please don’t come in, please don’t come in, please don’t come in

🦇- the handle turns slowly

🦇- Dick and Tim enter the room. Tim scans your teary face, “why are you crying? Is something wrong?”

🦇- Dick rubs sleepily at his eyes and sits down at the end of your bed. There’s that look again. A mix of adoration and a predator-like gaze. What does it even mean?

🦇- Tim waves his hand in front of your face. “I asked you a question,” he hisses.

🦇- you sit up in bed, “sorry, I was just thinking about that new show I started. The one with the president and the underground dome. It made me a little emotional just thinking about it.”

🦇- you chuckle nervously before wiping at the almost dry tears on your face

🦇- Tim takes a step back and you try not to let the relief show. “That’s fine,” he sighs, “try and get some sleep.”

🦇- Tim turns around and head back to the door. You peer over at Dick and find him still staring at you.

🦇- “is that the show with the apocalypse and the fake sun?” His sudden question shocks you. Did he know about the show himself? Or had he been spying on you while you watched it a few days ago?

🦇- “yup! That’s the one. Y’know I think you’d like it. Maybe you should check it out sometime,” you say with a faux cheeriness.

🦇- “Hm. Maybe I’ll join you for the next episode.”

🦇- you smile at Dick and try to mask your disappointment at his answer. He rises from his spot on your bed and approaches you

🦇- Dick raises his hand and pets your head. “Tim’s right. Get some sleep.”

🦇- you nod and shoot him a small smile. He doesn’t return it and instead turns and walks to the door

🦇- Tim is still standing in the doorway with his arms folded. You wave bye at him and he leaves without another glance.

🦇- “Night,” Dick mutters and shuts the door behind him.

🦇- you lay back down and let out a breath you had been holding

🦇- the sound of the camera lens adjusting returns a minute or two later

🦇- it means that Tim has made it back to his room and is watching you again

🦇- no more crying

🦇- you’d rather suffer in silence than have that awkward interaction happen again

🦇- you turn in bed and pull the thick covers over your head. You grab your red panda plushie and pull it closer to you

🦇- you can’t take much more of this. Their overbearing nature is starting to wear at you psyche

🦇- they’re insane. You should’ve called Commissioner Gordon the second they kidnapped darling

🦇- maybe this is what you deserve. A life of imprisonment in exchange for your complicitness in the kidnapping of darling

🦇- yes, you were complicit but you didn’t know any better. You thought going along with their plan would make them love you

🦇- turns out you were right. It just didn’t go at all like you thought it would

🦇- sure, you’ve made some mistakes in your quest for love and family. But you don’t deserve this

🦇- you don’t plan on being kept here like a pet for the rest of your life

🦇- there’s only one solution: escape

…

Extra notes: this one was kinda long

Tag list:

@jjsmeowthie @shawty-a-lil-baddie @butratherbutrather @shirp-collector-of-fixations @stove-top96 @yaoizee @bellethesleepypotato @salfishers @eli-mayhaveatencats @wisefuncherryblossom @c4xcocoa @twismare @icanmeltanigloo @tatsuri-zomushiki

[paper-starz]

PLAYTIME REDESIGNS!

It’s the three versions of beloved dough man! From his original 50s version, to his rebooted 80s and 90s versions!

I had a bit too much fun with these guys. Especially 90s doey, it’s so much fun to draw his expressions!

Rewritten lore under 👇

Doey D. Doughman was Playtime Co.’s second major commercial success! Hitting the toy aisles in the 1950s, “Doey Dough” became the toy marketed towards schools across the nation, teaching kids how to be creative and imaginative. With Playtime Co.’s original recipe, kids won’t have to worry about forgetting to close the lid on the can, because the dough can’t ever dry out!! Here, we see Doey’s original design, a fine and charming fellow marketing the four original colors of “Doey Dough”: blue, red, orange, and yellow!

Luckily, Doey’s Dough expanded its color selection by the 1980s, and with it, Playtime Co. redesigned their beloved mascot! Now he’s sporting a bea-U-tiful rainbow vest, showing off the wonderful new colors! Once again, profits soared! Playtime sold nearly 8 million cans of Doey Dough in 1982 alone, and with that amount of profit meant that there were a LOT of fans.

Playtime Co. was receiving hundreds of letters per day of kids asking when they’re going to see more of their beloved dough man? With so much demand, it would’ve been stupid of the company not to capitalize on that! So on 1984, “Doey the Doughman” series was released out onto the public, and boy did the public adore the lovable living doughman. More than 40 million viewers tuned in to watch Doey teach them the wonders of one’s own creativity, of joy, kindness, and friendship. From there, more merchandise got released, from plush toys to books!

Now that all changed once the 90s began. You see, Playtime Co. wanted to be in the public spotlight again, and while they HAVE been releasing toys, with varying degrees of success, they weren’t as popular as Playtime Co. needed them to be. So, instead of creating a new, innovative toy that would love, the company repurposed its beloved mascot Doey, the one that taught kids about love and kindness since the 80s, into a brash, mean-spirited Doughman.

Playtime Co. was finally receiving the attention it so desperately wanted, but not the right kind of attention. Angry fans (both kids and adults alike) sent in hundreds of letters complaining about the awful new changes, some even refused to buy anything Playtime Co. related UNTIL they could fix this issue. This got so bad that it even started to affect PlayTime Co.’s sales, so with no other choice, Playtime Co pulled 90s Doey Dough away from store shelves and replaced it with the memorable 80s version. This era is often referred to as the “Playtime Company’s Doh-sastor”.

To this day fans often wonder why Playtime Co. decided on redesigning their once colorful and fun mascot to something “unoriginal”, “bland”, and “boring” compared to its predecessors. Perhaps this is due to the time period, where many shows at this time were a lot more “edgy” than the cute and pastel cartoons that came before. Perhaps we’ll never know!

[00valentina-writes00]

can we get drunk texts from Abby?

♡♥︎Drunk texts from Abby♥︎♡

Two more drafts to go

Abby (1:12 AM):

hey, i swear if i see one more guy wearing a stupid bandana and pretending like he knows how to fight i’m gonna lose it

Abby (1:15 AM):

also i think i broke a chair… it just kinda collapsed under me… but i’m fine. it was a weak chair

Abby (1:17 AM):

im a fcking goddess of strength who can’t sit on a chair without it failing me. why does everything hate me??

Abby (1:20 AM):

oh and i may or may not have knocked a few things over, but don’t worry i’ll fix it… tomorrow. or later. probably

Abby (1:23 AM):

btw… i miss you and i want to punch something. i think i’m ready to fight another chair if it insults me again

Abby (1:26 AM):

how are you doing? besides being perfect and wonderful as always. no pressure. just wondering

You (1:27 AM):

You’re fighting chairs now, huh? You do have that whole “goddess of strength” thing going for you. But please stop breaking stuff, I’ll have to come down there and fix it all. Also, I’m perfect? Come on, I’m just trying to keep it together while you fight furniture.

Abby (1:30 AM):

you’re perfect. i can’t fight it. i swear i could punch a wall right now and it’d still be worth it for you

Abby (1:32 AM):

you’re amazing. i’m amazing. i’m so strong. i could bench press 10 chairs if i wanted to

Abby (1:34 AM):

i wish you were here. i could use some help with my “powerful chair smashing.” you’d be a great support

Abby (1:37 AM):

ok im not gonna lie, im a lil tipsy and honestly im starting to think this chair was asking for it. and my poor hands… they’re so strong and yet so delicate…

————————————————————————

Abby (1:45 AM):

wait i need 2 tell u somthin

Abby (1:47 AM):

i was thinkin about ur boobs. like… god i am never gonna get over them. seriously. like they’re gods. i think about them all the time. they just—they just r there and they r soooo perfect

Abby (1:50 AM):

i wanna hold them. like. not in a weird way just… god

Abby (1:53 AM):

ur boobs could solve world peace if they wanted to. they are the key to EVERYTHING. i can’t… i’m just thinking about them now and i need to get my life together

Abby (1:55 AM):

but like, pls don’t get mad, okay? it’s just… they’re so soft and perfect and… i swear ur boobs are the 8th wonder of the world, i’m not even joking

You (1:58 AM):

Haha, you’re really something when you’re tipsy, huh? You’re not wrong though, I’m definitely the 8th wonder of the world. But hey, no need to make me blush… or maybe, go on… keep talking about my perfect boobs, I’m listening.

Abby (2:02 AM):

no no no u don’t get it. i could just… touch them all day and not get bored, like, if i could i would just have them in my face all the time, just, ughhhh

Abby (2:05 AM):

im serious tho, like, ur boobs make me feel things. good things. like, i could worship them like… idk some kind of goddess ritual

Abby (2:07 AM):

okokok, forget i said that. it’s the alcohol talking. but still. boobs. gods. u get it right?

————————————————————————

Abby (2:13 AM):

wtf are you doing in my number?? i have a girlfriend, what the fuck

Abby (2:15 AM):

who the hell is texting me right now? i swear to god, i have a girlfriend. like, how are you in my phone, this is weird

Abby (2:17 AM):

wait—wait, WAIT. oh my god… i’m so stupid…

Abby (2:20 AM):

its YOU. how could i be this dumb right now, i’m so sorry, babe. im all over the place

————————————————————————

Abby (2:42 AM):

Ugh i hate this. why am i so drunk. plz come over and help me get my life together, i can’t even walk straight

Abby (2:45 AM):

Wait I’m so sorry i was thinking about your boobs again but like they r just… they deserve a parade or something

Abby (2:47 AM):

Like how do they even do that? they just… sit there and look perfect. HOW DO THEY DO THAT. r they magic??

Abby (2:50 AM):

Also, who taught me how to drink, i need a refund, this is a mess

Abby (2:52 AM):

Like i was just trying to chill and now my life is falling apart over a chair and your boobs and this alcohol

Abby (2:54 AM):

also i might’ve eaten a whole bag of chips and i’m mad about it. like I shouldn’t have done that

Abby (2:56 AM):

NO but listen!! pls come over and make sure i don’t fall over and die from bad chair karma

You (2:58 AM):

I’ll be over in a bit to save you from yourself. But really, the chair?? What’s going on in your world over there?

Abby (3:01 AM):

The chair just… it just attacked me, okay??

Abby (3:03 AM):

I was trying to sit down like a normal person and the damn thing just tipped over like it had a vendetta against me

Abby (3:05 AM):

idk who hurt me more, the chair or the alcohol. maybe ur boobs, tho… I think they could take me out too if they wanted

————————————————————————

[causenessus]

foggy days . . . | chuuya + dazai

chuuya x gn!reader + dazai x gn!reader (seperate scenarios!)

"...god loves you, but not enough to save you. so good luck taking care of yourself." (sun bleached flies / ethel cain)

↑ you don’t have to take care of yourself alone. people come into your life and you enter those of others' so that everyone helps take care of each other. to be human is to love more than god can. more than god ever intended. - ness <3

3.2k words

notes: my og title was super long for this work so i’ve split it up into three parts each with their own song lyrics bc i’m in my yearning era. hopefully everything makes sense :> there is no longer any continuity between the formats of any of my posts and idrc. a little suggestive in chuuya's, a little bit of tongue action, once again i'm a whore for manga-chuuya so don't be offput by his eyes being described as brown LMAO. lots and lots of comfort, basically scenarios of chuuya/dazai + you on a foggy day,,, enjoy <3

thank you to @osamucide for helping me w/ dazai's choice of song <3 this ones for u <3 smooching u <3 ily <3 my life is dedicated to u <3 what a coincidence the lyrics you associated him linked directly back to the ending line i wrote for his scenario before i had even asked you for suggestions <3 we're just soulmates like that <3 mwah <3

. . . kisses on the tip of your nose (chuuya)

“hey, do you wanna see the west with me? ‘cause love’s out there and i can’t let it be." "...love’s never meant that much to me, but i’ll come with you if you’re sure it’s what you need.” (thoroughfare  / ethel cain)

on foggy days, chuuya finds you on a bench underneath the warm flood of light from a lamp post above. air is transparent; it has no color, the phenomenon behind fog is simply that the air has become denser, increasing its visibility while lowering the sight lines of others. yet the humid air eagerly reflects and intensifies any color that shines through it, which allows for the sight in front of him now: like a flickering candle in the middle of a dark room, the throw of the single beacon of light on what must be yokohama’s foggiest day frames and spills atop the crown of your head, making you look more angelic than you already always do. if he had a camera on him, maybe he’d try to take a picture, assuming that the fog wouldn't harbor the clarity of the lens.

you think he looks cute, standing there lost in his own thoughts for a moment, hands stuffed into the pockets of a coat lined with that prickly, stiff, woolen fabric no one like but, regardless, cannot complain about because it keeps them warm. he’s finally abandoned his normal attire for something that's still classy, of course, but more appropriate for the weather.

a scarf is tied around his neck, the way you taught him to so that he wouldn't complain about how itchy or tight it felt, and he’s buried the lower half of his face deep inside the warm fabric, trying to keep his nose from freezing off.

you want to hold his face between your hands, nuzzle the tip of your nose against him, kiss the tip of his nose, then maybe the bridge of it, then the space between his brows, then over each of his eyes, then his cheeks, and then finally, his warm, warm lips.

but you'll do that after he stops scowling at you, shoulders hunched up to try and shield his ears from the nipping cold as best as he can.

he's also, of course, wearing that hat of his. you almost tell him to go back inside in case the moisture of the humid air affects the worn leather it's made of.

but he's braved the cold and stepped out of the house to find you, and you know it's useless to try to suggest the idea to him unless you're following him back in.

"what're ya doing out here in this weather?" he's not scolding you or upset with you, just utterly confused. he steps closer, removing his gloved hands from his pockets to pick up your bare hands that you had resting in your lap, holding them between his warm ones. "shit, i can feel how cold you are through my gloves, doll. you okay?" even if he happened to be irked by something you did, he could never stay mad at you for very long before he was overwhelmed with how much he loved you. now his eyes are warm and soft, focused on your own, brows laced with concern and the scowl gone from his face.

this is where you kiss him all over his face.

and that's exactly what you do, humming a small "yes" to his question before escaping the grip of his hands, locking your arms around his neck and using all the strength you have to pull him on top of the bench you're on.

it's harder than you expect, although maybe that's on you for thinking it'd be easy. he's an executive of the port mafia and most certainly their strongest; no matter how much he typically lets his guard down around you, it's only natural that he tenses up at your sudden attack.

but it's an attack of kisses, to his surprise, and he exclaims as he comes toppling onto you, your back hitting the spindly worn wood of the bench below you. his legs are tangled with your own, and he's placed his arms on either side of you on the bench to support himself, but you don't let him move another inch away from you, running your hands (warming by the second thanks to all the heat your stealing from him) up his neck to caress the side of his cheeks, pulling him close.

whatever he's been chiding you about now dies in his throat when you pull him close. when only your noses touch, and you look into his pretty brown eyes with those flecks of amber and blue, the prettiest eyes you've ever seen, his breath is warm against your lips, his own curling into smile as he huffs. "don't tease me now, sweetheart," whatever consequence he was going to threaten you with falls silent again when you ignore the jeer, shifting his face down slightly so that the tip of his nose meets your lips, and then you're kissing him all over, small murmurs of "i love you"s whispered between every other kiss. his eyes are squeezed shut, cheeks warming by the second despite your freezing hands, unable to keep himself from getting flushed from your overwhelming amount of love he swears he’ll never get used to.

he’ll always get worked up just from the sight of you, overcome with his uncontrollable amount of desire to kiss you and hold you in his arms, and he’ll never be able to stop his eyes from always tearing up the slightest bit along with the stir of his heart in his chest every time you tell him you love him. he'll never get used to your love, he swears, but he doesn't want to.

when you finally place your lips to his, he hums in pleasant surprise, pressing against your lips with just as much fevor, shifting one of his arms to rest himself on his forearm so that he can run his fingers through your hair.

the fog and cold weather pricking your skin through your layers of clothes fade away when you feel his tongue swipe against your lips, asking to be let in. and when you part your lips and his warmth pulls you inexplicably closer, you don't think even the coldest of temperatures could freeze you to death.

not when you're with him, virtually and inexplicably the sun of your life. melting away any ice in your heart and mind with the warmth that comes from the brightest star that's always giving to others; all in the form of the single man who's in your arms right now.

the slight push of his knee against your legs, nudging them farther apart as he finally parts from you, leaving your mouth empty once again, your chest heaving while he takes to trailing burning kisses down your neck, acting completely unaffected, has you running your hands through his strawberry blonde hair, tugging him ever so gently up so that your faces are mere inches apart again.

"chuuya, we're in public," you rasp, and it seems it's your turn to scold him.

"are we now?" he's only grinning at you, fingers grazing the side of your cheek as he brushes a strand of your hair away from your face. "should've thought about that before ya kissed me like that, then. since we’re 'in public.'" he mocks your words and you can't exactly argue back. you’re racking your head for a comeback but he doesn't give you the time to reply before going on, "there's not even anyone around. that's why you came out here anyway, is it not?"

he knows you too well, and all you can do is give a small smile back, bringing a hand up to caress the side of his face. he leans into your touch letting your warming hands mold to the shape of his heated cheek. 

"it is," you murmur, feeling the need to explain yourself as if he doesn't already know you. but you keep talking anyway, and he doesn't stop you. he likes hearing you talk. "i just recently started to like this weather, around the same time i met you. i like how this weather makes everyone disappear. i like how I can't even see two feet in front of me, i think it's beautiful in its own way— like i’m stepping into the unknown, but i'm not scared. and maybe that’s because i know you’ll find me in it no matter what. you’ll be with me, and i’ll be with you. i like being with you. the only reason i left this morning was just to enjoy the silence... but i'm ready to go back in."

his face is nestled back into the crook of your neck, placing light butterfly kisses over your pulsating temple ever so often as he listens to you speak, feels the rumble of your voice through your throat with how closely he's pressed to your skin.

"we can stay out here, i don't mind. i like that it makes everyone go away, too. everyone but you. i like coming out here to find only you; the only one i want to see, anyway," he whispers back, letting his lips place a longer, more firm kiss than before on your neck, sending shivers down your skin. "wherever you want to go, baby. like you said, i'll always be right behind you. no matter how heavy the fog, i swear i’ll find you." 

. 

. 

. 

♡

. . . and muddied knees. (dazai)

“...don’t wait too long. i don’t want you to get tired of me. am i just that damn hard to love?” (golden age / ethel cain)

sleeping with dazai is always an experience.

every night, you both cuddle under the same futon and yet his hands and feet are ungodly freezing. he whines and blames it on poor blood circulation (but not because of his bandages! they aren't that tight, he made sure to add the first night you shared a blanket and fell asleep in each other's arms) leaving the responsibility to fall into your hands–or, more realistically—you’re the lucky one whose been chosen to be his personal heater, cold hands sneaking up your shirt to rest on your navel, his long legs coming to tangle with yours.

usually, he warms up after getting to hold you so closely, and that's why waking up to a cold spot beside you is all the more shocking.

a little bit of light is spilling in from the nearby curtain of his dorm and you're willing yourself to slip out from underneath the warmth of the futon, in search of something–someone more important than the heat. you shiver as you look outside, trying to assess what time it is.

the sky is a light hazy gray, there's no sun in sight, and the trees and ground are darker than usual, soaking wet with the drizzle of rain that had pattered down on the roof above the two of you last night as you fell asleep.

there had been two beating hearts underneath that futon when you closed your eyes.

but when you opened them, you could only hear the pulse of your own life in your ears. and after a little bit of tip-toeing around his small dorm, you were fairly sure it seemed that he wasn't hiding anywhere in the dorm, either.

slipping on the nearest pair of shoes you can find, wrapping one of dazai's heavier jackets tightly around you, you brace the nipping cold as you open the door of his dorm, peeking your head out.

he’s not out taking in the view of the ground below him, leaning dangerously far over that old, worn, metal railing of the dorm’s building as you sometimes find him doing, so you start your usual trail of places you're bound to find him. it's not surprising that he's wandered off alone, lost in his thoughts. in fact, it's at least a weekly occurrence and by this point maybe anyone else would have gotten used to his sudden disappearances, knowing he was bound to show up back on the doorstep at some point, but you cann't help chasing out after him. you don’t want him to be alone, you don’t want there to be a time that comes where he never returns, and maybe it’s all because you weren’t there with him when he needed you.

you’re his partner; the one he wraps his arms around when he finally, after an entire day being the strong one, relaxes and just becomes osamu again. your osamu. you're the one osamu lets undress him sometimes, let's kiss over his skin, and help him wrap his bandages if he needs. if they exist, you're fairly certain osamu's your soulmate. and if they don't exist, he's surely the closest he can be to one. and maybe he doesn’t see you the same way back, but how could you not go out looking for your soulmate, the one you love, every time he wanders off alone? is always being by your boyfriend's side not what it means to love him? how could your heart not be eating away at you, knowing how far apart your other half, crying out to you to find him?

there’s no need to justify why you’re wandering through the humid mist of the early morning. if dazai asked why you always came after him, you’re not sure you could say all of that to his face. all you could probably say is, “because i love you.” and that’s what it all really boils down to in the end, isn't it? doesn't everything you do for him stem from a place of insatiable love? one that you’re not sure he’s always ready to accept, but one you are always willing to give him more of whenever his mind allows himself to let you love him as you want to. fully.

he's not near the bridge he's often teetering off the edge of and sometimes falling into. he's not found on the boardwalks of yokohama either. the shore is especially ghostly today, absent of any people, and the heavy fog that lays over the rippling blue water doesn't help with the eerie atmosphere.

but you find him at the third spot, which on a day like this, you felt was where you would find him from the start, anyway. 

you climb up the concrete steps quietly, seeing that familiar head of tousled brown hair leaning against a headstone. the engraving of a name that's been etched into it, the grooves aged and soiled with time, faces towards you.

you bow, placing your hands together and paying your respects as always to osamu's friend. the one you’ve never met, but by this point perhaps know just as well as osamu with all the stories he's fondly spoken of, lulling you to sleep on countless nights. after a moment of silence, you pass by the gravestone to join osamu on the dewy grass.

"[y/n]," he says your name, lolling his head against the curve of the top of the gravestone to look towards you.

his eyes are bright and wide, and you almost go as far to say he seems especially energetic today, but you know that no amount of light in his eyes can promise that he's doing well.

your eyes flick down to his hands, bandages just barely peeking out of the beige coat he's wearing, and you kneel next to him, not minding the way the soil sinks against your knees when you do, slightly leaning over him as you take his hands into your own.

"are you not cold? it's freezing out here and you're not even wearing an extra jacket. i should have brought a scarf or something—" you're half speaking to yourself, half speaking to him, and he only continues to watch you as if in admiration of something, which you come to understand with his next words.

"don't you ever get tired of warming me up? do you get tired of having to come find me? are you tried of getting your hands dirty because of me?" his words are gentle, still spoken lightly as if he’s simply telling you about the exciting day he’s had, not asking you questions that have you pausing for a second. in this moment, his tone only speaks volumes to you about how much of his true feelings he's hiding, but none of that works on you anymore.

"no, osamu," you look up at him from where you've been focused on his hands, clamped between your own as you try your best to give him everything you have, willing the warmth of your hands to transfer to him. it's not exactly how science works, but you'd bare the cold for him, freeze your very hands off and give him all of your warmth down to your beating heart if it meant he was warm and well taken care of.

"i'm never tired of you, or anything you do. i'll never get tired of you. i'm happy i get to warm up your hands every night. i'm happy i'm the one that gets to do that and wander around looking for you. you make me so happy, osamu, i don't care about these clothes, or how dirty i get, as long as i get to be by your side. as long as i get to be the one to hold your hands tonight." the curved smile he greeted you with is slowly dropping by the second, but that doesn't mean your words are upsetting him. it's the opposite; his facade is slowly peeling away. "do you see, osamu? you make me so happy. i'll dress warmly and take care of myself just to make sure that i'm always able to warm your hands because i love you. all i hope is that i can make you happy, too."

one of his hands, now slightly warmer, reaches up to slide against the side of your face, brushing the upper ridges of your cheekbone with a thumb. "you do make me happy, angel. sometimes i just have to get out, like my love for you is too much. i don't deserve so much happiness, so i have to return to places that once depressed me in order to force everything to settle down. i don't want to overwhelm you with how i feel, whether that be an emotion good or bad."

"don't hold yourself back or water yourself down for me, osamu. i want to love you through the good and the bad. i want to be there for all of it. i want to warm you up every night, not just on the ones where you feel deserving of it. you're always deserving of love, in my eyes. i don't want just the good parts of you, i want all of you. and if you still have to wander out and return to old places, then i'll come along with you, if you'll let me. i'll keep you warm wherever you go. i love you."

he lets out a breath that sounds like he's been holding it in for hours before he's smiling softly. it's genuine this time when his lips turn upward while he's pulling you onto his lap, your muddied knees straddling his own. "i love you, pretty. i'll do my best to keep you warm, too. with happiness, love, and whatever else you need. i hope you never get tired of me. because i will surely never tire of you." 

.

.

. 

♡

[simp-for-love]

Addiction

Mattheo Riddle x femReader

Mattheo Riddle has always prided himself on control. From quitting cigarettes for months to cutting out alcohol, he's mastered every addiction, every craving — except one.

Warnings: light angst with happy ending, themes of control and self-restraint, mentions of smoking, alcohol, fighting, and weed, kinda grumpy x sunshine vibes.

Mattheo Riddle was a man of control.

He quit smoking for three months once — just to prove that he could. The craving gnawed at him, made him irritable, but he endured. He gave up alcohol for a month, letting the parties pass him by without so much as a sip, ignoring the way his fingers twitched for a glass. Sex? A month. He decided it would affect his health if he deprived himself longer. He quit weed for four months, but that was the easiest one — he only smoked when he needed to let go and relax. He hadn’t fought a single person for a month because he had a bet with Enzo. Easy galleons. And the fact that he’d beaten all those twits later — no one cared. The bet had been won. Sugar? Gone for two months. It had been hell, but he was stubborn, and stubborn men didn’t break over something as trivial as a craving.

He liked testing himself, setting limits just to push against them. He wasn’t weak. He wasn’t like the people who let their habits control them.

He made and unmade habits like it was nothing, testing himself constantly, pushing his own limits just to see how far he could go.

He knew how to cut things out of his life.

When his father taught him that emotions made you vulnerable and weak, he learned to shut them down. When he realized that people only stayed when it benefited them, he made sure never to need anyone. He conditioned himself to be unaffected — to not care, to not crave, to not need.

But even the strongest man has a weakness.

And Mattheo Riddle’s was you.

He could go months without a cigarette, weeks without firewhiskey, days without sleep — and then there was you.

You were the one thing Mattheo couldn’t control. The one thing he just couldn’t walk away from.

He tried, of course. At first, it seemed simple. He could treat you like he treated everyone else besides his friends — detached, aloof, unaffected. But you didn't seem to notice, waving at him friendly, approaching him, asking about his day. And the more time he spent with you, the more his control slipped.

When you laughed, it rattled something deep inside him, something he hadn’t even known was there. He couldn’t ignore the warmth that spread through him, the way his chest felt light whenever you spoke his name cheerfully. And when you smiled, the kind of smile that made your eyes shine, he found himself smiling back more and more often, even though every part of him screamed that he shouldn’t. His body tingled with anticipation of your ephemeral and natural touch. It didn’t matter if it was a casual nudge, a brush of fingers while passing a book, or a friendly pat on his shoulder. He realized how touch-starved he was, despite being intimate with more than one girl in a week.

Every time he caught himself staring at you, caught himself thinking of you — he’d convince himself it was nothing. A fleeting thought. But when his mind wandered, it always wandered back to you.

And it terrified him. Because, for the first time in his life, he couldn’t control it. And he didn’t know what to do about it.

But then came the first time he saw you smiling at someone else, and something inside him cracked.

It was an innocent thing — just you laughing with your friends across the room — but it hit him like a punch to the chest. His hands clenched into fists, his breath coming faster than he’d like to admit, and for a moment, he almost wanted to walk over there and claim your attention like a needy kid wanting his parents to notice him.

The night after that he didn't sleep much, spending his time thinking and reflecting his behavior and stirring emotions. But then the next morning, you came to him with an adorable furrow on your face and a worried look in your eyes, reaching out to place a hand on his forehead and asking about his well-being.

And he gave in.

If he’d lost this battle against addiction, he might as well make the most of it, he thought.

Mattheo started approaching you first, walking you to your classes. He would throw a witty joke or charming wink while passing by with his friends. He started sharing his thoughts about things and concepts, studying with you in the library on quiet evenings. The smile on his face appeared more often, making your own widen even so slightly. He started to let you in, allowing to take a peek inside his carefully constructed walls.

And he hadn’t regretted it since then, not even once.

"Matt, are you overthinking again?" you asked, running your fingers through his curls in a soothing motion.

He shifted his head on your stomach slightly to look up at you, snapping out of his thoughts. The lazy, warm smile tugged at his lips almost out of habit at the sight of you — so relaxed and soft, lying on his bed. With him. Merlin, he was the luckiest man out there.

He leaned into your hand in his hair, silently asking you not to stop. "Nah, just thinking about how much I adore my girl," he said with a small, cheeky smile, looking up at you.

His words made you chuckle softly, and that widened the smile on his lips, showing the dimple on his left cheek. He loved your laugh, and he loved it even more when he was the reason for it.

Mattheo buried his face into your stomach, inhaling your scent deeply, sinking into your warmth. An involuntary sigh of content escaped his lips.

Control was a comforting illusion, something he had clung to his entire life. But this — this chaotic, terrifying, wonderful thing he had with you — was the one addiction he never wanted to give up.

And, for once, he was perfectly fine with that.

[littelovelunette]

Early 40's Alone (SPECIAL)

ೃ⁀➷ Reference Post

Mentions of Sevika's past, alcohol intoxication, mentions of inebriated sex

Sevika watched the cake in silence, the fire on the candles illuminating a little of her face, casting harsh shadows on the dark skin.

"Happy birthday," she read out the card, the words sounding so empty to herself, "Happy...?"

Inside her head, it was as if she could almost see a younger her. Happy, unharmed, just a few scratches but that was the norm in the Undercity. Atleast, she still had her parents even though she didn't really see eye-to-eye with her father.

He had anger issues, and given her natural rebellious attitude, to her father she was never enough and never did she ever hear on his tongue that she was a good daughter.

But she had learnt to accept it, atleast her mother despite her health problems managed to love Sevika and taught her how to dwell on her own before she... Passed.

Suddenly, now she could almost feel how her mother felt even though she wasn't married to a man who was verbally abusive and she certainly didn't live in constant fear like her mother did.

But all the health problems, back ache, eyesight impairment, high blood pressure, want to just be comforted was coming to her.

Sevika could hear it in her mind, the faint sound of her mother singing happy birthday to her in that melodious tone and that beautiful cake she would prepare with her own hands, which was better than any store-bought cake no matter the expense.

"Miss you, ma," Sevika mouthed, her voice didn't come to her throat when she said it.

Her throat felt dry, nose burnt as she felt the warm tears fall out of her grey eyes as she blinked. Tears blurred her vision but she didn't want to cry, face stoic as more tears streamed down her cheeks.

Sevika tried to busy herself, pushing the cake away to the edge of the table and trying to resume her work on her mechanical arm but the image of her mother's beautiful face kept floating back to her.

Sevika let out a small sigh, throwing the pen away somewhere far in the room, she knew herself and she wouldn't be able to concentrate like this. She pinched the bridge of her nose, the tears kept coming.

For a while, she sat there, slumped against the wall, hands holding her face.

"I wish I could've been as strong as you, ma, but it just doesn't feel home without you," she mumbled the words more to herself than anyone else because there wasnt really anyone in the house with her, she was all on her own.

With a loud sigh, Sevika got up grunting a little as she did, she grabbed her poncho with her flesh hand and draped it over herself hiding the metal arm beneath it.

Sevika headed off to Last Drop, she did so whenever she felt too lonely or too sad. Whichever it was, she just wanted to mask whatever pain she was going through and maybe have a few drinks, gamble a little and perhaps even pick a fight— anything to make herself forget that it was her birthday today.

Sevika walked into the bar, the place smelled of alcohol, smoke and a faint trace of gunpowder. No matter how much she tried to indulge herself in gambling, she couldn't help thinking of her mother, wondering if she would've been proud of the way Sevika handled stress and sadness— of course, no mother would appreciate their daughter wallowing in their sorrows and using alcohol as a temporary painkiller.

As Sevika started stacking her chips, she heard a soft voice called out, "Hey, you okay?"

When she looked up at you, she could've sworn for a second she almost saw her mother standing there in place of you, was she going insane finally? "... Y-yeah, I'm okay." Sevika managed to say finally but you could've easily said she was lying to your face.

"Mind if I—...?" You gestured to the seat next to her and Sevika knew you meant to ask if you could sit next to her. She wasn't feeling like her usual grumpy self so she shrugged with a casual "Yeah, sure, why not?"

Sevika averted her gaze to her game, sighing as she tried to focus on the game. "You can talk to me yknow, I mean I know I'm a stranger and all but it's better than keeping it all bottled up inside." You said trying to be as comforting as you could be the grumpy woman. Sevika looked tired, dark circles etched onto the underside of her eyes and she refused speak, perhaps because she thought opening up to a sweet stranger would be too much of a low blow to her 'scary lady' facade. Deep inside she was still that eleven year old child with daddy issues and a dead mother who she dearly missed.

"Hey." Your hand on hers tore her right back to reality. "But why?" Sevika asked her voice feeling a little constricted, "Why are you even bothering?"

"I know what it's like to be alone. I don't want other to go through that." You said in a solemn voice before looking up at her with genuine eyes, "Just talk to me, you'll feel better even if there's not much I can do."

Reluctantly, Sevika nodded and gestured at one of the workers to get the both of you some drinks. She let out a sigh, and almost gestured the men she was gambling with to give us space that they did, shooting weird looks at the both of us. Even they likely never saw Sevika being so... Solemn.

"It's my birthday today," Sevika began, "40th birthday and lets just say it just doesn't feel good without my ma, she passed away a long time ago and she was the only person who made my life all sparkly and whatever..."

She continued, "I mean, I did receive a cake and I am grateful they remember it's even my birthday, to be frank, but I also just feel alone most of the time in my apartment. I've been so focused on Zaun, I think I forgot I needed to settle down too. Of course, my loyalty belongs to Zaun but for once I would've liked to—... What am I even rambling on about?" Sevika chuckled uncharacteristically, "You don't even know me."

"I do." You pressed, staring at her with your chin resting in one of your hands, a small smile playing on your lips, "I've seen you before but you never made yourself look approachable but today you seemed like a kicked puppy so I couldn't help it."

"You came over because you felt pity?" Sevika tried to hide the self-loathe behind her words but they seeped out with every letter.

"No, not pity, dumbass." You put the glass down, turning to face her and made eye contact, "I could tell you needed someone to talk to."

"Honestly, you're the first person who ever dared to call me dumbass." Sevika said with a small smile.

"Expect it a lot more from now then." You said with a small smile.

"Sorry, I never got your name." Sevika said and leaned back against her chair. You gave her your name and she made a mental note to remember it even if she was a little under the influence.

The night went on as the both of you shared drinks and personal stories from both your childhoods. You both had daddy issues and it was a tad bit easier to talk about personal problems due to it. You didn't even realise when one drink became two, two became three and so on until you both were making out drunkenly against Sevika's mostly empty closet back at her place. "Before you do what you do, I'm a virgin." You slurred out and Sevika smiled against the skin of your neck. "You're so cute..."

Sunlight peeked through the curtains rousing you. You tried to get up but the arm around you was so heavy you were forced to stay back. There was Sevika pressed behind you... NAKED!? You had to cover your mouth so you didn't gasp, your naked ass was literally against her cunt. You tried to get up again, this time struggling a little because the sheets were so... Sticky.

Sevika, albeit asleep, got the gist and rolled onto her back taking a deep breath and snoring softly.

You watched her sleep for a bit before looking at the mechanical arm, it was probably the first time you were seeing it properly. You smiled a little, slowly and gently detaching the arm and putting it on the bedside table. You didn't want her getting hurt while she slept after all.

But what now? You were butt-naked and you had no idea where your clothes were.

As you slowly walked around the room you saw a huge thick strap at foot of her bed. So you both did have sex... The toy was covered in your residue from last night and blood from your hymen breaking. You let out a soft sigh and pinched the bridge of your nose before picking the toy up off the ground and taking it to the bathroom.

When you looked at your reflection in the mirror, you could see the hickeys on your neck. Damn, those would need a lot of makeup to cover.

You washed it, a headache was building but it was dull. You remembered a little bit of last night but your body wasn't fully awake yet so you werent exactly going to try too hard to recall.

Sevika's soft snoring stopped abruptly and a little rustling of sheets told you that she had gotten off the bed and awake. You finished washing the sex toy and turned the tap off, walking out of the bathroom.

"Why are you holding my—... Why is it wet?" Sevika asked, her voice a little raspy from sleep as she rubbed her eyes with her flesh hand.

"I washed it! Idiot." You said as your cheeks flushed red and gave it to her. She was naked, oh goddamn, those beautiful muscles. "So, um, what did we do last night?"

"We fucked." Sevika said bluntly as she walked to the bathroom to wash her face. You sighed and followed, watching her wash her face, "And? What happens now? I never had... Um, sex and flings and whatever, I don't know how this plays out."

"This a fling?" Sevika asked as she finished washing her face, reaching for a towel to roughly dry her face.

"I don't know! I told you, I never did anything li—" Sevika let go of the towel and cut you out when she kissed you. You kissed back, melting due to the amount of passion in the kiss. It was nothing rough, just softness... Love.

When Sevika let go of the kiss, those grey eyes of hers that usually held something so strong and angry was soft and calm. It was beautiful. You couldn't help smiling a little. "Okay, now where's my arm?"

Sevika sidestepped you and you laughed, "That's the last thing I thought I'd hear after a good kiss."

Sevika didn't reply as she fixed her prosthetic arm in its place, "You look nice naked." She commented as she fixed the mechanical arm, flexing the fingers to check if it worked fine. You blushed instinctively trying to cover your body. "Where are my clothes anyway?" Sevika raised a brow at the question.

"Your clothes..." Sevika furrowed her eyebrows as she too tried hard to remember. "Hallway, we were undressing each other in the hallway." Sevika said casually, "But here." She took a T-shirt from her closet and gave it to you. "Don't wear it yet, you're due for a shower and so am I."

"Together?" You asked, your voice sounding almost hopeful. Even if this was a little awkward for you, dating someone like Sevika had always been a dream.

"Getting ahead of yourself, but yeah." Sevika chuckled and grabbed two towels before she headed in the shower room, "Come on, bunny."

Sevika checked the water temperature. Usually she used cold water showers but since you were here today she decided on a slightly warmer shower. You let the T-shirt, Sevika gave you, rest next to the towels.

"Even though, it's been only one night of sex and I don't even know what else we did, I just have to ask you're in it for the long haul aren't you?"

"Of course, all other times the girls leave during the morning so I'm glad you didn't participate in the walk of shame." Sevika lathered soap onto your body, her touch her gentle and loving.

"Walk of shame? Why do they leave?" You asked as you watched Sevika kneel to wash your legs properly, a faint trace of blood being washed off your thigh.

"That's how flings work." Sevika said, her voice low. She got back up and this time you helped her clean off, Sevika's eyes widened a little. She wasn't used to this. But it felt nice being cared for.

"After this shower, I'll make you the best coffee in the world." You said to Sevika smiling as the water streamed down Sevika's dark hair and onto shoulders, washing away the soap.

"Oh, yeah? You gonna play housewife, hm?" Sevika gave you a brief kiss on the lips before she pulled back and turned the water off. She gave you a towel to dry off as she dried her own body.

Few minutes later, you were in the kitchen with a towel wrapped around your hair as you made coffee for Sevika and you. "Make it black." Sevika said, her voice low and grumbled as she leant against the doorway of the kitchen. "What're you makin' anyway?"

"A good breakfast for a change. Better than smoking two cigarettes and doing a shot for breakfast." You retorted making Sevika roll her eyes and walk into the kitchen burying her nose in the crook of your neck.

"French toast." You answered, soaking the bread in vanilla-cinnamon egg batter before cooking it, you gestured her to pass you the container of sugar and plate as you finished cooking it. Sevika grunted but complied, giving you a dish and the sugar.

A while later you served breakfast, sitting down next to Sevika who didn't seem too enthusiastic about breakfast first but now, she was eating every last bite.

"Tastes good?"

"It's fine." Sevika said but the fact that she was eating it all so fast alike a starved woman told you otherwise.

Maybe finally this would work out for her. Maybe things would finally be okay starting now. Even though the questions raced in her mind, Sevika was sure she'd be happy to finally have a healthy relationship for once in her entire life.

[shyamanuensis]

sex - t.r

♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── Tom doesn’t want sex. Well, that’s a lie – he fucking does; he’s been craving it all day. He’s smitten and addicted and obsessed with every single inch of you and can’t wait to have his way, pounding into you while the headboard of your bed smacks rhythmically against your dorm walls in the middle of the night. As much as he wants this though – he wants every single other thing that comes along with it. That leads up to the temptation of you. The final prize he’s keen on winning every single time. At first, it started out as a game for you. You’d ask him to take things slow knowing that patience was never his best virtue and that he’d snap at the sound of your chuckle when he knew that request was coming. These days though – no; he craves all the little things which you’ve taught him to. Trained him to. Cause him to become accustomed to yearn for.

At first, it’s those slow, soft, barely there kisses when you first become engulfed in each-others presence that he begins to enjoy. It allows him to focus, to commit to the moment, to expel any ounce of haste impulse he may have. This is closely followed by grabbing and pulling you close. Hands pawing at your wrists, your hips, knotting effortlessly into your hair to bring you against him, onto him, one with him. There comes that whimper you let out as he purposely breaths down your neck in order to wipe your thoughts before peppered kisses along your sensitive skin turn to nips, turn to bites, turn to ownership and he uses the way your body is reacting to grind up against you – to have you melt into him. You're like ice-cream in summer and he’s starving for a taste.

Once silent - his whispers of ‘jump’, ‘up’ and ‘please’ all words once so foreign to slip off the tip of his tongue Tom now wields almost as a weapon, knowing that you’ll comply to his desires, his requests. He’s gotten use to how he sounds but you can’t seem to control yourself when you hear him begging almost like a prayer. Suspiring your heavy breathing, Tom has become more tolerant at allowing you to pause and catch your breath – the time savoured to gaze into your eyes, notice the vulnerability etched within them; how they’re tinted with trepidation, with passion. How they darken as the tinge of blush across your cheeks becomes scarlet, begins to match your skin as he delicately unwraps every layer of clothing you wear until your completely bare before him. Admiring a view that he’s seen a hundred times before but is still just as unique and exceptional as every sunset he’s ever witnessed.

Yeah, sex is the end goal, but it is no longer just about that. He wants all of this. He wants all of you. He wants to experience the tenderness you’ve so unashamedly taught him that its okay to feel. He wants permission to admire you, devour you, engulf you, savour you. He wants you; because you’re worth more to him than just the sex. ── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ♡

[memoiresofaneternaldreamer]

Royal Flush

Pairing: The Magician! Lee Know x Gambler! Reader

Themes: Smut | Strangers to Friends | Friends to Lovers | Crime Syndicate AU

Wordcount: 6.9K

Playlist: 'Don't Fall For Monsters' - DeathbyRomy

Smut Warnings: Explicit sexual acts - Use of money (not for its intended purposes - this is filthy y'all.) - Brat taming - Spanking - Use of a mouth gag - Slight hair pulling - Pet names - Unprotected intercourse (Reader is implied to be on the pill).

This story is intended for an adult audience only. Minors do not interact.

Previous chapter: Gilded Cage - The High Priestess

You hardly remember the first time you played poker.

Your brother had taught you with a deck so old the edges curled, the cards faded soft with time and use. He’d told you the game wasn’t about luck—it was about patience, control, and knowing the people across the table better than they knew themselves. It didn’t matter what you held; it only mattered what they thought you held. You took his lessons to heart and learned how to read a room the way others read a book. And now, years later, poker wasn’t just a skill—it was survival.

But survival was harder these days.

The casinos had shut their doors to you long ago. Once, you’d walked into every brightly lit room with the confidence of a queen, leaving with more money than you had entered with. Too much money. It had taken time for them to notice. They tolerated winners, but not ones who never lost. One by one, the doors closed, their polite refusals hiding the steel of an unspoken blacklist.

So, you’d adapted.

That’s how you found 'The Ante'.

You first heard the name in a hushed conversation between two players who had just taken a beating at an underground tournament. You weren’t supposed to listen, but you always listened. 'The Ante' wasn’t a place you could just find—it found you. An invitation through whispers, a door hidden where no one thought to look. No advertisements, no signs. A secret among secrets.

You weren’t sure what you expected when you arrived the first time. It wasn’t the neon glow of a casino or the seedy, smoky rooms of other illegal parlours you’d played in before. Instead, 'The Ante' was elegant in its secrecy—dark wood, low lighting, an atmosphere thrumming with unspoken rules. There were no bouncers, just men in well-tailored suits who seemed to know everyone’s business without ever asking a question.

And there was money here. More than you’d ever seen in one place. The chips exchanged hands like breathing, fortunes made and lost in a single hand. This was no place for the reckless. The ones who sat at these tables were professionals, players who knew the weight of a gamble when the stakes weren’t just money.

You played. And, as always, you won.

They let you come back.

The more you returned, the more you became a fixture. At first, just another face at the lower tables, but the regulars had started to notice you. Your name wasn’t spoken much, but eyes followed when you played. And then, one night, you were moved to a higher table.

Texas Hold ‘Em. The real game.

It was at that table that you noticed him.

At first, it was subtle—a shadow in your periphery, a presence just beyond your immediate focus. He never sat at your table, not at first, but he was always there. Watching.

The first time you really saw him, it was in a lull between hands, when you let your gaze wander. He was seated at a nearby table, his profile cut sharp against the dim glow of the hanging lamps. Dark hair, sharp nose, a kind of effortless confidence that most men had to cultivate but seemed intrinsic to him. He didn’t fidget, didn’t lounge like the others. He simply existed in the space, quiet but undeniable.

You turned back to your game.

But after that night, you noticed him more. And, more importantly, you saw that he noticed you.

Sometimes, you felt his gaze across the room, a weight just enough to make you aware. Other times, he was seated at your table, playing well enough to blend in but never enough to stand out. He was careful, calculated. And despite yourself, you started to wonder.

Who was he?

The others seemed to know him, at least in the way that they didn’t question his presence. He was greeted with nods, a word here and there, but no one used a name.

It took a while before he spoke to you.

The night was like any other—cards, chips, the steady undercurrent of risk running through the air like a live wire. You had just taken a sizeable pot when you felt the shift. That particular awareness you’d developed when being watched too closely.

And then, he spoke. “You play like you don’t believe in luck.”

His voice was smooth, a casual observation that carried more weight than it should. You turned your head slowly, meeting his gaze for the first time up close. He was just as devastating as this, his eyes dark and knowing, as if he already understood the answer to his own statement.

“That’s because I don’t.” You slid your chips into a neat stack. “Luck is a myth losers tell themselves." A slow, amused tilt of his lips. “That so?” You didn’t answer, but his attention didn’t waver.

“Minho.” He offered the name like a card being dealt, effortless and precise.

You knew better than to give yours. Instead, you hummed, tapping your fingers against the table. “You watch people.” He inclined his head slightly. “So do you.”

It wasn’t a question, just a fact. You studied him a moment longer, searching for something, anything that would explain why he had taken an interest in you.

But Minho gave away nothing.

The dealer called for bets, breaking whatever moment had settled between you. Without another word, Minho returned to his game, attention slipping away like smoke.

But he’d spoken to you now.

And something told you this wouldn’t be the last time.

You tell yourself it’s nothing. Just another face across the table. Another opponent to read, to anticipate, to beat.

But Minho is not just another face.

Despite your best efforts to keep your distance, he manages to slip through the cracks, breaking down your walls brick by brick. He doesn’t push—he doesn’t need to. He simply exists in your space, unshakable, his presence as natural as the cards in your hands. Over months of playing together, of conversations woven between deals and bets, he has become something unexpected.

An almost-friend.

But friendship doesn’t explain the heat that lingers beneath your skin when he’s near. It doesn’t explain how your pulse stutters when he leans in too close, how your mind drifts, unbidden, to the sharp line of his jaw, and how his fingers skim over his chips with lazy precision. The attraction is undeniable, electric.

And yet, you keep it buried. Hidden. Because Minho is too perceptive, too knowing, and the last thing you want is for him to wield that knowledge like a weapon.

So you pretend. You tell yourself it’s nothing.

But Minho is not just another face.

“You always count the chips before you touch them.”

It’s an observation, spoken casually one night after you’ve swept another table clean. Minho is leaning back in his chair, elbow resting on the edge of the felt. He’s not playing, just watching.

You glance at him, his expression unreadable. “Everyone counts their chips.”

“Not like you.” He tilts his head, considering. “You count them before you even move. Before the dealer pushes them toward you.”

You don’t reply; just flick a chip between your fingers before adding it to your stack.

“You don’t trust what you can’t see for yourself.”

The statement is so on the nose that it makes your spine go rigid. You force yourself to remain impassive, offering a slow, practised smirk instead. “Trust is expensive.”

Minho just hums, gaze still sharp. “Good thing you can afford it.”

The conversations never last long, but they always leave something behind. A thought, a lingering thread you can’t quite shake. He never asks about your past, your family, or your life outside of The Ante. But his questions always circle close enough to make you feel like he already knows.

“Why do you do it?” Minho asks one night, watching as you shuffle your deck between hands.

You don’t look up. “Why do I do what?”

“Play like you have something to prove.”

Your fingers still on the deck. Just for a second. It’s brief, but Minho catches it. He always catches it.

You shift, sliding a card between your fingers, the smooth surface grounding. “Everyone has something to prove.”

“Not me.” There’s a small, knowing smile playing on his lips.

You roll your eyes. “Right. You just gamble for the fun of it.”

“Something like that.” His gaze flickers over you, measured and intent. “Or maybe I just like watching you win.”

Your stomach flips at his statement, but you don’t let it show. You force a scoff, tossing the deck onto the table. “I don’t need an audience.”

Minho leans forward just slightly. “You do when they’re playing against you.”

Damn him. He always does this. Turning things around, finding the cracks you don’t think you’ve left exposed.

Despite yourself, despite every instinct screaming at you to stay focused, you start to crave his presence. Even when he sits at your table. Even when he leans in just a little too close to whisper an observation only meant for you. Even when you start to enjoy the back-and-forth, the sharp-edged banter, he challenges you without ever making you feel like a fool.

Over time, the caution dulls. You don’t let your guard down—not completely—but you let him in. Just a fraction. Just enough.

Minho, for his part, is never pushy. Never overt. But he’s there. And he sees you.

It’s late one night when he finally says something that unsettles you.

The room is quieter than usual, the main crowd already gone, leaving only the most dedicated gamblers still at their tables. You and Minho are alone in one of the back rooms, an unspoken ritual you’ve fallen into—small, casual games just between the two of you. No money exchanged, just cards and conversation.

You deal a hand, watching as he picks up his cards. He doesn’t even glance at them before setting them back down.

“You should walk away.”

Your brow furrows. “From this hand?” You look down at your own cards. “Seems a little premature.”

“Not the hand.” He watches you carefully, his fingers drumming lazily against the felt. “The game.”

Something sharp twists in your chest, but you ignore it. “I don’t run.”

Minho tilts his head. “Not even when it’s the smartest move?”

You exhale through your nose, shaking your head. “You think you know everything, don’t you?”

“Not everything.” He leans forward just slightly, voice softer now, almost... careful. “Just you.”

Your pulse jumps. Your throat goes dry.

You can’t let him see it.

So you push back. “That’s a dangerous thing to assume.”

Minho just smiles, slow and knowing. “I don’t assume.”

You don’t sleep well that night. You tell yourself it’s because of the game, the risk, and the stakes that grow higher each time you walk through The Ante’s doors. But deep down, you know it’s not just that.

Minho is an enigma, wrapped in charm, strategy, and an unsettling amount of knowledge—knowledge about you.

And that should terrify you. But somehow, it doesn’t.

Not enough to walk away.

The air inside The Ante is thick tonight, buzzing with the usual undercurrent of wealth and risk, but for once, you barely feel it. Your pulse is a heavy beat in your ears, your fingers tingling with an energy that isn’t anticipation—it’s desperation.

The letter had arrived last night.

A final notice from the debt collectors. Bills you and your brother had long forgotten about, payments that had slipped through the cracks while you were busy just trying to stay afloat. And now, the consequences loomed over you. If you didn’t come up with the money soon, you’d lose your home.

So here you are.

The moment you step inside, you search for a table. You don’t want to talk. You don’t want to think. You need to win. You don’t see him at first. But Minho sees you.

You don’t notice the way his gaze sharpens from across the room, or how his usual air of casual observance turns more acute. He leans against the bar, a glass of whiskey in his hand, watching as you storm toward the high-stakes tables. Something is wrong. He sees it immediately.

The way your hands twitch at your sides, your shoulders wound too tight. The barely contained agitation in every step, the way you scan the tables with restless energy. Reckless energy.

You aren’t acting like yourself tonight.

Minho moves before he even realises he’s made the decision. He shouldn’t. He should let you play, let you lose, let the game do what it always does to those who lack restraint. But he’s already there, stepping into your path before you can sit down.

“You need to leave.”

You jerk to a stop, looking up at him with wide eyes, caught off guard by his sudden appearance. “Excuse me?”

Minho’s expression is unreadable, but there’s a weight in his gaze that makes something tighten in your stomach. “You’re not thinking straight.”

You scoff, stepping around him, but he moves just as fast, blocking your path again. “Minho, move.”

“No.” His voice is calm, but firm. “Not when you’re like this.”

Your hands curl into fists at your sides. “Like what?”

His gaze flicks over you, taking in the tension in your shoulders, the way you shift your weight like you’re barely keeping still. “Like you’re about to make a mistake.”

Something inside you snaps. You lean in, voice sharp. “I don’t need you to save me.”

Minho exhales slowly, his jaw flexing. “I know.” His voice lowers, almost too soft to hear. “But you’re not playing to win tonight. You’re playing to survive. And that’s how you lose.”

You don’t have time for this. You push past him before he can say another word, leaving him standing there as you approach the high-stakes table.

Minho watches you go, his lips pressed into a thin line.

At the bar, Jeongin watches him.

He doesn’t speak immediately; he just sips his drink, amusement dancing in his eyes. Then, finally— “That was interesting.”

Minho doesn’t have to turn to know who the voice belongs to. He sighs, bringing his glass to his lips before responding. “Jeongin.”

Jeongin grins, eyes flicking between his friend and where you now sit, already placing your first bet. “You’ve been acting weird lately, you know that?” He hums. “And now I know why.”

Minho finally looks at him, his expression blank. “You don’t know anything.”

Jeongin hums, unconvinced. “You sure about that?” He takes another slow sip, gaze still on you. “Because I know that look. And I know you.”

Minho exhales through his nose, setting his glass down. “She’s reckless tonight.”

Jeongin raises an eyebrow. “And you’re going to help her, aren’t you?”

Minho doesn’t respond.

Instead, he pushes off the bar and walks toward your table.

Jeongin watches, head tilted, studying his friend. He sees the way Minho sits down without hesitation, how his focus never wavers from you. Then, as the game unfolds, he watches something even more intriguing—Minho folding good hands, keeping bad ones, deliberately shifting the game’s momentum in your favour.

Jeongin grins to himself.

Oh, this is interesting indeed.

Finally, after a few hands, he downs the last of his drink and strolls toward the table, sliding into an open seat across from Minho.

Minho’s eyes flick up, sharp, but Jeongin only offers a lazy smile as he places his first bet.

“Let’s up the ante, shall we?”

The game begins.

You settle into your seat, your fingers curling around your chips as you scan the table. Blackjack. A game of precision, of risk, of the perfect balance between patience and impulse.

And you need to win.

Jeongin grins at you from across the table, his posture relaxed, his confidence unchecked. He doesn’t hide it when he’s dealt a good hand. He lets the satisfaction show, each smirk a sharp edge against your concentration.

“Don’t look so tense,” he drawls, stacking his chips neatly. “It’s just a game.”

You ignore him, your focus locked onto the cards. You think through every possible move, every scenario. But you’re too reckless tonight. The desperation humming beneath your skin clouds your logic, making your decisions a second too slow, a little too aggressive. You take unnecessary risks. And Jeongin—sharp, watchful, merciless—takes full advantage.

He capitalises on each mistake you make. With every misstep and every slight overreach, he turns against you.

Minho, silent as ever, watches.

Unlike Jeongin, he plays passively, almost too passively. Folding on hands he could win. Raising bets when he shouldn’t. You notice, your frustration simmering beneath the surface. What the hell is he doing?

But Minho doesn’t react to your irritation. He stays calm, his expression unreadable as he watches Jeongin play you like a violin.

And then Jeongin starts really playing.

“You’re cute when you concentrate.” His voice is light, teasing, but the glint in his eyes is razor-sharp.

You barely flick him a glance. “Shut up and play.”

“Oh, I am playing.” He leans in slightly, his smirk widening. “Just not the way you think.”

Your grip on your cards tightens. Minho shifts slightly in his seat, his jaw ticking.

Jeongin notices and his smirk deepens.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he muses, flipping a card with lazy ease. “You look like you’re about to snap. What’s wrong? Not used to someone getting under your skin?”

You glare at him, but he only chuckles, thoroughly enjoying himself.

Minho clears his throat, his voice quiet but firm. “Jeongin.”

Jeongin lifts a brow, feigning innocence. “What?”

Minho doesn’t respond, but the look he gives Jeongin is dark, edged with something unreadable. Jeongin simply tilts his head, considering him before turning back to you.

“What do you think, princess?” His voice is deliberately slow, drawn out. “Should I go easy on you? Maybe I should let you win a little, build your confidence.”

That’s it. You snap.

Your hands slam down on the table as you lean forward, fury burning in your chest. “What the hell is your problem?”

Jeongin only leans back, completely unbothered. “My problem?” He hums, pretending to think. Then, with an infuriatingly slow smile, he tilts his head. “Do you even know who you’re talking to right now?”

Your breath is coming too fast, your heart hammering against your ribs. You don’t know what’s more frustrating—the fact that you’re losing or how he looks at you like this is all some elaborate game with no real stakes.

He watches you for a moment, then delivers the final blow.

“Maybe you should watch your tone. Might find yourself in real trouble one day, sweetheart.”

You lurch forward, ready to snap back—ready to do something—but before you can, Minho stands.

The chair barely makes a sound as he moves, but the weight of his presence is a full stop to everything. The air changes. Jeongin doesn’t flinch, but he notices.

Minho is calm on the surface, but Jeongin can see it. The barely contained fury just beneath. The tightness in his jaw, the slight curl of his fingers.

Hook. Line. And sinker.

Minho’s voice is low. Dangerous. “Leave. Now.”

Jeongin looks up at him, utterly pleased with himself. "Fine." He shrugs, slow and casual, before reaching for his chips and shoving them across the table toward you.

“I fold.”

You blink.

Your frustration is still sizzling, your breath still unsteady, but the weight of Jeongin’s departure registers before anything else. You’ve won. You should feel relief.

But there’s no time.

Before you can even begin to process, Minho is moving.

He grabs your wrist, his grip firm but not painful, and pulls you up from your seat. “Come with me.”

You yank your arm slightly, trying to pull away. “Minho, what—”

He doesn’t answer. He moves quickly, cutting through the parlour, pulling you behind him with a silent determination that makes your stomach twist.

“Minho, stop—”

He doesn’t. Not until he reaches a private room, shoving the door open and pulling you inside with him.

You whirl around, heart pounding. “What the hell—”

The door clicks shut. The lock turns.

The room is thick with tension, the air sharp as a blade.

Minho turns to look at you, eyes dark, frustration bleeding through every inch of him. His shoulders are tense, his breath unsteady, and you can see it—the barely restrained anger simmering just beneath his skin. And yet, despite all of that, you have the audacity to look angry at him.

“What the hell were you thinking?” His voice cuts through the silence like a lash.

You scoff, your own frustration igniting. “Excuse me?”

Minho steps closer, jaw clenched. “You were reckless out there. Jeongin was eating you alive, and you just—” He shakes his head, exhaling sharply. “You would have lost everything.”

Your hands curl into fists at your sides. “And what? You think you helped me?” You let out a bitter scoff. “You were throwing hands away, Minho. You were playing like a goddamn idiot.”

“I was trying to keep you from destroying yourself.”

You take a step forward, anger snapping between you. “I don’t need your help. I don’t need anybody’s help.”

Minho lets out a dry, humourless laugh, shaking his head. “And that—” He points at you, his voice rising. “That right there is the fucking problem.”

You freeze, your pulse hammering in your ears.

His voice is rough, edged with something deeper than just frustration. “You are too goddamn proud to ask for help, even when you need it. Even when you know I can help you.” He exhales sharply, his hands flexing at his sides. “Even when I want to help you.”

The words hit you like a strike to the chest, knocking the air from your lungs. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. You just stare at him, searching his face, trying to make sense of it. Trying to understand his words and actions for what they truly are.

The air shifts.

Minho just steps closer, crowding your space, his voice quieter now, more controlled.

“What’s going on?”

You swallow, glancing away, but his rough, unyielding fingers suddenly touch your chin. He forces your gaze back to his, and the intensity in his eyes makes your breath hitch.

You want to fight it. You want to keep pretending. But the weight of everything crashes over you all at once—the debt, the fear, the exhaustion of trying so damn hard to keep yourself together.

Your voice comes out small, barely a whisper. “I don’t know what to do.”

Minho’s grip loosens slightly, his expression shifting. The fire in his eyes dims just enough to reveal something softer underneath, something that looks an awful lot like understanding. And care.

And then, his lips twitch into a smirk.

“Well then, angel,” he murmurs, his fingers still resting against your skin. “You’re in luck.”

Your brows furrow, confused. “What?”

Minho leans in, his breath brushing against your ear, his voice dropping into something impossibly low, impossibly smooth.

“I can make your problems disappear if I give you the money you need.”

Your breath catches. You pull back slightly, searching his face for any sign that he’s joking. But his expression is unreadable, his gaze locked onto yours with a quiet certainty.

You shake your head, incredulous, the movement obstructed by his hand. “That’s insane. You can’t do that.”

Minho tilts his head, amusement flickering across his face. “Can’t I?”

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can say anything, his lips crash into yours.

The world stops.

His mouth is firm, insistent, claiming you with a confidence that leaves you breathless. You don’t have time to think, to process, to even decide whether you want this—because in your heart, you realise you already do.

Maybe in this particular game, folding isn't all that bad.

The moment you finally give in, the world tilts.

Minho’s lips are hot and demanding against yours, stealing the breath from your lungs as you melt into him. There is no hesitation now, no lingering doubt. Just the press of his body against yours, the rough scrape of his hands on your hips, and the undeniable hunger building between you.

The kiss deepens, turning desperate. Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, and he groans low in his throat as his tongue slides against yours. His hands on your body guide you backwards, and though you don’t know where he’s taking you, you follow. You would follow him anywhere in this moment.

Then, the edge of a desk meets the curve of your ass, halting your movements. Minho presses into you, pinning you against the wood, and the sensation sends heat curling through your belly. Without thinking, you hike one leg up to his hip, pulling him even closer. He responds instantly, grinding against you, letting you feel exactly how much he wants this. Wants you.

A whimper escapes you as his lips leave yours, trailing down your jaw to the curve of your neck. He presses open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin there, his teeth grazing ever so slightly, sending a shiver down your spine. You arch against him, your fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck, urging him to stay right there, to never stop.

His grip tightens on your waist, his fingers digging into you even through the fabric of your clothes. Then suddenly—he spins you around.

Your palms slap against the desk, your body caged between the hardwood and the solid heat of Minho’s chest at your back. His hands find your hips again, but this time, his movements are slower, more deliberate. He grinds against you, letting you feel the pressure of his growing cock.

A soft moan slips past your lips before you can stop it. “Minho—”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, his lips return to your neck, pressing slow, teasing kisses along your skin as his hands wander—over your hips, your waist, your stomach, your breasts, everywhere but where you need him most.

“You’re always so independent,” he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous. “But look at you now. Falling apart in my hands.”

His words send a shiver down your spine.

“Minho, please—”

He hums, his hands still exploring, still teasing. “You know what’s funny?” He nips at your earlobe, his breath hot. “I want to take care of you. I could take care of you. I have more money than I know what to do with.” His fingers tighten on your waist. “But you don’t let me, do you?”

You gasp as he grinds his hips into you harder, the pressure sending your mind reeling. “I—I don’t need—”

“You don’t need anyone.” He finishes for you, his tone edged with frustration. “Trust me, I know. You keep me at arm’s length, always pulling away before I can get too close.”

His lips move along the curve of your shoulder. “But you don’t see it, do you?” His voice is raw, strained. “How long I’ve been craving you? Desperate for you? Pining for you?”

The confession steals your breath.

Minho has never been this open. Never let his mask slip so completely. And the realization crashes into you with force—you’ve been so wrapped up in your own struggles that you never saw just how deeply Minho has been affected by you.

You open your mouth, but the words don’t come. Instead, your body reacts, arching into him, silently pleading.

“I do,” you finally whisper. “I see you.”

The moment the words leave your lips, Minho stills.

For a second, there’s only silence, only the sound of your ragged breaths mixing together in the charged space between you.

Then—

A deep, satisfied hum. Minho’s lips brush against your ear, his voice rougher, smug, teasing.

“I don’t think you do.”

One of his hands moves to the centre of your back, pressing firmly between your shoulder blades. The pressure is just enough to guide you down, forcing you to bend over the desk.

“But no worries, angel.” His tone drips with promise. “I’ll prove it to you.”

The weight of Minho’s palm between your shoulder blades keeps you steady, your breath shallow as you brace yourself against the desk. The air is thick with heat, tension coiling between you both like a live wire.

His voice is soft but firm as he leans in. “Do you want this?”

You nod, the motion frantic, desperate.

Minho hums lowly, not satisfied. “Say it.”

Your fingers grip the edge of the desk. “I want it.”

A slow, approving sound rumbles from his chest. “Good girl.” He straightens up behind you, the loss of his warmth making you whimper. “Keep holding onto the desk. Don’t let go.”

You obey instantly, tightening your hold. Then, his hands return to your body, skimming down your back, over the curve of your hips and down the back of your thighs before tugging up your skirt. Cool air kisses the exposed skin of your ass, making you shiver.

Minho groans at the sight of you; pliant, waiting, your thong doing absolutely nothing to hide your already glistening flesh from him. His palm trails over your ass, kneading, exploring before his hand travels lower, thumb catching beneath your underwear, gently brushing against your hole. You shift your hips at his actions, goading him to enter. But, he doesn’t. Not yet. His hand moves instead, pulling your underwear down until it pools at your feet.

You hear rustling behind you, but you’re bent too far forward to see what he’s doing. The anticipation is unbearable, your body already wound too tight as you wait for what’s next.

Then—

A sharp slap lands against your ass, the sudden sting making you gasp.

The sound of your own moan surprises you, but before you can process it, Minho’s hand is back, soothing over the place where he struck you. His touch is warm, almost reverent.

Then another slap—harder this time.

You moan again, louder, the pain mixing so deliciously with pleasure that it makes your thighs clench.

Minho is breathing heavily behind you, his voice rough with something darker, something unrestrained. “Will you take my money, angel?” Another slap, sharper, making your whole body jolt. “Will you take what I give you?”

Before you can even form a reply, something lands on the desk beside your head with a soft thud. You blink, dazed, looking at the object—

A neatly wrapped stack of hundred-dollar bills.

Your breath catches in your throat.

Surely he didn’t?

Another rustle of fabric, another stack of cash withdrawn from inside his suit jacket. You don’t even get a moment to prepare before the crisp bills meet your already sore skin with another sharp smack.

You barely have time to process the mortifying, yet utterly filthy realization before another slap lands—Oh yes, he did.

A desperate moan rips from your throat. “Fuck, Minho.”

He chuckles darkly behind you, clearly enjoying this. “That got your attention, didn’t it?”

Your body arches involuntarily, a wanton moan spilling from your lips as the sting sinks into your bones, the ache blooming into something wickedly addicting. You absentmindedly note the moisture leaking from your pussy, your core clenching around nothing, desperate to be filled.

Minho notices.

He brings his thumb back to your slit, gathering your juices before pressing inside. The first feeling of having him inside your walls is enough to make you cry out. Minho’s voice is a low, sinful whisper in response. “You want it all, angel?” Another slap, another jolt of pleasure, his thumb plunging deeper in tandem. “You want all my money?”

You nod frantically, your grip tightening on the desk as your legs threaten to give out beneath you.

Minho grunts, clearly just as affected. His movements are rough as he removes his thumb from your core, before you hear him unbuckle his belt and zip open his pants. “I’ll give it to you. I'll give you everything."

He enters you with one swift thrust of his cock, pushing you forward and filling you to the brim.

“Ohhhhhh… Fuck. Yes.” You scream at the sudden, overwhelming sensation as your walls struggle to accommodate the sheer girth of him. The sudden stretch, the overwhelming fullness—it’s too much and not enough all at once. Your fingers claw at the desk, trying to anchor yourself as he groans, his grip on your hips tightening like a vice.

“Fuck, angel.” His voice is rough, ragged, vibrating with barely restrained hunger. “You feel even better than I imagined.”

He gives you no time to adjust, no pause to ease you in. His patience snaps like a frayed wire, and then he’s moving, setting a brutal pace, slamming your hips against the desk with every thrust. The impact sends shudders through your body, pleasure mixing with the delicious sting of the wood biting into your skin.

You can’t stay quiet. The sounds spilling from your lips are loud, uncontrollable, echoing off the walls. You’re vaguely aware of how loud you are, but it’s impossible to care when Minho is fucking you like this—like he owns you, like he’s been starving for you.

Minho, however, is very aware of the noise. He grits his teeth, knowing anyone outside this room could hear you, and he doesn’t want to share. Not when it comes to you. His mind flickers through solutions before the perfect idea strikes him.

With one hand still gripping your waist, he reaches forward, snatching one of the stacks of money he’d used on you earlier. His hand abandons your hip to tighten in your hair instead, pulling you up until your back is flush against his chest. A sharp gasp leaves your lips at the unexpected movement, your scalp tingling from the tension of his grip. His cock moves inside of you at the new angle, brushing against your most sensitive spot.

Minho’s mouth is at your ear in an instant, his voice a mix of dominance and amusement. “You’re too fucking loud, angel. I should’ve expected that.” He nips at your earlobe, releasing your hair so his hand can snake down to rest against your throat. “Open your mouth.”

Your breath stutters, a desperate moan catching in your throat. But you obey, parting your lips without hesitation.

A low chuckle rumbles against your back. “Good girl.”

Then, he slips the folded stack of hundred-dollar bills into your waiting mouth. The paper presses against your tongue, muffling the noises you hadn’t been able to stop. The sheer filthiness of this action sends a fresh wave of arousal crashing through you.

Minho releases your throat, letting you drop forward onto the desk again. The money stays between your lips, soft gasps and muffled cries escaping around it.

“That’s better.” His hands return to your hips, gripping you even harder before he resumes his ruthless pace. “Now I can fuck you properly.”

And he does. Harder, deeper, his pace relentless as he claims you completely. Every thrust of his cock forces the desk to creak beneath you, forces the stack of money to shift between your teeth, forces more desperate moans past your muffled lips. Your hips are starting to bruise, the edge of the desk slamming into you again and again.

Minho is right behind you, chest heaving, hands roaming possessively over your body. He watches the way you tremble beneath him, the way you take every inch of him like you were made for it.

“You like this, don’t you?” His voice is thick with satisfaction. “You love letting me use you. Love my money in your mouth while I fuck you senseless.”

You can only whimper, the sound pitiful and needy, as you nod your head meekly. But it’s enough. Minho groans, his fingers digging into your hips as he picks up the pace again, determined to ruin you completely.

It’s not long until the pleasure reaches an insurmountable high. Minho’s hand snakes between your bodies, his fingers landing on your clit, drawing quick circles over the pulsing nub. You can feel yourself teetering on the edge, so close to orgasm, yet needing something more to completely let go.

Minho notices it, too. His grip tightens, his pace turning almost brutal as he drives you both closer. “Come for me, angel.” His voice is low, commanding, rough with need. “Now.”

The moment his words hit, the coil inside of you snaps.

A shattering cry is ripped from your throat—muffled by the money still between your lips—as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you, your orgasm overtaking you. Your body tightens, locks up, then shudders violently as you’re pulled under completely, lost in the overwhelming pleasure of it all.

Minho curses under his breath, his rhythm stuttering as your core clenches around him, dragging him down with you. It doesn’t take him long to follow. His fingers dig bruises into your skin, his breath coming in harsh, uneven pants as he follows, his cock pulsing as he comes inside, his seed painting your walls.

For a long moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your combined breathing, ragged and uneven, filling the space between you.

Minho slowly withdraws, his hands smoothing over your trembling body as he straightens up, buttoning his trousers with ease. You sag against the desk, boneless, your body still humming from the aftershocks of pleasure, his cum slowly trickling out of you.

Then, gentle hands guide you upward. Minho tugs your underwear back into place, his fingers lingering at your entrance, scooping up some of his release before pushing it gently back inside of you. You gasp at the feeling; he just smirks in response. Then, with slow care, he smooths your skirt back into place before turning you around to face him.

His arms encircle you, drawing you close. The heat of his body, the steady rise and fall of his chest, feels grounding. You sigh against him, pressing your forehead to his collarbone as his hand drifts up and down your back in soothing strokes. There’s something incredibly intimate about it—more so than your tryst a few minutes ago.

Minho tilts your chin with two fingers, his gaze heavy-lidded but soft. He leans in, kissing you deeply, languidly, as if savouring you. When he finally pulls away, his lips hover just over yours as he murmurs, “You’re mine now, angel.”

It’s not a question; it’s a statement. The possessiveness in his voice should make you tense, should have you pushing back. But you don’t. Instead, a warmth spreads through your chest, curling around your ribs like something safe, something right. You simply nod, eyes hazy, breathless. “Yes.”

Minho smirks, satisfied, before pulling you in closer. Another kiss follows—It’s indulgent, unhurried, as if neither of you wants to let go just yet.

Eventually, he steps back, his fingers tangling with yours as he pulls you toward the door. He doesn’t say a word, and you don’t ask where you’re going. You follow, because something in you trusts that wherever Minho leads, you’ll be okay.

The hallway is quieter than before, the energy of the night simmering down. You pass the high-stakes table where you played Jeongin, but the seats are empty, the chips and money gone. Your brows furrow as you glance at the felt surface. Where did everything go?

Minho doesn’t explain. Instead, he guides you outside, where a sleek black car waits at the curb. A driver stands by, eyes forward, silent.

Minho opens the door for you, motioning for you to get in. You slide onto the cool leather seats, the interior dimly lit by soft ambient lighting. Minho follows, settling beside you before reaching into the door’s side pocket. He pulls out a thick envelope and places it in your lap.

You blink, fingers hesitating before picking it up. The weight of it is substantial. Slowly, you open the flap and peer inside.

A cheque.

Your winnings from the game—and then some. More than enough to cover what you owe, more than enough to keep you afloat.

Your breath catches, but before you can even process the relief of it, something else inside the envelope catches your attention. A card, smooth and matte black with elegant gold lettering.

You pull it out, turning it over.

The Magician.

The air shifts.

You whip your head toward him, your heart pounding, your breath shallow. He watches you, amusement flickering in his eyes as if he’d been waiting for this exact moment.

“You…” The words barely come out. “You’re—”

His smirk is slow, deliberate.

Your stomach twists, your mind reeling. Everything suddenly makes sense—the way he moved through the club like he owned it, the way everyone seemed to know him, the way he always had an edge, always knew things he shouldn’t.

And now, you realise, he’s just claimed you. And you let him.

You’re his white rabbit.

And the game is just beginning.

A/N: Welp, this officially might just be the longest and filthiest thing I have ever written. For those of you who stayed until the end, did you like it? Quick reminder: If you want to be added to the taglist and stay updated, send me a message! 💟

Send me your thoughts - feedback/fangirling is always welcome.

Taglist: @hanjisungs-bitch66 - @smartie-pants - @inniesfanblog

(Collage created by me. Credits to owners of the pictures taken from Pinterest)

[benz12313]

🥺👉👈 ridoc who falls head over heels in love with violets twin who is autistic and he's an absolute sweetheart to her, and helps her when she needs something and protects her.

Also their dragons are mated and aotrom is very over protective of her.

I had so much fun writing this. I hope this was written well. As a parent of an autistic child (diagnosed) and as someone who suspects herself and her other child are AuDHD but in the process of getting diagnosed, I really tried to represent this well. I also think in the Fourth Wing universe, at least in Basgaith, many mental differences are shunned or looked down upon, so I went that angle with this fic. Please give me feedback on how I did with this request. I also have some ideas for a part two so let me know if you'd like that! Thank you for your request though! I had a lot of fun working on it. :)

Own Worst Enemy - Ridoc x Sorrengail!Reader

Warnings: violence, death, dragon mate possessive behaviour

Word Count: 4,274

I sat quietly next to Violet, as she interacted with her- our friends. As much as they assured me that I was just as included as her, I’d never really felt that way. I wasn’t like her. I didn’t know what to say, what to do? Always feeling a little bit lost when the group was together, like I was one step behind, too busy analyzing everyone to add my own input into conversations. Sometimes it felt like they only put up with me because I was Violet’s twin, and not nearly as breakable as her. 

I was good with schoolwork and okay with challenges, at least good enough to hold my own and take minimal injuries; and my joints are stronger than hers, not popping and breaking under pressure. Perks of being a fraternal twin I guess. Our DNA isn’t identical. No, something else in me feels broken. Something deeper. More substantial. Something I never talked about with anyone, ever. 

Violet has asked before, in my moments of weakness, when everything is too much and I can’t hide. But I always am able to reign it back in then, hide it all behind a smile and recite lines I know will appease her worry. After all, the mask I wear protects me, especially growing up in a family where weakness isn’t tolerated. Even Dad, who saw straight through me. He expected me to reign it in too. Taught me in his own ways how to know what to say, how to make people look away, how to breathe when it was too much. Yet he still expected me to conform, to act like everything was okay. Like I wasn’t broken and weak minded. 

I was a good actress at least. Everyone just thought I was quiet and reserved. And they never looked too hard at me, letting me fall into the background. I preferred it that way, it was much easier.

Everyone, except Ridoc Gamlyn, of course. He was always right there. In my space, but somehow, I never minded it. Maybe because with Ridoc, it didn’t matter what I said, he just accepted it. When I missed an unwritten social rule, he just smiled and responded, somehow getting what I was trying to say instead of harping on how I said it. He was annoying at times, always a bit loud, but he could say or do whatever he felt like with no reservations, easily breaking through my walls like no other could. Not even my own sister. I was honestly a bit jealous. 

Ridoc wouldn’t let me fade either, prodding me to talk with him while the others were occupied in their own conversations. His voice usually quieter in those moments when he was trying to get me to reconnect, asking the oddest questions about whatever I was working on. It worked though, making my mind settle as I answered whatever he’d asked me, the casual back and forth grounding me, easing my anxiety over messing up. 

He could see me. Really see me, like nobody ever had. It didn’t take me long to understand though, as I quickly became interested in trying to figure him out. Nobody really saw him either. Seeing what he wanted them to see. The loud, boisterous, sexually overconfident man he let everyone see wasn’t all of him. He didn’t let them see his worry over schoolwork, or over whatever current obstacle we were being thrown as new riders (currently the gauntlet) or his disappointment when a night of fun never became anything more, even if his conquest came back, it was never more than for another round. It was such a carefully crafted act that nobody thought to ask questions, nobody seeing that there was even an act to catch. 

Nobody could see. But I could. And he knew I could, giving me a knowing smile in his moments of weakness, but I never knew what to say to make it better. I don’t really think he wanted any sympathy, hence the mask that mirrored my own. He interested me though, so completely different than the others. Even though that’s what he wanted, I could never truly look away. Not when he’d become my biggest source of safety in this death college. 

Always pushing me on the mat, giving me pointers on how to improve. Walking with me when I needed a moment, my body feeling restless. Talk about my books, even the smutty ones, maybe especially the smutty ones. He’d grin and let me talk for hours, sitting on his bed in the men’s dormitory as we talked quietly. He’d glare at any of the other men who looked at us too long, daring them to say something. To make one move towards me. None ever did. And he always listened, asking questions that actually made me think, or that would lead me to another tangent.

Ridoc Gamlyn was an enigma I could barely understand, so I too hung around. Maybe it was the same for him. Maybe we were both just trying to figure the other out, never quite getting there. Never quite understanding. But accepting. Always accepting. 

“I think, maybe you could bounce back and forth up the chimney. Your joints aren’t as weak as Violet’s so if you get enough speed and momentum…” He trailed off, as he watched me nudge my sausage across my plate. “Y/N?”

I met his warm brown eyes for a moment before my eyes quickly returned to my plate, torturing my sausage again. “I get what you’re saying. It’s worth a try.” It was presentation day, and this was my last try after all. Violet had told me her plan, but it wouldn’t work for me. If both of us pushed the rules like that, then one of us would definitely be disqualified. It was her plan, so I told her I’d already found another way. Lied through my teeth, but she’d let it go so it must’ve been convincing enough. 

“C’mon, you’ll make it.” He assured, like there was no possibility I wouldn’t. “After all, my best friend isn’t a weakling.”

The twisting in my gut wasn’t unfamiliar, it happened every time he mentioned us as being friends. Why? I wasn’t quite sure, and it was one of the few things I refused to ruminate on. I refused any negative emotion when it came to Ridoc, too afraid to let anything take hold and then let the emotions push away my only solace in this place. 

“Yeah.” I sighed. Then forced a smile as I met his gaze again, holding it this time. “Just want it to be over with.” 

He smiled, moving some hair out of my face, the annoying strand of hair that always refused to stay in my crown of braids. “I know you do. And you’re gonna kick ass, and then in two days, we’re gonna get dragons and be certified badasses.” He sent me a big grin and I sighed, looking away to hide the smile blooming on my lips. I speared the sausage on my fork and plopped it in my mouth, finishing my breakfast. 

“Yeah, yeah. Can’t get rid of me that easy.” I joked and with a quick glance from the corner of my gaze I saw his smile widen. 

“Exactly Sorrengail. You’re stuck with me. Forever.” I laughed, before standing, Ridoc quickly following me. “Besides, I haven’t heard about the end of that dark romance you’ve been reading. It’s just started getting good. And I won’t have the patience to read it myself if you go and die on me.”

“Glad to see I have some use.” I snorted at him, my body relaxing the moment we’d gotten to the hall. The noise of the cafeteria fading the further we got from it. Finally, I could actually hear myself think now. 

“Oh don’t be like that! You’re smarter than Violet, and that’s saying something.” He said and I rolled my eyes. 

“No, I just watch more than she does. It’s easier to put things together when I don’t have to worry about holding a conversation at the same time.” I countered and he chuckled, pinching my side and making me squirm away. I still giggled against my will though. “Plus the photographic memory helps.” I snorted out another laugh when he poked me again. “Stop that!” 

“Okay. Okay.” He relented, giving me a goofy grin and shoving his hands in his pockets. I knew that was the only way he’d be able to not touch me as he tried to honor my wishes. Ridoc never really could seem to keep his hands to himself when he was near me. Especially when he was nervous. “Don’t discount yourself though. You’re brilliant. Own it.”

“Shut it Gamlyn. I’ve got enough to worry about.” I sighed, taking in his expression before bumping his shoulder with my own. “Don’t need to worry about me okay? I won’t die today.” 

The anxiety in his eyes faded, replaced with all consuming warmth as I was stuck in his gaze. He opened the door ahead of us, not saying a thing. 

Ridoc’s POV

I held the door for her, warmth pulling at me as her gaze never faltered. I believed her, after all, it wasn’t often that she lied to me. In fact, she was usually unabashedly honest with me. A fact I was grateful for. She hid herself from the rest of our friends, her sister, but couldn’t hide from me. 

Her brilliant mind fascinated me, she was amazing in her own unique ways. How the others couldn’t see it was beyond me. She was definitely the strongest, and smartest of us. I just wish they could see that, that she could see that, just once. She finally rolled her eyes, moving through the door as her cheeks went pink and my chest swelled with pride. 

She was beautiful, in every way, and I'd been hopelessly pining after her since that first night when we’d been assigned to the same squad. When she’d finally met my gaze with those pretty y/e/c eyes of hers, catching me in a trance as she looked through me. Past my confident facade, straight to my core, past all the bullshit I wore like armor. But then she didn’t call me out like most would have, just cocked an eyebrow at me, and looked away. Like it was some secret that she was electing to keep for me. 

I’d been practically begging for her attention since, especially after I’d figured out that she was pretending too. That she hid herself, afraid of the inevitable rejection too. But she didn’t play pranks, pretend to be stupid and refuse any feelings too painful to address. No she refused everyone, never letting anybody too close to be able to hurt her. Only letting the rest of our friends close enough to see what she deemed the useful parts of herself, but never close enough for them to really see her. But she let me. And I knew it was because she saw our similarities. 

I was broken from my thoughts when we made it to the gauntlet, and fear seized my heart. As quickly as it’d taken over, it was gone because Y/N shoved my shoulder with hers again, sending me a bright smile. 

“We’ve got this Ridoc.” It was simple, yet wholly convincing. 

“We’ve got this.” I repeated, squeezing my hands into fists in my pockets to keep them still. To keep them from pulling her into my arms, and never letting go. 

Y/N’s POV

I made it. I fucking made it! Shock seized me as Ridoc’s bellows rang in my ears, not quite hearing it even though his words echoed through me. His arms were wrapped tightly around me, spinning me around as he held me in a bone crushing grip. He set me back on the ground but didn’t let go, burying his head in my shoulder. 

“You made it.” He whispered, and I nodded, tears pricking in the corner of my eyes as emotion flooded through me. Everything was suddenly too much as I hid my face in his chest. Breathe in. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

“I made it.” I whispered back, squeezing him from where my arms were wrapped around his neck. 

We made it through presentation as well. Though several of the less savory of our squad couldn’t say the same for themselves. None of the dragons really stood out to me, a hollow feeling in my chest as I walked off the flight field. I won’t be chosen. I knew none of those dragons would choose me, deep in my soul. I didn’t say anything though, not until I was sitting criss-cross with my back leaning on his pillows and headboard as I watched him sharpening his sword, talking about needing to be ready for threshing. 

“Did you-“ I paused when he quieted and glanced up at me, “Did you feel any of their approval?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper. 

“The dragons?” He asked, putting down the stone in his hand and setting the sword to the side. Damn him, he must’ve noticed my shift in mood, deciding to focus on me completely now. I nodded. He thought a moment, his face shifting into contemplation, a look I couldn’t help but find so handsome. “Not really. There was those greens that crowded your sister. But I was terrified of them. Maybe that brown one, towards the end, that was annoying the others? Rolling all around them. He was funny. But I don’t know, none of them really jumped out at me.”

He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off that brown. I remember following behind him, watching him as he had softly chuckled at the dragons antics. For him to have brought it up again…maybe he was just lying to me, or himself, but he’d definitely had a connection to that dragon. My heart dropped. 

He must’ve seen it too because he sighed, before crawling over and wrapping his arms around me as he pulled me into his side, and I leaned my head on his chest. “You are gonna get a dragon tomorrow. I just know it. Maybe your dragon just isn’t sure about you yet.”

“Comforting.” I snorted, voice devoid of emotion.

“Look, I know I haven’t convinced you, and you’ll be thinking some awful things about yourself now.” He paused, sighing and looking unsure of himself as he tried to find the right words to soothe me. Failing, but he’s cute, trying like that. “Just trust that I know, more than I’ve known anything that you will get a dragon tomorrow. If any of us deserves one, it’s you.”

The raw honesty in his voice made my heart race, and despite myself, his words gave me an inkling of hope. Hope that he was right. That there really was a dragon out there who could accept me, despite my shortcomings. Hope that a dragon would find me worthy. 

“Thanks Ridoc.” I mumbled, and hoped that he’d hold me just a little longer as I worked to pull myself back together. 

He did. 

Ridoc’s POV

I wandered the woods, my mind occupied with Y/N and her show of weakness last night. She never let the facade fall that completely before, she was scared. More scared than she’d been for the gauntlet. Afraid a dragon wouldn’t want her. I frowned as I hid behind a tree as a red passed by. I knew that one wasn’t mine, but luckily it either hadn’t noticed me or decided to spare me instead. 

I’d felt a tug all afternoon as I wandered the forest, coaxing me further and further inwards, where I knew that brown was waiting. I’d meant what I said last night, it’d only been once I’d left my friends that I felt the tug. But Y/N had caught what I hadn’t last night, in that way that only she does, already knowing the brown had intended on choosing me. 

I finally started moving again, lost thinking about Y/N. Too lost to notice the forest shifting in front of me, until a deep male voice rang through my head, ‘Oh come on! You didn’t even notice me!” 

I jumped back two feet, suddenly seeing two large golden eyes staring at me from a large brown swordtail that was hanging from a particularly large tree. A tree that still looked like it was about to buckle under the weight of him. 

“S-sorry.” I stuttered out. 

The brown jumped from the tree, landing on the ground and sending me staggering from the shockwaves. ‘I suppose I’ll forgive you. Only cause you’re so worried about her. Call me Aotrom, I’ll give you my full name later. You’re mine now.’ He sniffed at me as he circled me, before settling in front of me again, looking proud of himself. 

“You mean Sorrengail? Y/N?” I specified, remembering Violet was out here too. 

The dragon made a sound, that sounded suspiciously like a snort. ‘Who else? Your mate of course.’ 

My body froze as my mouth fell open in shock. “She’s not! We’re not-“ I shook my head. “She’s my friend.”

He tilted his head, looking confused. ‘Oh? I thought…’ He sounded confused too, thinking, before his face lit up again, tail wagging back and forth. ‘I see! Eve did say she thought you two hadn’t acted on it yet when I shared my memories with her. I guess she’s right!’

My mind was swimming. This-my dragon, Aotrom, was unlike any other dragon we’d learned about. That was for sure. And he thought me and Y/N were mates??? “Who’s Eve?” I finally let the words out and the dragon puffed his chest out as he straightened with obvious pride. 

‘My mate of course.’

Y/N POV

I kept a hand over my mouth as an orange slinked by, sniffing the air. I willed my traitorous heart to slow, afraid that the nasty looking dragon would hear my heartbeats and try to eat me. Eventually he slinked out of view, and I let out a small breath as I continued on my way.

I still felt that hollowness. No pull anywhere as I wandered around aimlessly. I’d run into a dozen different dragons now, and felt nothing from any of them. 

I silently wondered if Ridoc had found that brown swordtail. I wondered if Rhi and Violet had found theirs too. If Sawyer would finally get his own. If I would be forced to repeat the year as well, and start over next year. 

I paused when I heard a rustling in the bushes, but before I could hide, one of the other cadets strode out. It was one that hung by Barlow, not in his inner circle but itching to move his way in and appease the cruel man. He was tall and fit, definitely a foot taller than me. I palmed my daggers as he stared at me, cruel grin forming as he looked me up and down. 

“The quiet Sorrengail twin.” He hissed and I glared. 

“Won’t earn you any points with Barlow killing me.” By sheer will my voice was strong. 

“Oh, but it will weaken her, and Barlow will approve of that if he hasn’t killed her by the end of the day.” My heart raced at his words as I steeled myself for the fight ahead of me. He wasn’t backing down now. 

He ran four steps raising his sword and was about to swing when air rushed around me, and then suddenly he was lifted off the ground, a giant scorpion tail sticking out his back and through his chest. With a flick of the tail his body flew behind me. 

But I was frozen in fear. Standing in front of me was a dragon, with navy blue scales and bright green eyes narrowed on me, assessing. Waiting for what my response would be. It’s tail moved slowly now, curling around its body, which gave me some hope that this dragon didn’t plan on killing me. Yet at least. 

“Thank you.” I whispered, lowering my gaze as my thoughts went wild. There weren’t supposed to be any blues out here today. 

‘I came because my mate wished to take a rider, that’s all.’ Her voice was majestic, beautiful and commanding, filling my head and making my eyes snap back to hers. She was talking to me…but that meant… ‘Yes, Strategist, I agree with my mate’s assessment. You are worthy of being mine, despite your worries. He may have been selfish, having chosen his own already, but he had assured me that you would do me proud young warrior. Now, climb on, before I change my mind.’

She chuffed out a puff of air in my face and I chose not to argue and climb atop the small blue dragon. She wasn’t the smallest of the ones we’d seen during presentation, but she definitely wasn’t the largest, I noted as I climbed on top of her. 

She grumbled. ‘I am only 21!’ She hissed out the words irritated with my…thoughts. Great she can read my mind. ‘I will grow with time! I’ll be bigger than Aunt Sgaeyl even! Just you watch!’

So don’t mention her size. Noted. Wait, Sgaeyl? Riorson’s dragon??? 

‘My name is Eventhasil, but you may refer to me as Eve.” Then she was launching into the air not a second after I had thoroughly settled into the seat, ignoring my mental question of her lineage. I gripped her tightly with my thighs, hanging on for dear life. Once she leveled out, not jostling me at all anymore, I was able to actually enjoy the wind flowing through my hair. Joy flooded me and tears welled up again. I was actually chosen. 

‘That is a habit we will have to kill with prejudice. Your doubt in yourself is sickening.’ Though her words were harsh, I think that was supposed to be encouraging. 

‘What about your mate?’ I asked, changing the subject. ‘What’s he like? Who has he chosen?’ It would be nice to know exactly which cadet I’m now tied to for the rest of my life.

‘He approaches.’ She says simply, her voice going quiet as she speeds up, forcing me to hold tighter as a brown tried to catch up. Were they…racing? ‘Yes, and if Aotrom wins he’ll be insufferable. Hold tight.’ Determination laced her tone as she tightened her movements racing towards the flight field at top speed, easily outflying the brown as she flung her wings out at the last minute, landing quickly. I was nearly flung from my seat with the maneuver, but with luck and my muscles locking, I was able to hold on. The brown landed thirty seconds later, towering over Eve as he snapped at her face playfully. She snapped back at him, narrowly missing his neck as her tail swung behind us. 

But then another dragon landed on her other side and the brown lurched forward, growling low in his throat as he eyed the other male, his swordtail curling around Eve protectively.

She, however, sat calmly amidst his display of possessiveness. Almost…bored? 

‘Overpossessive male.’ She explained, irritation lacing her tone. ‘Male dragons are known to be volatile towards any potential threats in the first few years of establishing a mate bond. And Aotrom is very…determined to keep me as his.’ An obvious affection was laced in her last words. The other male backed away, submitting to Aotrom’s dominance and claim, eyes and head down as he moved out of range. Only when the male had moved a sufficient distance away and Aotrom relaxed, turning to his mate again did I see his rider. Ridoc. Holy shit! Ridoc!

Happiness bubbled within me. There was no one better to be tied to! Holy shit. And he looked unharmed, thank the gods. 

‘Go speak with him.’ Eve somehow sounded…teasing? ‘He’s relieved that Aotrom had told the truth when he told him that you were safe. As if I’d ever let harm come to what’s mine.’ She snorted at the last sentence and I laughed. 

‘I’m glad he’s okay too.’ I sent her way as I climbed down. 

The moment my feet hit the ground they lifted again, as Ridoc’s arms wrapped around me and swung me around. “We both got dragons! We’re both riders!” His voice was full of joy as he put me on my feet again. “We made it Y/N! We made it!” His hands moved to my cheeks, and I was frozen as euphoria took over his gaze, and then in a split second, his mouth was on mine. 

Moving, kissing, me. I slowly moved back holding onto the moment as my heart burst. My crush was kissing me. Tongue slipping into my mouth as he pulled me to him, pine and male and Ridoc taking over my senses completely as I lost myself in him. 

This moment was perfection. 

And then it was ruined, by Sawyer calling our names, obviously not able to really see us yet. Ridoc jumped back, looking panicked and my heart lurched. Did he not mean to do that? His eyes scanned mine as he backed up. 

“Talk later?” He asked, and I froze. He froze too, hands hovering over my waist. “Y/N? Talk later yeah?” 

I nodded, words catching in my throat as Eve growled in my mind. But she said nothing. 

“Yeah.” I whispered, putting on a smile as our friend greeted us. 

~ I'm taking requests as well, just submit them to my inbox and I'll get to them when I have time.

~ Want to be added to the tag list? Just comment or message me! :)

@xadenswhore @littlemissmelodie @jobroho @worldsanna @uneducatedraccoon @nicksolemnlyswears @binksbrewcrew

[11queensupreme11]

I need to know how people are gonna react to finding out about Percy’s mortal spot 🫠

im ngl, i genuinely believed putting the mortal spot on THE BACK is probably THEEEEE DUMBEST fucking thing ever 😭 ur back is literally your most vulnerable spot and now she just made it 100000x more vulnerable 😭 i'm almost certain rick wrote it that way for poetic reasons cuz percy's fatal flaw is loyalty, mortal spot on the back, hence "the only way you can kill percy jackson is to stab her in the back" 💀 yes yes, very poetic, but i don't think the ror characters will appreciate it 😭

(gonna try and fit as many reactions here as i can, excluding beel and loki since they already know)

cú chulainn: this dude is a trained warrior. he knows everything about weaknesses and blindspots. and the back????? IS PROBABLY THE BIGGEST BLIND SPOT THERE IS. he'll be screaming and ripping out his own hair in pure horror and disbelief when he finds out his dumbass lover put HER ONE MORTAL SPOT on her fucking BACK of all the goddamn places 😭

apollo: he's gonna throw up when he finds out and then he's gonna throw up even more when he learns that the LAST PERSON to have the curse of achilles was killed by HIS COUNTERPART. he prays to every deity and the fates that they won't be cruel enough to repeat that with them because he CANNOT lose percy 😭😭😭😭

poseidon: his jaw drops. he looks like a complete idiot all gobsmacked like this, but nobody even blames him because they're also just as shocked. he has half a mind to spank his daughter for her terrible idea, not just for the placement of the mortal spot, but for getting that damn curse in the first place. at first, he liked it because it made her 99.99% invulnerable but that fucking mortal spot just ruined it 💀💀💀

hades: buries his face in his hands and lets out the heaviest sigh ever. he loves his niece, he really does, but he has to admit... she's not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. he loves her so much though so he won't be TOO disappointed 💖

anubis: "BABY WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" he's screeching in horror when he witnesses the scene. welp, now he knows how she got the curse, but holy SHIT this is probably the worst curse ever (it's really not). he's literally gonna be begging her to stop when it comes up on the screen, but it's already too late

ra: USUALLY he would be busy restraining anubis from doing something stupid, but he's too busy gawking. percy was literally told that her fatal flaw was LOYALTY.... and then she goes and picks HER BACK as her one mortal spot???? "omfg the poseidon in that universe taught that child NOTHING"

rhea: "WE 👹 MUST 👹 GET 👹 HER 👹 OUT 👹 OF 👹 THAT 👹 UNIVERSE 👹 BEFORE SHE GETS HERSELF KILLED" no seriously, grandma rhea is WORRIED. if she were a human, she'd have 1000 heart attacks and her hair would've turned grey already. this baby is stressing her the FUCK out 😭

prometheus: would literally cry 😭😭😭 like "percy... my dear baby cousin, your back??????? WHY?????" 😭😭😭😭 he's usually very supportive of her ideas, even the most craziest ones, but..... the back???????????

izanagi: "oh bless her heart, she's trying her best 🥺💔"

sun wukong: does a very slow facepalm as he sinks into his throne because oh my gods this girl is FUCKED. he has never seen a more doomed person before in all his years of living 😭

aphrodite: "wait does this make sex harder??? should i have her try other positions instead? 🤔" (she's asking the real questions here)

lugh: gently grasps cú chulainn's shoulders and say solemnly, "son, i think the universe really hates you 😔💔" because this is the SECOND PERSON that cú chulainn cares about to have some sort of near-invulnerability. the first died thx to him, and now percy might follow 😭

odin: a little concerned at how similar she is to his baldur. pure-hearted and kind, a genuinely good person, with a near invulnerability. he hopes, for loki's sanity, that percy doesn't die too because the crashout would be catastrophic fr 💀

adam: absolutely HORRIFIED because she picked literally the worst spot on her body to be her mortal spot 😭

leonidas: "how tf is this kid alive right now 💀"

tesla: so it turns out it's not just math and science that he needs to teach her, but basic self-preservation as well! alrighty then, he's already getting the lesson plans ready as well as a VERY long lecture about poor decision-making skills 😭

basically, every ror character's reaction to percy getting the curse of achilles and choosing her back as her one mortal spot:

EVERYONE is horrified 💀

percy literally has so much stacked against her. everyone and everything in that universe is out to get her. she's the product of a broken vow. she's a demigod, so naturally monsters hunt her down on the daily. she has a cursed fucking sword that's cursed to fail her when she needs it most. her fatal flaw is loyalty. and then she goes and puts her mortal spot on her BACK 💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀 not only that, but the fates of that universe love love LOVE greek tragedy and percy is a walking greek tragedy waiting to for the curtain call 😭

[sunflowerwriter]

Show Me How You Burlesque

AN: Steve with a bit of Burlesque ... hopefully you like it. REPOST FROM DELETED BLOG :) Word Count: 2834 Summary: Steve finally asks you out, with a little push from Robin and a coworker Warnings: Small make out mention, some swearing and mentions of alcohol 

Steve was walking into the living room, having finished getting ready for work, he saw you sitting there watching tv. His footsteps were what made you look away from the screen 

“Cute vest” you said with a laugh 

He looked down at his outfit, he was wearing a black vest without a shirt under and black jeans to match and laughed as sat down next to you making you lay your head on his shoulder. No matter how many times you played your head on his shoulder he couldn’t seem to get used to it, he knew for a fact that he was in love with you and there was no denying it

“You know Y/N I never got to thank you” Steve said making you look at him 

“For?” You said tilting you head to the side looking very confused and god did he think you looked so cute

“For, letting me move in with you. I know you didn’t have to do it and if I’m being honest, I know you did it because I’m Robins friend and well she’s you sister after all plus you got me a job which you didn’t have to do” Steve said making you smile 

“Well, yeah I didn’t have to but when Robin asked if you could come with her to LA I knew you must be really special to her because she never asked to bring someone. It was always just her when she told me she was moving out here and well the job well its really nothing I work at the club, so I know that we needed people” you said looking at him 

“You know, I’ve always wondered, how did you manage to work at a burlesque club?”

“Ahh well you see I was wondering one night because my friends were really boring, and I found the club I paid to get in and fell in love with it and now here I am and I’m the happiest I’ve ever been” you smiled as the memory came to your mind of that night 

“Yeah, it is actually very fun working there” Steve said with a small smile 

It had been a year since Steve and Robin had left Hawkins to live with you, after the events of the upside down they needed out and since they were of age to leave Robin had suggested going to live with you in LA. You were Robins older sister, being as one day Mr. Buckley decided that he wasn’t happy with his wife and decided to look for love in the arms of another woman, that woman being you mother, never telling her that he was married until little Robin came along. Never once did you two ever hate each other much to the dismay of your father, he never liked the fact that you two were close given as you reminded him of the mistake he wished to forget about and act like never happened. Nevertheless, you and Robin remained in constant contact with each other and when she asked to move in with you had been more than thrilled to have her around and the fact that she brought a cute friend with her well was just a bonus in your book. 

“I wonder what’s taking Robin so long? She never takes forever to get ready” you said looking at the hallway 

“Yeah, I know, normally it’s us waiting on you” Steve said looking at you with a smile

“You’re not even ready yet” you said looking at him 

“What are you taking about I’m dressed and ready to go” Steve said gesturing down to his outfit

“Eyeliner my friend” you said which made him roll his eyes

“Right, I was hoping you would forget about that” Steve said making you laugh 

“Come on, I’ll help you with it” you said as you stood up

He sat there staring at you which made you laugh and grab his arm pulling him up

“Come on Steve, you know Jess would kill you if you don’t have it on” you said pulling him towards your bathroom 

You handed him your pencil and he just looked at it

“I don’t know how to do it” Steve said making you give him a look 

“Steve, I taught you how many times already? But okay one more lesson because I’m so nice” you said and move home, so he was sitting on your toilet 

You stood between his legs and helped him with the final step in his uniform. If Steve was completely honest, he knew what he was doing he just liked watching you focus on helping him. He knew you were talking and explaining to him what to do, but he wasn’t listening, he was focused on you. He noticed you had moved away from him and tilted your head with a smile 

“All done, now come on its time to go” you said as you began to turn around

He grabbed your arm making you look at him. He pulled you towards him pressing his lips onto yours. He wasn’t sure if you would push him away of kiss him back, but he needed to tell you. You wrapped your arms around his neck as his hands went around your waist. He pressed you up against the counter and without even a second thought you hopped up pulling him towards you. His hands made their way up your thighs pushing your dress higher up as the kiss began to get a bit more intense when you heard Robin

“Hey Y/N, are you in here?” Robin said making the both of you pull away

“Yeah, I’m helping Steve really quick we’ll be out in just a sec” you said as you hopped off the counter 

“I’m sorry I shouldn’t have kissed you, I didn’t mean to do that” Steve said 

He walked out the door leaving you standing there confused. Robin walked into the room and looked at you

“You, okay?” Robin said as she stood in the doorway with her arms crossed

“Ummm Steve just kissed me and then said he didn’t mean it right before you got here” you said, and she looked back towards the room 

“Let me go have a little chat with him” Robin said as she began to walk out the door 

“Dude no, leave it” you said making her roll her eyes as she stood in place

The drive to the club was a bit awkward to say the least. The entire drive Steve was arguing with himself as to why he apologized for kissing you and saying he didn’t mean it, when he did, he really wanted to tell you how he felt but he chickened out and he might have just lost his chance to tell you. You on the other hand were thinking just what had just happened, why had he kissed you? Did he like you? Did he just do it just because? Confused is what you were

Once at the club you went backstage to get ready for the show while Steve and Robin went to the bar area where Sean walked towards them

“Hey Steve, Jess needs to see you” Sean said making Steve drop his rag on the counter and walk off to find his boss 

“How is our whole plan to get them together?” Sean said looking at Robin

“He kissed her this morning and then told her he didn’t mean it” Robin said with an eye roll making the man laugh 

“Oh boy, let me try something” Sean said making Robin look at him 

“What are you gonna try?” Robin said as she leaned towards him 

“Let’s just say that a little friend of mine has a crush on Y/N and I might just accidentally let Steve know” Sean said making Robin nod 

“Good luck with that one” Robin said making the man shrug 

“I mean if anything we can just lock them in the supply closet and not let them out until they confess their feelings for each other, but that’s so beneath us Robby we can do better” Sean said making Robin laugh

“Hey Sean, the zipper on my clothes ripped can you help me” you said walking up to the duo 

“Of course, gorgeous, come on let’s go” Sean said following you towards the back

Steve had returned to the bar as the guest started to pile in and find their places getting ready for the show. Steve loved watching you perform and every night he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, of course he got his job done but god was it hard while he stared at you on that stage dancing and singing captivating not only him but the entire crowd. Steve stood with his lower back pressed to the counter arms crossed as he stared at you from his place behind the bar. The smile on his face had not left since you got on stage, Sean laughed as he walked towards the man and leaned over the bar and stared at him 

“So, are you ever gonna tell her that you’re in love with her or just stand there and stare at her” Sean said making Steve finally look away 

“I’m not in love with her” Steve said looking at him making Sean laugh 

“Yeah, and I’m straight” Sean said making Steve laugh 

“Besides, even if I did tell her, it’s not like she even likes me back” Steve said looking back at you as you finished your performance 

“Listen, she does like you, didn’t she kiss you in her bathroom today?” Sean said making Steve look at him 

“Yeah, wait how do you know that?” Steve said looking at him

“Well, she told me … listen she tells me a lot while back there … I’m pretty sure the girls know about what happened between the both of you as of right now” Sean making Steve sigh

“I don’t know, I guess I just got scared” Steve said

“Let me give you some friendly advice, that girl is beautiful on the inside as well and she’s not going to be available for ever… see that guy sitting in that corner right over there?” Sean said pointing to the far corner where a man sat

They both saw as he handed Robin a pretty big box

“You mean Jack? Yeah, he’s a regular here” Steve said 

“Yeah, and he’s rich, plus rumor has it he has the hots for Miss Y/N and I’m pretty sure the box is a gift for her as well” Sean said as Robin walked towards them 

“Hey Sean, big shot over there said this was for Y/N” Robin said placing the box on the bar

“Told you” Sean said as he took the box from Robin and walked off 

The trio knew that you weren’t going to accept the gift and Robin and Sean knew that you had rejected Jack because of your feelings for Steve but they weren’t going to tell him that just yet

“Do you think that if Y/N and Jack get married he’ll let us move in with them or will we have to stay at the apartment while she lives in a mansion?” Robin said as she looked at Steve’s annoyed look 

“I don’t know Robin now get back to work” Steve said walking away from her 

Robin tried to hold in her laugh as she walked away from the bar to attend to the costumers all around her. The fan favorite ‘Good Girl’ started playing throughout the speakers and you appeared wearing a blond wig wearing some white lingerie. You had a part where you were dancing on the bar and which Steve had to help you move from one end towards where the mirrors were behind him. You grabbed the hat off his head, which wasn’t part of the choreography you just did it because you thought it looked good, and winked at him as you continued the song, he laughed but moved out of the way giving the crowd a view of you as you dropped down and then stood back up. 

After, the performance was over you had some time to kill before the next song, so you decided to take the gift back to Jack before you forgot about it. You walked towards his table holding the box

“There she is” Jack said as he smiled at you

“Hey” you said and before you could say anything else he interrupted you 

“Did you like the shoes I got you?” Jack said gesturing to the obviously unopened box

“I didn’t open them, listen I really appreciate the gesture, but I told you that I can’t be accepting these gifts and that I didn’t like the fact that you keep doing this inspire of me telling you to stop” you said sliding the box over

“Well Nicole liked it, so I don’t see the issue” Jack said 

“Well, I’m not her, so please stop and please just leave me alone like I have asked of you several times” you said as you turned to walk away from him 

He grabbed your arm rather roughly and pulled you towards him 

“Listen here, you little bitch you’re not going to disrespect me like that especially in front of so many people take the fucking gift and the benefits that will come with it” Jack said as you tried to pull your arm out of his grasp

You pulled your hand out od his grasp and walked away from him. You knew he was staring at you as you walked off seeing as you could feel him staring and the mirrors in front of you showed he in fact was looking at you

“Are you okay?” Steve said as you stood by the bar

“Yeah, god, I don’t get why he just can’t leave me alone no matter how much I ask and how many times I say I have a boyfriend he doesn’t stop” you said as he stood in front of you 

“Maybe if he saw you with that said boyfriend, he would leave you alone” Steve said making you roll your eyes

“I don’t get it, why does he need to see me with someone to leave me alone and small issue I don’t have a boyfriend” you said 

“I know, he’s a fucking ass but listen” Steve began to say but you cut him off 

“I don’t even know why I’m talking to you right now I’m mad at you” you said 

“What did I do?” Steve said looking at 

“Oh, come on, you kiss me making me feel something and then say that you didn’t mean it like what is that all about” you say pushing his chest a but 

“Wait, you like me?” Steve said and you laughed 

“Um yeah, thought I made that pretty clear I guess not” you said crossing your arms over your chest

“Kiss me” Steve said as he moved closer towards you

“So, you can say that you didn’t mean it again?” you said making him laugh as your hands went to the side of his face

“Shut up” Steve said pressing his lips to yours 

You smiled into the kiss as he pulled you closer towards him. Steve pulled away and kissed your forehead

“You can officially say you have a boyfriend” Steve said making you look around 

“You found me one? Where? I’m kidding” you said with a laugh making him roll his eyes

You look over his shoulder to see Jack being escorted out by some security guards 

“If he comes back in here let me or Jess know, he isn’t allowed back in” Sean said making you jump 

You looked to your right to see him standing next to you and Steve with his arms crossed

“Jess and I saw the whole thing and the next time something like that happens and you don’t tell us we’re gonna have issues” Sean said looking at you 

“But I knew that you were looking at me” you said with a smile 

“Yeah, right, let’s go time to get ready” Sean said motioning you towards the back

You moved out of Steve’s embrace and walked towards the door when a newspaper hit your ass 

“Hey” you said looking back at Sean 

“Come on hurry it up” Sean said as he walked behind you making you laugh as well 

You both walked to the door that led to the stairs up to the dressing room when Sean got close to you 

“So, he finally made his move?” Sean said 

“Yeah, about time” you said making him laugh 

“Baby you could made a move on him too” Sean said 

“Shut up” you said making him laugh

“It would’ve happened eventually. It’s pretty obvious you two are bound to be together” Sean said with a smile as he walked away leaving you standing in front of your vanity with a smile 

[annoyinglilbro]

Middle brother that can see how badly little brother wants him to like him, so middle brother keeps ignoring him just to see how far little brother will go to get attention. Middle bro will be laying back and mention off handedly that he hasn't had a blowjob in a while and *boom* little bro is on his knees and pulling out his brother's cock

Little brother is absolutely sucking up to his middle brothers side. He’s bringing him drinks, snacks, letting him choose what show they watch after dinner. Anything to keep his brother by his side. He usually slinks off to his room after dinner, knowing the little brat gets final say of what games they play or shows they watch. But lately?

“Hey wait! Come watch tv with us!”

He raises a brow at him and his older brother and father give them both a strange look.

“Yeah no thanks. Your shows fucking suck, dude. I don’t wanna watch that crap.” He’s about to turn away and go back to the silence of his room but his little brother is grabbing his arm and holding the remote out to him. It’s a shock to everyone.

“You can choose! And and and you can sit on the little loveseat with me! We can squeeze in it together!”

“Wouldn’t you rather sit on my lap, bud?” Their father asks, but little brother shakes his head.

“No thanks! I wanna cuddle with bro bro.”

Things like this keep happening. His little brother letting him pick the shows, saving the last treat or drink for him, cuddling into his side. He’s not locked up in his room as often, his little brother constantly clinging to him and begging for his attention, brushing off their dad and older brother when they try for some of the attention.

Middle brother has never had anything that was just his. He always gets the hand me downs and the final say. It’s always “listen to your older brother” and “be nice to your little brother.” This is a big change in the dynamic. And he wants to see how far it goes.

His little brother is very affectionate with him. Giving him kisses on the cheek and holding his hand, stealing his shirts to wear and grinding in his lap. Hes so quick to spread his legs and cry out his brothers name when he cums. So when they’re in his room, door locked and some show droning on the tv, he wants to test it.

They’re watching a show when the girl goes on her boyfriend. Starts sucking his cock on the screen and middle bro makes sure to obviously adjust himself in his pants, to groan and shift next to his little brother.

“Fuck…it’s been so long since I’ve gotten a blow job. One of my favorite things too, some pretty little thing choking themselves on my cock. Don’t think there’s anything better than that.” He keeps his eyes on the screen, not bothering to look at his little brother but he can feel the hands on the insides of his thighs, feels the body weight move and shift so it’s between his legs.

When he looks down his brother is staring up at him with stars in his pretty eyes. He’s smiling and working on pulling his brothers cock out his pants. He’s kissing up the sides, swirling his tongue around the tip and he’s alittle too skilled with his mouth. His brother grabs him by the hair, pulling his back and slapping his heavy cock against his cheek. Precum smears against his face.

“Who taught you to suck cock, huh? Big bro teach you how to choke on it? How to swallow it? Fucking slut. This isn’t gonna get you your way, I’m not fucking you. I’m not making you cum. If you suck my dick it better be because you want to. Not because you think I’ll cave like dad or big bro does.”

Little brother whines, trying to shake his head and deny it.

“Nono I don’t have to cum. I just wanna make you feel good, okay? Please? Please can I make you cum? I wanna make you cum so bad. I’m only thinking about you, I swear.”

Middle brother groans before shoving his cock into that filthy mouth. He fucks into his throat roughly, not caring for the tears that start to stream down his cheeks.

“You want my attention so bad? You fucking got it. Take it.”

[callsign-rogueone]

How do you think the fourth wing characters would be like with a little sister? Who would be overprotective and spoil you, who'd constantly tease and fight with you, or not be close with you at all? Obviously for the ones who have sibling(s) in canon we have some idea, but I'd really like to hear your thoughts, especially on Bodhi, Garrick, Imogen, and Xaden! 🩷🖤

I love this ask! sorry it took me so long, and that these are short. I had to think about the sibling dynamics for a while. my brother and I were never very close, so idk what’s “normal”, if that makes sense.

Imogen:

she’s the youngest sibling in canon, so if she had an even-younger sibling, she’d go protective mode times a thousand after your parents’ execution. you are not leaving her sight unless absolutely necessary, and anyone who doesn't pass the vibe check is not going anywhere near you. she’s fighting tooth and nail to stay with you when they split up the 107 for fostering.

she relaxes a little after a while — a little. but she’s still the one to interrogate you about where you’re going, with who, when you’ll be back…

she’s not the warm and fuzzy type by any stretch of the imagination, so the way that she shows you love might look a little different than “normal”. but if/when shit hits the fan, you know that she’ll come running when you call, and the other way around, too.

Bodhi:

he’s the one that spoils you, our sweetheart. anything that you need for any reason will just materialize in your room. (his family comes from money, so it’s fine).

his philosophy is that a) you deserve it all, and also b) you have enough to worry about with the current state of the world (because you absolutely know about all of that wyvern and venin stuff. he’s not leaving you in the dark about it) and having to eventually go to the death trap that is basgiath war college. just let him take care of you, and do the things that he can.

if you got split up, heaven forbid, he visits you all the time. and brings presents, of course.

he’s the touchy one. it’s common for y’all to be directly next to each other all the time, or for you to be laid on the couch with your feet in his lap, whatever. (these are probably bad examples. idk.)

no goodbyes without hugs, ever, because he knows that any day could be his or your last.

Garrick:

I’ve thought about this a lot because of sweets!!

he’s going to invest time in teaching you to protect yourself, as he won’t always be nearby to defend you (especially after he leaves for Basgiath and then graduates to go to Samara and you’re left behind). all of them would do that, but he's the one knocking on your door at the crack of dawn to go run 3 miles with him before breakfast — no days off for this one.

he’s also the one who teases the most. you two are gonna be bantering all the time. outsiders might be concerned, but you and those closest to you know that it’s out of love.

lets you borrow (steal) his clothes, especially when you’re cold or want to be extra comfy. some days you just need a sweater that hangs down to your knees, okay?

the sleeves are also way too long, so you whap him with one, and then he’s putting you in a headlock and messing up your hair until you apologize.

also; intimidates the shit out of any boy you would bring home, because no matter who it is, he could absolutely beat them in a fight. you have to bribe / beg him to stay away whenever you have company, because he’s scared off three potential boyfriends already. his argument is that if they’re too scared of him, they wouldn’t be able to protect you. and maybe he knows that somebody else likes you, anyway…

Xaden:

I feel like out of all the fw characters, I have the least grasp of Xaden, despite him being the MMC. anyway…

similarly to garrick, he’s putting you through the paces to get you physically prepared. maintaining the skills your dad taught you (because fen would have taught all of his kids to fight, regardless of gender), and building on them by practicing with brennan or the other elders.

he’s the one you have random, deep conversations with at 2am over snacks, where you say some incredibly profound, introspective things, and then never mention it again. you both silently understand that anything you tell each other doesn’t leave that room.

you understand how much weight he has on his shoulders, and so you try to take care of him too sometimes. lots of silent gestures between you — if he’s doing laundry, he’ll throw some of your stuff in too, if you’re going to town you pick up a piece of cake from the bakery for him… etc.

that’s all I have for now. might reblog and add more thoughts if they come to me!

[cloudedwonder]

⍣ ೋ he told you that his name was casper, and that it was all you needed to know about him.

on the day in which he’d taken you, he’d arranged for you to be clothed in ivory. a white ribbon holding your hair back, a white dress shirt covering you, even your nails painted white.

you had been terrified, and he had a been a stranger.

you had asked him why he adored the colour white on you so much, and he had offered you no more than a calm smile, telling you it represented your purity, and the whiteness of your wings.

you were confused. it wasn’t until he dug his nails into your shoulder, his smile becoming more strained that you got the hint to stop talking, and to quit questioning him.

he wasn’t mean to you at all. in fact, quite the opposite. he spent his time ensuring that you lived in comfort, surrounded by plush pillows and fluffy bunnies to keep you company.

you had told him you felt lonely, and he had gifted you a dollhouse, with creatures made of porcelain glass and hair that was humanely soft. you hadn’t questioned it, he had told you that you never needed to question him. but you kept them in the corner of your bedroom, with their eyes faced away from you.

every morning he plaited your hair. he asked you to sing to him as you did so, not minding whether or not your voice cracked or the raspiness it may have held.

he offered you a promise of security, and comfort, and like the naive child he made you feel like, you took it.

he spent time away from you often, though left things to replace him company when he was gone.

things like books, filled to the brim with fairytales. he tasked you with completing a story every day, and retelling the events to him in as much detail as you could remember, like you’d visited each tale yourself.

when he felt you did so correctly, he would offer you something, perhaps a button or a single pearl.

you found it peculiar, but you held them to you dearly, sleeping with them under your pillow every night. he had been glad to see it, and that day he had gifted you a plain small sketchbook and a few mechanical pencils.

he asked you to draw the two of you together, and you obliged. you didn’t see what he did the drawings, confined to the room that he left you in, but he assured you that they were safe, framed and placed upon the walls of a palace.

you supposed he was lying, but you had nodded your head like he expected.

he chose what you wore, dressing you in outfits that you thought to be too grand for yourself, who would hide them in the room that he made you live in.

white gowns that drifted and ended towards your ankles, or shawls that held the warmth of sheep. he rarely gave you jewellery, believing that you didn’t need it, but the time he did it was a pearl ring that he got upset at seeing you take off.

he had told you to be appreciative of his gifts. he had stayed in your room that night, and taught you the importance of being polite.

you didn’t know much about him other than his name. he visited you a few times a day, staying for an hour or so in each visit, before leaving once he was bored.

you felt like a doll, trapped and lifeless. and looking at the ones in the corner of your room, with their toy objects, you wondered how different you were from them. ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡