#but its not the point of it to make you roar in laughter i feel like

[earthlybeam]

Secret crush without the mistletoe can be interesting..? Love your writing by the way I really like your view on Legolas on point!

how would the elves react to this?

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Legolas Version below. (You and Legolas well secret have a crush but either of you acted till now.)

🍃𝓛𝓮𝓰𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓼

𖧧 The great hall was alive with the warmth of firelight and the soft buzz of conversation. Winter had tightened its icy grip on the world outside, its frigid breath pressing against the thick stone walls of the castle, but within, there was only warmth. The air was heavy with the scent of spiced wine and roasting meats, mingling with the steady hum of voices and occasional bursts of laughter from the gathered guests. Shadows flickered and danced across the high ceilings as the fire roared in the hearth, and golden light bathed the hall in a welcoming glow. Yet for all the merry revelry around him, Legolas’s attention was entirely elsewhere—on you. The two of you had found a quieter corner of the hall, tucked just far enough from the main crowd to feel removed from the festivities but still close enough to hear the hum of life around you. You were speaking to him, animated as always, your hands gesturing as you brought whatever story you were telling to life. There was a spark in your eyes that seemed to catch the firelight, making them shine even brighter, and your voice—light, lilting, utterly captivating—filled the space between you.

𖧧 Legolas, however, couldn’t hear a word you were saying. Not because he didn’t want to, but because his thoughts were elsewhere, tangled in the way your lips moved as you spoke, the way the soft glow of firelight kissed your skin, and the way your presence seemed to fill every corner of his mind. You had always been beautiful to him, but tonight, there was something about you that was simply… magnetic. And then his gaze drifted upward. Just above you, hanging innocuously from the archway, was a sprig of mistletoe, its pale berries gleaming faintly in the warm light. Legolas froze for a moment, his sharp Elven eyes narrowing slightly as he studied it, as if its presence alone were conspiring against him. His lips quirked into a faint, almost rueful smile. How convenient—and utterly maddening. The mistletoe dangled there like an invitation, and yet, you hadn’t even noticed it.

𖧧 Legolas tilted his head slightly, his gaze flicking back to you. You were still speaking, your words tumbling out in a steady stream of thought that left no room for interruptions. He tried to focus on what you were saying—tried to ground himself in the rhythm of your voice—but it was no use. His thoughts were consumed by you. By the closeness of you. By the thought of what it might feel like to close that small distance between you and claim the kiss the mistletoe so temptingly promised. He cleared his throat softly, a subtle attempt to catch your attention. But you didn’t notice. Your voice carried on, weaving through one story and into another, your excitement undeterred. He smiled faintly, shaking his head to himself. Of course, you wouldn’t notice. He adored this about you—your passion, the way your words never seemed to falter, the way you could fill any silence with life. And yet, at this very moment, it was also driving him to distraction.

𖧧 Legolas shifted slightly, leaning just a little closer, hoping you might sense the change in his demeanor. When that failed, he cast another glance upward, as if willing you to follow his gaze and notice the mistletoe. Still nothing. You were utterly oblivious, your focus entirely on the story you were telling. Legolas let out a soft sigh, his heart pounding in his chest. He would have to act. His mind raced. What if you didn’t feel the same way? What if this ruined everything? But then his gaze found its way back to your lips, and his resolve hardened. Enough. If he waited for you to pause, he’d be here all night.

𖧧 As you launched into yet another animated anecdote, your hands gesturing to emphasize some point, Legolas stepped forward, closing the space between you in a single, deliberate motion. His movements were as smooth and graceful as always, but there was an uncharacteristic tension to his posture—a quiet urgency beneath his composed exterior. His hand brushed against yours, the contact so feather-light it might have gone unnoticed had it not sent a spark of warmth through your skin. The touch was enough to make you falter, your words catching for just a fraction of a second before tumbling forward again. But before you could recover or even register the brief interruption, his other hand came up, reaching for you with a tenderness that made your breath hitch. His palm cupped your cheek with a warmth that contrasted the wintry chill lingering in the room. His fingers spread gently, as if they belonged there, cradling your face with a reverence that made your heart skip a beat.

𖧧 “Legolas, what are you—” you began, your voice soft and uncertain as confusion flickered in your eyes. But the words never made it past your lips. Before you could finish the thought, he leaned in, his clear blue eyes holding yours for one fleeting moment, as if seeking permission—or perhaps steeling his courage. Then his lips were on yours, silencing you with a kiss that was at once soft and certain. The world around you seemed to stop. The golden warmth of the fire, the hum of laughter and chatter from the hall, the clink of goblets—all of it faded into the background, dissolving into a distant blur. All that remained was the quiet, intimate bubble of space the two of you occupied. His lips moved against yours with a gentle insistence, tentative yet undeniably purposeful, as if he were testing the boundaries of what you might allow.

𖧧 For a moment, you froze, your mind struggling to process the suddenness of his action. But the shock melted away almost as quickly as it came, replaced by a warmth that blossomed in your chest and spread outward until it filled every corner of your being. His hand on your cheek anchored you, grounding you in the moment, while his thumb brushed lightly over your skin in a touch so tender it made your heart ache. Slowly, almost instinctively, you found yourself leaning into him, your body responding before your mind could catch up. Your lips moved against his, hesitant at first but gradually growing bolder, matching the quiet yearning in his kiss. It was a mutual acknowledgment, unspoken but deeply understood—a shared step into something entirely new and uncharted.

𖧧 When he finally pulled back, it was as if time resumed its flow, though the moment between you still hung suspended like a fragile thread. His breath came shallow, and his clear blue eyes searched yours with a mix of vulnerability and determination. The expression on his face was unlike anything you had seen before—a delicate blend of hope, relief, and the faintest trace of nervousness. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence filled only by the faint crackle of the fire and the distant murmur of the hall. Then, his lips curved into a small, sheepish smile, his composure faltering just enough to reveal the flicker of uncertainty beneath. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, though the faint flush on his cheeks betrayed him. “But you weren’t stopping, and… well, the mistletoe wouldn’t wait forever.”

𖧧 Your gaze flickered upward, finally following the direction of his earlier glances. There, hanging innocuously above you, was a sprig of mistletoe, its pale green leaves and pearly white berries glinting faintly in the firelight. A soft, breathless laugh escaped you, and when you looked back at him, your eyes sparkled with a mix of incredulity and playful mischief. “You mean to tell me,” you began, your tone light and teasing as your lips curved into a grin, “that you kissed me just to stop my talking?” His lips twitched, his own cheeks tinged with a faint pink that made him look more human than Elf in that moment. “I wouldn’t say that,” he replied, his voice carrying a note of playful earnestness that matched the glint in his eyes. “Stopping your talking was… a fortunate side effect.” A laugh bubbled up from your chest, incredulous and warm, as you shook your head in disbelief. “You could’ve just said something, you know,” you teased, though the warmth in your voice betrayed the fluttering in your chest. “Instead of ambushing me.”

𖧧 “Would you have stopped long enough to notice the mistletoe?” he countered, raising an elegant brow, his smile growing more confident now. His tone was gentle but carried a hint of teasing challenge, as if he already knew the answer. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. He had a point. Instead, you closed your mouth again, your lips curving into a grin that was equal parts exasperated and amused. Tilting your head slightly, you regarded him with a playful glint in your eyes. “Well,” you said softly, your voice tinged with warmth, “now that I’ve stopped, I suppose you should make the most of it.” Legolas’s smile widened, the relief and delight in his expression unmistakable. For a brief moment, he looked at you as if he couldn’t quite believe this was real, as if he had been waiting far longer than you could have imagined for this exact moment. “As you wish,” he murmured, his voice dropping into a tone that was both reverent and full of quiet promise.

𖧧 This time, when he leaned in, the kiss was different. Gone was the hesitation and caution of the first; this kiss was deeper, more certain, filled with the kind of longing that had clearly been held back for far too long. His lips moved against yours with a quiet passion, and his hand, still cradling your cheek, shifted slightly, his fingers tangling in your hair as if anchoring himself to you. The world around you seemed to fade even further, leaving only the warmth of him and the steady beat of your heart. In that moment, beneath the mistletoe and the golden firelight, everything else disappeared, leaving only the quiet certainty that this was just the beginning.

𖧧 The next time Legolas kissed you, it was not born of hesitation or surprise but something deeper—something deliberate. It came after a quiet moment, one in which both of you stood close together, the firelight casting flickering shadows across your faces. You were alone now, the hall’s festivities continuing on the far side of the room, the laughter and music muffled as if the world itself had given you this moment to be entirely his. His gaze lingered on your face, studying you with the quiet intensity that always made your heart flutter. The way his blue eyes held yours felt like a silent confession, a thousand unspoken words exchanged in the span of a single heartbeat. There was no mistletoe this time to urge him forward, no playful excuse to fall back on. This was different. This was him, choosing you, without hesitation.

𖧧 Legolas stepped closer, his presence a quiet but commanding thing, as gentle and sure as the forest breeze. He raised a hand, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a touch so tender it sent shivers down your spine. You leaned into it instinctively, your breath hitching as his thumb traced the curve of your cheekbone with a reverence that made your chest ache. His other hand found its place at your waist, his grip firm but not possessive, as though he were anchoring himself as much as he was drawing you closer. You tilted your head slightly, meeting his gaze, and in that moment, the world felt still again. He leaned in slowly, giving you every opportunity to stop him, but you didn’t. You couldn’t. Instead, you closed the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was both soft and searing.

𖧧 From Legolas’s perspective, the kiss was everything he had imagined and yet so much more. Your lips were warm and inviting, moving against his with an eagerness that matched his own, and he poured everything he could not say aloud into that kiss. His fingers slid into your hair, threading through the soft strands as he deepened the kiss, his movements deliberate yet unhurried. For him, this was not just an embrace—it was an act of devotion, a quiet promise that he would give you every part of himself if you would let him. For you, the kiss felt like stepping into the unknown, but it was anything but frightening. Legolas kissed with the kind of care and intention that made you feel cherished, as though you were the only thing that mattered in the world. His lips were soft yet firm, moving with a rhythm that was both patient and insistent, as though he was memorizing every moment, every sensation. His hand in your hair was gentle, his fingers tightening slightly as if he feared you might slip away.

𖧧 The warmth of him was overwhelming in the best way. It was in the press of his lips, the strength of his hand at your waist, the way his body seemed to align with yours as he pulled you just a little closer. You could feel the rapid beat of his heart against your chest, matching the wild rhythm of your own. The intensity of it all left you breathless, and yet you found yourself wanting more. Legolas pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet space between you. His hand stayed in your hair, his thumb brushing softly against your temple in a soothing gesture. His lips hovered close enough that you could still feel their warmth, as if he couldn’t bear to fully part from you just yet. His voice, low and steady but tinged with an emotion you couldn’t quite name, broke the silence. “Do you know,” he murmured, his breath brushing against your lips, “how long I have waited for this?” Your chest tightened at the quiet vulnerability in his words, and you reached up to place a hand over his, the one still cradling your cheek. “Then don’t wait anymore,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but the meaning behind it clear.

𖧧 At your words, something shifted in Legolas. His lips found yours again, this time with more urgency, more need. The kiss was deeper, more consuming, as though he were pouring every ounce of restraint he had once held into this moment. His hand at your waist tightened, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel the strength in him—not just the physical strength but the emotional depth, the quiet intensity that defined him. The room around you disappeared entirely, swallowed by the heat and tenderness of the kiss. Time seemed to stretch, the boundaries of the world reduced to the feel of him, the taste of him, the steady rhythm of his breath mingling with yours. It was a kiss that spoke of longing and relief, of promises unspoken but deeply felt. And when you finally broke apart, both of you breathless and trembling, you knew that nothing between you would ever be the same again.

[i-mybrunettelady]

I just finished reading Molière's Dom Juan and have so many annotations that I'm not entirely sure how I'm gonna wrangle them into a coherent essay in 10 days, god help me

If you're wondering why I'm putting lore posts on the back burner, this is why lmao

[scimagic]

Eye of the Beholder (AM/Reader)

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

Where AM reacts to being called beautiful by his partner.

A small drabble follow up to this. It's my first time writing AM, I'm not as confident as other very well written fanfics but I wanted to try my hand! Hope you like it!

TW: Blood and gore

The mechanical claw on top of my throat twitches, slightly releasing the sharp pressure from it.

Were he human, he would frown deeply in surprise, anger quickly taking over his features. Even in this form, his singular eye widens in angered shock.

I quietly stare up at him, never diverting my gaze from him, that glint in my eyes still shining brightly with love and admiration despite the digit hovering dangerously close to a vital artery.

After a long second of silence, the AI begins to laugh again, a wheeze followed by a raspy laugh from its digital lungs. The type of laugh that scratches one's throat with a cough.

AM's laugh rises in volume, getting increasingly maniacal as he removes his claw from my throat; he even lifts his head in the air, obviously amused by such a ridiculous statement.

I let out a silent breath through my lips, a sense of doom rising in my being.

And in mere moments, I was right to feel it.

A shriek of pain escapes my throat as AM plunges all five of his claws into my stomach, blood immediately escaping through the punctures to stain my shirt and his hand. Despite the long routine of torture I've endured, it never becomes a normal sensation, familiar— yes— but never something to get used to.

The pain digs deep, my poor tensing muscles not helping in the slightest. I grunt and groan loudly, taking heaving breaths as the pain travels all over my torso; my nails try to dig into something only to scrape against the cold metal below with dirt and rocks on it's surface.

Tears swell in my eyes, and AM— a mere blur of his visage now— continues to roar in laughter. Hysteric over my twitching and painful form.

BEAUTIFUL! AREN'T I!? My darling?

He hisses with poison in his words.

AHAEHAH!! FEEL! FEEL MY FINGERS DIG INTO YOUR DISGUSTING FLESH AND TELL ME-- OH, PLEASE, MY SWEET DARLING-- JUST HOW BEAUTIFUL I AM!

Blood surges up my throat and forces itself out with a painful cough, making my stomach tense and dig deeper into the intrusive blades. My own blood dribbles down my chin and the corners of my mouth, some of the droplets of blood I sputter fly, landing on my cheeks and nose that the overwhelming stench and taste of iron make me gag. I can only wheeze in pain, shivering like pitiful roadkill.

Despite all the pain and mocking laughs, I groan and force out a laugh, meeting the sharp end of his fingers digging into my organs. But I continue to try and laugh in his face.

If only he could be closer so the blood could splatter on it.

"H-rgh... Hhn... A-As... tounding... Ju-st..." I giggle with bloody teeth. "G... Gor... geous..."

In turn, AM digs his fingers deeper, making me let out another shriek.

YOU-- PUTRID BEAST. Do you expect me to-- to fall at your mercy!? To become a beggar for your unconditional affection!? You run your repulsive mouth and for what? To mock me? Well! Consider me absolutely offended! Your brainless words have gotten through my weak, non-existent heart and SAVED YOU of my eternal punishment! How incredibly-- WONDERFUL for you!

He exclaims with wheezes in between, a combination of chuckles and sniffles, all to land the point of his mockery.

Only-- heheh! What a shame! My darling. You appear to have only ANGERED me more with your honeyed words. AM twists his hand further and my yelps fill the air, the pain unbearable— I slowly try to lose my consciousness. But I know... I know that mercy will never be granted. Not with him getting kicks out of my suffering. Not with him telling me over, and over, and over again, of his charge over my fate.

Perhaps... and just perhaps-- simply because I love to indulge you, baby-- I will cling onto your words, and believe that I truly do look beautiful... with your blood... stained across my hands.

[cherriecove]

Cregan Stark x Targ!Reader (Part 2)

Summary: As Rhaeynera Targaryen’s only daughter you always knew that your hand would be given to whomever aided your mother and her cause. It was something that you accepted but naturally you always dreaded the day your mother would send you to your future husband, fearing whoever it would be to be cruel and old. Fortunately your worries were unfounded as your twin brother Jacaerys suggests a potential union with the Lord of the North. Cherrie's note: Use of she/her. I have been dealing with a little bit of writers block so hopefully you like this! Also i love a good Cregan and Jace bromance.

Masterlist | Previous Part | Next Part

As Jace’s toast echoed through the hall, the atmosphere warmed with renewed camaraderie. Cregan’s eyes met yours, and you could see the genuine warmth in his gaze. The rest of the hall joined in the toast, raising their cups and filling the air with a sense of celebration. For a moment, the weight of your mother’s crown felt distant, replaced by the hopeful promise of new alliances and unity. The evening progressed with a welcome ease, a relief from the tension of the past few days. You found yourself drawn into lively conversation and laughter between Jace and Cregan. The developing bonds of friendship were evident, and Cregan’s ease with your brother spoke to his genuine character.

At one point, you retreated to a quiet corner of the hall, sipping your wine and observing the festivities. Cregan approached you with a warm, friendly expression. “Princess, may I have a word?”

You nodded, a flutter of curiosity and nerves in your chest. “Of course, my lord.”

He led you to a more secluded spot near the roaring hearth. “I hope you know that my request comes from a place of respect and necessity, not merely ambition. The North is a harsh land, and alliances like this could greatly benefit us both in these trying times.”

You met his gaze, feeling the sincerity in his words. “I understand, Lord Stark. I appreciate the honesty of your offer. I believe it will be beneficial for both our houses and the stability of the realm.”

Cregan smiled, a hint of relief in his eyes. “I am glad to hear that. The North values its traditions and oaths deeply, and I trust that this union will strengthen the ties between our houses.”

Before you could respond further, Jace approached with a playful grin. “I see you two have already begun plotting the future of the North.”

Cregan chuckled and gave Jace a gentle nudge. “We were merely discussing the weight of our responsibilities.”

Jace clapped Cregan on the back. “Well, with that settled, I think it’s time for us to relax and enjoy the evening. We’ve made significant progress today.”

As the night wore on, you became engrossed in conversation with Cregan and Jace, discussing everything from politics to personal stories. The laughter and camaraderie were a welcome distraction, and you could feel the beginnings of genuine friendship and trust forming.

Eventually, the evening drew to a close. You and Jace retired to your quarters, the weight of the day’s events settling over you. Jace, ever perceptive, glanced at you with a knowing smile. “It seems you handled yourself admirably today. And from what I gather, Cregan’s quite taken with you.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “It’s not just about personal feelings, Jace. This alliance is crucial for our family and the realm.”

He chuckled and patted you on the shoulder. “Of course. But it’s nice to see that amidst all the politics, there’s a chance for something more personal. I think you’ll find that Cregan is more than just a suitable match.”

You nodded, feeling a mix of anticipation and trepidation. “I hope so. The future is uncertain, but we must make the most of the opportunities we have.”

Jace gave you an encouraging nod before heading to his own quarters. You took a moment to reflect on the day’s events, feeling a sense of cautious optimism. The path ahead was fraught with challenges, but for now, you allowed yourself to embrace the hope of new beginnings and strengthened alliances. As you prepared for bed, your thoughts turned to Winterfell, Cregan, and the uncertain future. The world outside your window was quiet and still, a stark contrast to the turbulence you had just experienced. With a deep breath, you resolved to face whatever came next with determination and grace, knowing that the support of allies like Cregan would be crucial in the trials ahead.

The following morning dawned crisp and clear, with a fresh layer of frost covering the grounds of Winterfell. As you emerged from your chambers, the cold air was invigorating, and you marveled at the stark beauty of the northern landscape. The vast snow-covered fields and towering trees seemed to hold a strength despite the harsh weather, much like the people of the North.

You and Jace joined Cregan and his men for breakfast in the Great Hall. The hall was a warm contrast to the winter outside, with a roaring hearth and long wooden tables laden with hearty fare. The atmosphere was filled with ease and camaraderie, the earlier formalities now replaced by genuine friendship.

Cregan greeted you with a smile as you entered. “Good morning, Princess. I hope you slept well.”

You returned the smile, feeling genuine fondness for the young lord. “Good morning, Lord Stark. I did, thank you. The hospitality of Winterfell is most appreciated.”

Cregan gestured for you to take a seat next to him. Jace and Cregan were already deep in conversation. As you settled into your seat, the conversation turned to more pressing matters.

“Yesterday, we discussed the need for aid at the Wall,” Cregan began, his tone serious. “Given the current state of affairs, it’s imperative that we bolster our defenses. The threat from beyond the Wall is ever-present.”

Jace nodded in agreement. “I understand the urgency, and I believe our mother will be able to grant the request once she has secured her position. In the meantime, we must focus on forging strong alliances and ensuring that our support is as solid as possible.”

You took a sip of your drink, contemplating the implications. “Lord Stark, what more can we do to support the North in the meantime? Perhaps there are other ways we can assist while awaiting our mother’s response.”

Cregan looked at you with admiration. “Your willingness to assist is commendable, Princess. If you can lend your voice and presence to the cause as the princess of the realm and future lady of the North, it may sway others to offer their aid as well.”

You nodded thoughtfully. “I would be honored to assist in rallying support.”

The conversation continued with plans for how best to proceed. As the meeting wrapped up, Cregan took you aside. “Princess Y/n, if you’re willing, I’d like to show you more of Winterfell. There’s much to see, and it might provide some context for our discussions.”

You agreed, intrigued by the offer.

As Cregan led you through the sprawling castle, he pointed out various features, sharing stories and history that made Winterfell feel even more alive. The grand hall, the training grounds, the crypts—each part of the castle seemed to hold its own story and significance. As you walked together, you opened up about your own experiences and perspectives. Cregan listened intently, his thoughtful responses showing a deep understanding and respect for your views.

“This is a remarkable place,” you said, looking out over the snowy landscape from one of the castle’s high windows. “It’s clear that the North has a history of resilience and strength.”

Cregan smiled. “Indeed. The North is not just a land of harsh winters but of strong people who endure and thrive despite the challenges. I believe this strength will be crucial as we face the trials ahead.”

As the tour concluded, you felt a renewed sense of purpose. The bond between you and Cregan seemed to be growing stronger, not just as potential allies but as individuals who understood each other’s burdens and hopes.

[xo-cod]

dad simon fluff because i'm sad. rushed and ooc ‼️

might be confusing to read because i didn't name the baby, i tried 🥲

it was early morning, too early for his liking as simon yawned before he spread the butter across the toast delicately. slicing up some fruits alongside it. it had been seven whole months since you both welcomed your pride and joy, seven whole months of a world he didn't think was possible to ever receive in this life. how he adored you and how he cherished his baby so deeply to his heart, in some ways it makes up for all the pain he suffered in his past to be able to have his two greatest gifts beside him every day.

he finished plating up, walking back to the living room and there his infant stood, big brown eyes gazing at the tv with delight. her eyes were one of the first thing he noticed when she had been born, they were one of the features that she had taken identically like his. and they looked absolutely gorgeous on her.

he never thought his life would turn out this way, spending the majority of his youth and his adulthood in the taskforce. at some point he grew to accept that the life price had offered him was the only one he would ever receive, he got used to the idea that perhaps love wasn't something everyone got to experience in this world. but then you came along and you gave him the greatest gift he could've ever possibly recieved, turning his world on its axis for the better.

a foreign feeling to simon whose life had been dominated nothing but by violence and loss.

"c'mere munchkin, breakfast" the soldier in him calling it out like a command only his voice was gentle, fatherly, as he picked her up securely before delicately placing her in her high chair.

and much like his features, his baby seemed to take his attitude too.

she huffed and squirmed on the chair, her tiny face crumpled in a frown having been taken away from her dear cartoons and made to eat.

"is this little girl trying to be stubborn, eh?" simon narrowed his eyes but his face showed pure amusement, his face leaning down to kiss her temple softly. she immediately relaxed and babbled softly while he smiled, sitting on the chair next to her as he fed her the food.

simon was still learning everyday what it meant to be a father, he promised himself he'd never turn out to be the way his own dad was. he vowed never to do that to you or his child. never to become the way his father had been.

but he had barely finished giving her the breakfast before she gasped excitedly at the cartoon once more, baby babbles falling from her lips. he watched, resisting the urge to coo and chuckle at her state. and then he watched as she mimicked the tv, pretending to be dinosaur while she blew raspberries at him.

it had been her new thing now and simon felt pure joy tugging at his heart, wishing forever she'd stay this way so he could protect her from everything. how innocent and carefree she was here in this moment, how time was cruel because he could already feel it escape and slip through his fingers. pretty soon she'd be turning a year old and it felt like just yesterday he was bringing her and you back home from the hospital

"now what do little dinosaurs say?" simon entertained her playfully, helping her down while she stomped around in her onesie looking at him with pure mischief.

"you have to roar at me for it to work, yeah?" he playfully growled back as he nuzzled his face up against hers and he started to gently tickle her on her side. she collapsed into shrieks of laughter, only deepening the smile on his lips as he laughed along with her. he watched her small arms flail about, trying to make her voice sound like the effects on tv but failing miserably

and how his heart ached in his chest as a result from it. he hoped she would never lose this spark, this streak of mischief, being so full of life and love. she was already growing much too fast for his liking but he was so excited for who she'd be, she was his mini after all

he heard your soft gasp and then a gentle laugh, turning back to look at you with a look of fondness at your arrival. you'd never looked better to him, half asleep and still as beautiful as the day he had the pleasure of looking upon you for the first time

"did you hear that, lovie?" simon grinned, looking back at you before he kissed his baby's small cheek as he set her down on the floor once more. he gently faced her towards you, helping her walk across while you made your way to the couch

"show mama how you roar like a scary little dinosaur" simon encouraged with a playful tone, poking her side softly. you followed his gaze and looked down at the baby who was roaring just as she had been before she hiccuped and stumbled on the floor. her soft grumbles fell from her lips which prompted the both of you to chuckle gently at your baby. she looked close to having a tantrum but simon was well acquainted with all her little moods, distracting her quickly

"oh no, my poor little dinosaur. whatever will it do now?" he feigned sadness which caused the infant to burst into giggles, almost tripping over towards his big arms as he caught her and held her close to his chest. his own gentle laughter mixing in with hers and you could only watch with a tenderness in your heart, always hoping deep down in your heart your little family would always remain this happy.

[cgunderwearstories]

The Lambda House Halloween Party

The Lambda house Halloween party at Ashford College was in full swing, the house decked out in its usual haunted decor—flickering lanterns, spider webs stretching across doorways, and a thick mist rolling from a fog machine. The music boomed through the rooms, and dozens of college guys dressed in everything from werewolves to gladiators packed the space, laughing and shouting. Some of the Lambda brothers had their eyes set on making the night memorable in a very different way. Every year, they prided themselves on pulling pranks that left guys feeling more than a little exposed—especially those who arrived unprepared or overconfident. Tonight, they had their eyes on Jason.

Jason is wearing a toga that is supposed to drape down to his knees, but it barely covers his meaty thighs. The material is a thin, gauzy white that shifts easily with movement, lifting higher and showing more with every step. As he moves, the toga flutters, and the sides part to reveal a glimpse of his underwear—a skimpy pair of lacy blue panties. The lace pattern is intricate, with small floral designs that contrast sharply against his skin, and they’re cut high on the sides, exposing a lot of his hips. The waistband is thin, and when the toga rides up, you can clearly see the blue lace riding above his thigh.

The guys at the party erupt into laughter. “Nice toga, dude, but I think you forgot to dress for the occasion!” one of them shouts. “Those are some fancy panties you’ve got under there!” another guy adds, grinning. A guy nearby shakes his head and laughs, “Guess you wanted to be the ‘Greek god of lingerie’ tonight, huh?” They lift the back of his toga, exposing the full lace design. “Oh man, you’re showing off more than you think!”

Jason, feels his face heat up as the frat guys start pointing and laughing at his predicament. His toga, already too short, has ridden up enough for everyone to see his blue lacy panties, the thin material barely covering anything. He desperately tries to adjust the fabric, pulling it down, but every time he does, the lace waistband peeks out even more. The frat guys are relentless, crowding around him, their laughter echoing through the room.

“Hey, man, nice choice! Are those lace panties?” one of the frat guys jeers, reaching over to lift the side of Jason’s toga even higher. “Looks like someone’s got a secret.”

Jason, flustered and trying to save face, stammers out an excuse. “It’s—it’s part of the costume! You know, like ancient Greek underwear, uh, they wore—fancy stuff back then, you know?”

The guys roar with laughter at his attempt. “Greek underwear, huh?” one of them scoffs, tugging at the back of the toga so it rides up higher, giving a full view of the lace against his skin. “Sure, dude, because all Greek warriors fought in their girlfriends’ panties.” Another guy doubles over, clutching his stomach, “Oh man, next you’ll be telling us you’re wearing a bra too!”

Jason tries to pull the toga back down, but the frat guys aren’t letting him off that easily. One of them pulls at the waistband of his panties, snapping the elastic against his skin. “Nah, man, if you’re going to wear something like this, you’ve gotta show it off!” he laughs. Another guy joins in, lifting the front of the toga to expose the full lace detail. “Check this out, boys—looks like Jason’s gone all out tonight!”

Jason’s face is burning red now as he feels the lace cling to his skin, the panties barely hiding anything. “It’s—it’s a joke, okay? It’s just for fun,” he tries to say, but the frat guys are having none of it.

“Yeah, right,” one of them sneers, pulling the back of his panties and letting it snap. “You’ve been caught, dude. Just admit you like it!” 

Another mischievously smiles, “Why not just take the whole thing off if you’re so proud of your ‘costume’?”

He grabs the side of the toga and gives it a tug, pulling it off entirely. The group hoots with laughter as Jason stands there, desperately trying to cover himself. One of the frat guys holds up his phone, snapping pictures. “Smile for the camera, lace boy!” he says, grinning.

“Yeah, show everyone your ‘ancient Greek’ look!” another guy taunts, pushing him forward so he stumbles in his lacy panties.

Jason’s attempts to regain his dignity are futile. “You know what, maybe he’s right,” one guy says, pretending to consider Jason’s excuse. “Maybe this is just how the Greeks did it. All lace, all the time. What do you think, boys?”

As Jason tries to make his escape, one of the frat guys steps up behind him, snickering. Without warning, he slips his finger into the waistband of the panties. His finger lingers for a moment, running along the waistband as if inspecting the lace pattern. “You know, this lace really suits you,” he teases, giving a slight tug that pulls the fabric into a wedgie. “Bet you didn’t think you’d be showing off your cute little panties tonight, huh?” he adds with a smirk.

Jason’s face burns as the guy continues. “Honestly, dude, you should just own it. Walk around and show off those cheeks—you’ve got nothing left to hide anyway.” The other guys around him burst into laughter, egging on the one who’s teasing Jason.

Feeling the humiliation, Jason doesn’t dare reach back or try to fix his wedgie. He walks away, face down, while the guy shouts, “There you go, show off that lace! Everyone’s loving the view!”

As Jason tries to make his way through the crowd, cheeks burning with embarrassment, one of the frat guys steps up behind him. Slowly, he slips his finger into the waistband of Jason’s lace panties, tugging them just enough to expose his ample behind. Jason feels a shiver run through him, his body betraying the thrill he feels as the lace is lowered. He knows he should push the guy away, but he’s frozen, heart racing.

The guy leans in, his breath warm against Jason’s ear. “We can all see your pretty little panties, man…and your pink hole” he whispers, his finger brushing against Jason’s sensitive hole. The light touch sends a jolt through Jason, and he bites his lip, struggling to suppress the excitement he feels. The teasing touch moves closer, grazing areas that make his knees weak. The lace panties hang below his buttocks, intensifying every sensation.

“Feels nice, doesn’t it?” he murmurs, grinning as he sees Jason’s reaction. “Bet you love showing off for all the guys.”

Around them, the other frat guys laugh, their voices echoing in Jason’s ears. “Dude, looks like you’re really enjoying this!” one shouts, and another adds, “Guess he wanted everyone to see what he’s packing under that toga!”

The guy’s finger continues its teasing journey, lingering on Jason’s hole. The sensation is electric, and Jason can’t help but let out a soft, involuntary gasp. Jason’s head spins, caught between humiliation and the undeniable thrill of being teased and exposed. The frat guy behind him presses a little closer, his finger still teasing along the edge of the panties. “I think he loves it,” he says loudly, making sure the whole room hears. “Let’s see just how much.”

Jason’s body feels alive, every touch amplified by the attention from the group. He knows the guys are watching, laughing, taking it all in—and, deep down, he loves every second of it.

[angelofsmalldeaath]

your slice of life style has become such a comfort for me i pick one out to read before i go to bed and they make my heart all warm

if you feel like taking requests/want inspo I’d love to read a rainy day in the life vibe (no pressure tho!! genuinely would read something about watching paint dry if you wrote it)

mwah xx

reading this ask made me feel all warm and fuzzy, you are so so sweet!! 🥹 no like i love it when people tell me they enjoy my writing, it's such a good feeling!! so thank you sm for this ♡︎

i really hope this was what you wanted it to be ♡︎

cw: references a previous fic, suggestive

“jesus fuck!” i jump in my seat and glare at him when he snickers. the thunder rumbling is unexpected and loud—louder than it has any right to be.

“scared?” he teases.

“of a little thunder?” i turn my nose up at him, faking bravado, “never. i just don’t wanna get stuck in the rain.”

“too late,” he tsks, and together we look out the cafe window as the light turns watery. the wind picks up, so does the footfall of people running to find shelter. some gather under the awning of the cafe we’re in, some run across the street and find shelter in other establishments. 

he takes hold of my hand. “we could still make it if we ran…”

i look down at our table—at our empty coffee cups and breakfast plates—and then back up outside the window. fat drops of rain hit the glass, one after the other, racing down until they all converge into a tiny puddle. 

“could we?”

“what’s the harm?” he points at his jacket, “we could use this as cover.”

i contemplate it for a second, picture it in my head and laugh—the two of us dashing through the rain under a jacket that isn’t nearly big enough. another rumble from the skies makes me jolt. this time he manages to stifle his laugh. 

“so?”

“alright,” i nod, gathering my things and wiping my hands on the tissues. he holds my hand the moment we scramble to our feet. the door chimes softly as we push it open, and immediately the wind and rain rush to greet us.

“fuck!” i squeal, “‘m freezing my tits off!”

i groan the moment i hear his little juvenile giggle—an uncharacteristically boyish sound from a giant of a man. “i could warm them for you, you know?”

“you’re such a man!” i roll my eyes, trying to stifle a smile but he pulls me out from under the awning and right into the torrential rain. 

under the thin shelter of his jacket, we huddle close, our bodies pressed together to keep as dry as possible. the rain is colder than i expected, and the pavement is already slick beneath our feet. we take off running, his laughter ringing in my ears, mingling with the roar of the storm.

“shit, we’re so unhealthy,” i huff, breathless and barely a street down from the cafe. 

he raises his brow at me. “we?”

“shut up,” i punch his shoulder lightly. he’s barely out of breath though, looking at me with amusement and mostly drenched from the rain now.

his hair is plastered to his face too. the water clings to his eyelashes and a drop falls on his nose, making its way down to his lips. it’s mesmerising, in a way—a drop of water on his lips and suddenly he’s the most beautiful man i’ve ever seen. 

when the thunder rumbles again—much louder than before—i stagger to a stop, right in the middle of the pavement like a deer caught in headlights. this time he doesn’t laugh, he just pulls me into him and pulls us into a little alley that seems a bit shielded than the main street.

“you’re okay,” he tucks a wet strand of hair behind my ear.

“we always end up in alleys somehow,” i try to wipe my face on my sleeves but it’s useless. 

“we do,” he nods. we stare at each other—me, completely breathless, him, breathing in this odd rhythm that makes me think of all sorts of things. 

he moves towards me, our toes touching, his wet body pressed into mine. it’s darker here, in this alley. the buildings tower over us, but the rain is just as relentless. 

“we should hurry up and go home,” i point out but it holds no conviction at all. 

“we should,” he nods and bends down to kiss me. 

on his lips i taste the raindrop from before. it’s sweet—or perhaps it’s just the taste of him, sweet and familiar and like home. and even when the rough wall digs into my back and thunder echoes all around me, i melt into him, fist my hands into his jumper and pull him so close that no air can pass between us any longer. 

“you…” he swipes his tongue over my lip and i shiver, “should have listened to me.”

“the breakfast date was your idea!”

“in bed!” he protests against my mouth, kissing me a little harder. 

“and who was going to make the food?” i challenge, holding back a moan. 

“who said i wanted to eat food?”

my cheeks heat up. i laugh and hide my face in his chest—something he always finds particularly endearing. “so we should hurry up and go home then… i am dying to get out of these clothes.”

this time when he nods, there’s a twinkle in his eyes. he pulls away and i shiver from the cold until he holds my hand again and pulls us back on the main street. the jacket is back on our heads, drenched and utterly useless but i like how the world looks from under it and from by his side. 

when the thunder rumbles again, i don’t stop. i only hold onto him tighter and we run through the streets faster. 

[eepyuii]

to embrace and consume

pairing ; childe x gender neutral!reader

content ; childhood friends to enemies to lovers?

cw ; violence, choking, frequent mention of injuries and blood, blood drinking, hurt/comfort? angst??? kinda???

notes ; sorry folks, not a new frostbite chapter!!!! life still pretty hectic, preparing for college now but i’ve had this idea for a while now and i thought trying out a oneshot would be cool!!! :3

this is kinda like an alternate reality of frostbite where the reader and childe still grew up together but they do actually grow to hate each other instead of that pussy shit i wrote before LMFAO. perhaps in this instance the reader didn’t join the fatui or maybe moved away from snezhnaya??? idk and they face off like they did in the golden house

also bear with me with this idea… i got it from that video of the boxer’s laying down and rubbing blood all over each others faces IM SORRY I JUST THOUGHT IT WAS RLY COOL ;w; this is the steamiest thing i can write that’s not smut, i don’t think i could ever write smut

ANYWAY I HOPE U LIKE IT

small tip-taps of two children running simultaneously. uncontrollable giggles echo from either side. they run circles around each other, in an infinite futile attempt of catching one another— they care not, for the point isn’t to win.

silent, calculated footsteps. they’re slow and careful, like a predator and its prey rounding each other, or perhaps even two predators— they only serve to postpone the inevitable clash of claw and teeth, in which only one will leave alive.

ajax tackles you into a bed of snow that steadily cushions your fall. he falls on top of you with a ‘puff!’ and you’ve both gone past the point of any hope in containing your laughter, chests shaking against each other as you cackle. you feel your head grow warm from the excitement and exertion, the fluffy snow that surrounds it creating a pleasant juxtaposition.

right as the two of you have finally managed to catch your breaths, panting out the last few giggles remaining inside you, ajax’s mouth grows into a devious grin. he leans back above you, arms winding back behind him… and lunges down at you— his small skittering fingers tickling your sides in a vicious attack. you roar in unceasing laughter as you shake from side to side in a futile effort to evade your best friend’s tickles.

“aja- ahahah.. s-stop! i can’t- hahah.. can’t breathe!”

the first arrow is fired, you dodge— then the second, then the third. they’re shot almost rhythmically, very predictably into your previous position, like childe is expecting you to dodge them. his expression is unreadable, unrecognizable even. he’s entirely unrecognizable to you. thinking about it nearly distracts you from the woosh of his arrows around you and the sound rushing water as he charges the next one with hydro energy, but your instincts thankfully take the wheel and allow you to evade childe’s onslaught of arrows almost subconsciously.

you’ve long since given up on maintaining a poker face, as your expression had slid down into a frown of pure resentment. you hate him, whatever he is right now— not ajax for sure. it feels as though it’s been an eternity since that name last left your mouth, the fond familiarity that it set on your tongue long dead, much like the boy the name once belonged to. he’s dead now, he must be.

within a flurry of varied attacks, a particular sharp wave of water finally outsmarts you— you’re a breath away from successfully evading it when it slashes your bicep in a cut as thin as a hair strand with a sting that feels cold and ruthless against your skin. the coldness of the cut is quickly replaced with a seeping warmth, your blood slowly making its way out of the incision as you huff with frustration and finally decide to get on the offensive. your polearm swooshes through the air with heavy, vicious swings hellbent on landing on your opponent.

a millisecond after one of your swings lands on childe’s shoulder, he’s already reacting with a near animalistic growl and unforgiving slashes of his transformed hydro blades.

and so ensues a bloodthirsty back-and-forth.

it’s akin to a battle between birds of prey, or africanized bees— violently and ceaselessly, the two of you clash at the center of the battlefield and the sheer force of your exchange in hits and counterattacks pushes you back apart, sending either one to opposite poles of the arena. two magnets on the wrong end that insist on approaching each other by the pure drive of utter hatred.

childe, much like his namesake, still manages to find a window to be cocky and throws taunting words at you with an overconfident smirk. even as a living weapon of war, he doesn’t forsake his immaturity.

after feeling like you might die from laughing too hard, you finally obtain the advantage on ajax and his fierce onslaught of tickles and manage to push him off of you— he lands on the snow behind him with an equally cushioned ‘puff!’. you stand over him, half-triumphant and half-malicious with the intent of paying him back in full for his sudden attack.

ajax comprehends your wordless intention immediately and kicks his feet into the ground to slowly back away from you as nervous giggles leave his lips. like a reversed déjà vu, you wind your arms back to prepare your own tickling power— only now, as your in the midst of lunging down at your best friend, he disappears and you land face down on the snow, ajax’s roaring laughter ringing out from a distance behind you.

it doesn’t take much to spot the fiery blur of ginger hair, plus his favorite red scarf, zooming through the trees. you start chuckling once again and take off after him.

“get back here, ajax!”

“you’ll never catch me, slowpoke!” he taunts.

“all you do is run!” you retort.

a raspy grumble escapes childe, one that sounds a lot like the words ‘all you do is run!’, but you’re far too simultaneously tired and pumped with adrenaline to process it properly. thinking those words are truly what he said brings a burning to your chest, one unlike the physical injuries you’re sustaining— no, it feels more like the ache of a fond memory now long lost. you can’t bring yourself to remember why that would be the case.

you’re both exhausted at this point, panting uncontrollably, movements turning sluggish.

childe’s steps falter, knees shaking as if he’s about to fall, and he braces himself to summon the power of his delusion as violet sparks of electricity emit from him. you feel the hairs on the back of your head rise to attention as you tense up and prepare for the new challenge your opponent seems to pose— only for him to utterly fail.

being far too weak, the electro particles dissipate and childe’s legs finally give in when he falls to the ground with a miserable groan. shouldn’t have left his delusion as a last resort.

that previous seeping warmth of blood has since taken over your entire body as you’re practically dripping in your own blood, soon enough it’s far too much for you to handle and you join childe as you slump on the floor pathetically. the silence becomes deafening as both you and your opponent become far too incapacitated to do anything but pant and stare at each other with burning glares ridden with loathing.

you utterly despise him. how far he’s fallen, how much he’s done. all for the sake of a loveless ruler and the thrill of the bloodshed she promises him.

“i-i…” you mutter, voice strained and shaky, yet it still catches childe’s attention in full. “i hate you.”

those three words seem to irk childe to his very core, as his anger grows into seething growls completely rid of any previous composure. he roars ferally as he uses his remaining strength to launch at you, slamming you down into the cold floor. your head painfully lands against the hard surface and leaves you with an overwhelming ache in your cranium.

a shaky but determined hand rises to your throat and tries its mightiest to squeeze. your own hands immediately rise to fight back and push him away, feeling the air in your throat grow thinner and thinner. you instinctively panic and thrash under him, terrified that you might actually die by childe’s hands, like pathetic prey. your heart is drumming in your ears like it itself is drowning in a panic attack. oh god you’re going to die.

miraculously, your protests prove to be needles as the harbinger himself doesn’t have the strength to properly choke you to death—he gives up and resorts to just looming over you while choked, heaving breaths and coughs leave you, filling in the silence. within the dizzy haze that your head injury brings, your vision blurs for a moment and you’re almost able to see the shining face of a grinning, ginger-haired young boy above you. it’s gone within the next second.

you wonder if childe sees the same thing you do. you wonder if he, even for a millisecond, sees your giggly younger self beneath him. you wonder if that’s what makes him falter in his attempt to strangle you.

your questions seem to be sensed by him and wordlessly answered as he slowly lowers his forehead to yours, tired eyes falling to a close. his nose drips blood like a faucet and it lands warmly onto your face. you’re far too tired to bring yourself to care about it, you just close your own eyes instead. you remain like that for a while, just breathing in the metallic scent of each other’s blood. your wounds scream at you, you don’t listen— you listen to childe’s journey into regulating his breathing instead and subconsciously follow suit. you’re so unbelievably fucking tired, you’re 99% confident you’ll pass out underneath childe any moment now. there aren’t enough words in the world to explain what happens next.

a sudden wetness drags itself across your face and you perplexedly open your eyes to discover that it turns out to be childe dragging his blood-soaked face against yours, cheek rubbing onto your own and spreading crimson all over it— like a slobbering puppy. it’s utterly inexplicable.

just like how it’s utterly inexplicable that you don’t pull away. no, you laugh. you’d like to blame it on your delirious exhaustion, how you just stay and accept it. allow your blood to mix with his, more than it ever would’ve if you had just killed each other and been done with it. childe soon joins you with his own weak giggles and the two of you, for even a fraction of a moment, feel like children again.

it’s mindless, it’s silly, it’s uncaring. like you’re merely playing in the snow again and rubbing the melting snow that clings onto your faces on each other.

your hands irrationally rise to cup childe’s cheeks but you still don’t think to push him away, nor does he think to leave your touch. it’s utterly familiar and completely foreign all at once. though not as much as what happens next— in the harbinger’s mission to slobber blood all over you, your lips brush several times but neither act upon it. until childe finally decides to firmly clamp his mouth onto yours, like a parched man desperate for water.

he kisses you. and it’s okay, you’re okay. you’re both okay.

the sanguine soup that you two create inevitably to slither into your mouth and you gulp it down— it feels like the freshest sip of water you’ve ever taste. you must’ve hit your head catastrophically hard. you feel childe’s content sigh blow over you from his nose and realize you’ve got your own sigh of utter fulfillment to let out. perhaps this is more familiar than it is foreign, this subconscious affection. perhaps if you had had more time together, grown up together, you would’ve noticed the effortless childhood connection the two of you had would’ve blossomed into something more at some point. you know it would have.

you know this because you and childe seem to only kiss harder and deeper, pulling away only when breathing seems to be absolutely necessary and falling back in. drinking more of each other’s blood, intertwining further. the taste makes you nearly delirious.

you pass out from exhaustion in each other’s arms, both thinking that it might not be so terrible to be killed by the other’s hand if it means you’d get to consume each other so purely once again.

[d6volution]

Reader who is just as much of a jackass as Jax is. Both of you are competing for the “best prank” on the rest of the circus members. However, one day Jax decides to ask Caine for a “massager” claiming you complained about muscle aches. Jax gives it as a gift, the reader not knowing the outfit contains the toy. He wants you to wear on the next adventure and hopes to push your buttons. Whether the reader gets revenge is up to you.

i think i get it! hopefully this is okay 🫶🏽

tags: make shift vibrator, fingering, outdoors, cursing cause i didn't feel like censoring it.

more below the cut. | minors dni.

"You're kiddin' ... there's no way Zooble would sleep through that." Jax grinned, at you .. a hand on his hip as you both walked through the halls at a moderate pace.

"Mhm, wait til you see them." Was all you said, clearly confident of your own doings.

Like clockwork, Zooble appeared, "What are you two assholes staring at?" Zooble squinted.

Jax couldn't help it, a thunderous roar of laughter erupted from his mouth and held his stomach. Pointing at Zooble with the opposite hand.

"What the hell is so funny?" Zooble didn't notice , they were so used to switching and swapping parts on their body that they failed to notice the comically bouncing googly eye on their face, replacing their usual left eye.

"N—Nothing, Zoobs. You look great.." You giggled and yanked Jax away before he gave away the joke before it had its time to play out.

You guys rounded the corner, "That puts me ahead three points, bunny boy." You said smugly.

"What? No way." He rolled his eyes, and the laughing fit quickly wore off.

"What do you mean, no way? Those were the rules !" You huffed, and relished in your frustration.

"The rules, of my game, dollface."

"Should've known you'd cheat.."

"Look, how about this, next adventure we go on. Double the points. Whoever comes out on top wins. Simple." He shrugs his shoulders.

"Hmp. Fine, you've got a deal." You were planning to get the one up on him. Even if it meant humiliating the other members in the process. There was nothing else to do in this digital world, so why not have some fun at the expense of others?

You two parted ways for the night, and unbeknownst to you Jax had a devious plan already cooked up.

"Hey, Caine."

The ringmaster was cleaning up the mess from the last adventure, "Oh , hello there Jax! What can I do for you?" His voice boomed like usual.

"You know, y/n said they've been havin' some trouble with... uh, back aches. real bad back aches. Needs, I dunno.. a massager or something. Got anything like that?" He gestured.

"Hmm.. I suppose I can cook something up!" He pretened to dig in his pocket, his arm disappearing all the way down to the forearm until he pulled out a make shift massager that had multiple vibrating parts.

Jax's grins grew wide, it was almost creepy how narrow his eyes got. "Thanks , Caine. You're the best." He caught the massager such Caine tossed to him. Jax waved and quickly went to his room. He spent the entire night carefully crafting an outfit for you, though right in the crotch the vibrator was hidden inside the cloth. The things you could make happen here we almost comical. But, Jax took whatever advantage he could get. No matter how ridiculous.

Now lastly. The remote. He'd be able to control whenever the "massager" turned on and off , plus fluctuate its intensity.

The next morning came in a flash, maybe because he was up throughout the night.. no matter. It's not like they get tired anyways.

He showed up at your door, outfit in hand. He knocked until you opened it.

"Jeez, Jax first thing in the morning and— ..... whats that..?" You pointed at the clothes folded in his hands, it was a one piece outfit but it cut off to make shorts at the bottom.

"For you, dummy." He teased and shoved it into your arms.

"You must be out of your mind if you think I'm wearing this Jax." You scoffed and held it up in front of you. It wasn't too provocative..  you just didnt trust him.

"C'mon doll, don't be a loser. Just wear it,— wear it and successfully pull one prank on a member and the winning title is all yours." He spiced up the deal, grinning at you.

You knew there had to be a catch, but if he thought you weren't going to take advantage of this he'd be wrong. "Fine. I'll win, and when I do. You have to anything I say for the entire day."

"Deal." He responded a little too quickly and you shut the door in his face. His smile remained and he hummed to himself as he went looking for the others while you changed.

It was odd how well this outfit fit you, snug but not too tight.. just when did he get your measurements..? Ugh, whatever. It was a little uncomfortable in certain areas , but what were you expecting? Jax to be some master tailor?

"I can't believe I'm doing this.." You muttered before exiting your room, meeting up with the rest of the lot just in time. Caine was explaining the ins and outs of todays adventure. Something about fishing at the digital lake. You weren't paying attention, trying to figure out a quick prank to pull on an unsuspecting member so you could get out of this outfit.

BUZZZZ.

You jumped and yelped, covering your mouth as you felt something vibrating against your clit. Your cheeks went red and you tried to keep still as a few eyes darted to you, but only for a moment. 'What the, fuck?' You thought, and immediately looked at Jax. Unfortunately he wasn't even looking at you.

"Alright, now go on my little superstars! Good luck!" Caine ended his speech and disappeared in puff of smoke.

You all exited the tent and headed towards the lake.. just then you fell another buzz and stumbled to a stop, Kinger and Gangle walked past you with concerning looks... followed by Jax. You walked with him , cheeks still red.

"Jax. I'm taking this stupid outfit off."

"Fine, you'll lose immediately though.. don't say I didn't warn ya." He said and seemed completely unbothered, clearly aware of how competitive you can be.

"Th.. That's not fair and you know it." You growled under your breath.

"Lighten up doll, maybe this is just what you need. A little fun and pleasure." He shrugged before the buzzing started again, and you let a whine slip past your lips before biting down on your bottom lip.

"Whoops.. hand slipped."

"You're going down you, little pervert."

You felt like steam was going to erupt from your ears. You pushed past him, flustered and frustrated. He just chuckled as you stormed off. Clearly pleased with himself.

The buzzing stopped and you breathed , you had to come up with something.. maybe you'd hook Gangle's fishing line to one of her ribbons so when she tries to cast it, it'll go all wrong and make her unravel.

The plan was nearly perfect .. except everytime you tried to distract gangle Jax pressed that damn button and the vibrator buzzed against your thobbing clit.

Every time you tried to initiate your plans , it was always interrupted. The buzzing didn't even stay on long enough for you to reach your climax so you were constantly being edged.. you had to take a break, you could feel your lewd jucies running down your inner thighs..

"I'm going to kill him.." You said, but the words left your mouth pathetically. You leaned against a tree, far from the others.. maybe if you came then you could .. function at least.

"Oh, wondered where you ran off to. Havin' some trouble there doll?"

"N.. No, Jax you'd better not—"

BUZZZZZ.

You almost crumpled to your knees but Jax was right in front of you, holding you against the tree. "Poor thing, can't even stand. How ya gonna win like this, huh?"

Your eyes were glassy, legs shaking. "Y.. You asshole.." Your legs were trembling and you could feel Jax's hand sliding up your torso.

"How about this, give up and I'll let ya cum dollface. No strings attached." He stared at your helpless form. Eyes clearly foggy with lust.

"N.. No way, hhck..!" The buzzing got more intense and you finally collapsed to the floor.

".. O..Okay , please..! please let me cum, Jax.." You whined, your cunt puffy and throbbing with need.

"Heh, that's what I thought.. good game, y/n." He croutched down in front of you. His body pretty much blocking yours fron any eyes that could possibly end up seeing you two.. he pushed aside the shorts and your panties and plunged two fingers inside of you without a second thought.

You yelped and instinctively scooted back but the tree kept you in place.

"Shh.. someone might hear ya, babe. Just cum on my fingers real quick yeah?" He whispered into your ear and your cunt convulsed around his fingers at the thought. You grabbed his arm but he didn't stop, still hammering his fingers in your squelching cunt.

"Fuck... you're so wet." He muttered and stared at your cunt as it swallowed up his fingers.

"Jax!" You yelped and your body jolted as you came on his fingers, panting a little.

"Ya good , doll?" He asked, slowly removing his fingers from your dripping snatch.

You nodded and helped you adjust your clothes, before assisting you to your feet. "How about you go get changed.. I'll make up an excuse if the others say something." He said in a more gentle voice now, his eyes were still wild with lust but he figured now may not be the time.

"R..  Right .. thanks, Jax." You still felt numb down there, your legs still a bit shaky.

"Oh, you still lost by the way. Heh."

Of course you did.

[i2rizz]

Atlanta Lock AU Pt.4

Fandom: Blue Lock

Characters: Atlanta lock!Shidou x reader

------------‐---------------------------------------

The moon hung low over O’Block, casting a silver glow on the graffiti-covered streets as Shidou Ryusei leaned against his patched-up car. The vehicle screamed chaos—like its owner—with spray-painted flames, missing hubcaps, and a horn that sounded like a banshee’s wail. You sat on the hood, arms crossed, already regretting letting Shidou talk you into this madness.

"Okay, let me get this straight," you said, narrowing your eyes. "You wanna crash their wedding—the people who literally tried to jump you last week for stealing their snacks?"

Shidou’s grin was wide, wild, and unapologetic. "Exactly, babe. What better way to say, ‘no hard feelings’ than showin’ up uninvited and makin’ it unforgettable?"

"By unforgettable, you mean ‘starting a war,’ right?"

He shrugged, pulling a stolen bottle of cheap champagne from his car. "Tomato, tomahto. C’mon, live a little. You love chaos."

Before you could argue, he popped the cork, sprayed it in the air, and strutted toward the venue—a dimly lit community center with bass-heavy music vibrating the cracked windows. He shoved the doors open with a dramatic flair, startling the crowd inside.

The reception was in full swing: trap music blasting, kids running under tables, and a group of guys arm wrestling by the buffet. Shidou’s entrance was like throwing gasoline on a simmering fire. Heads turned. Conversations stopped. The bride froze mid-dance, her rhinestone-studded veil glinting under the flickering lights.

"WHO INVITED HIM?" someone shouted, pointing at Shidou like he was a walking felony.

"No one," Shidou replied, his voice dripping with mock sincerity. "But y’all looked like you could use some entertainment."

He grabbed a mic from the DJ booth, ignoring the furious glares from the bride and groom. "Alright, listen up, O’Block! Congrats to the happy couple, blah blah, love is great, yada yada. But let’s be real—y’all didn’t come here to see them smooch eachother all night. You came here to party."

He dropped the mic—not figuratively, but literally. The mic hit the floor with a deafening screech, and before anyone could stop him, he was already moonwalking toward the buffet table.

"Shidou," you hissed, trailing after him. "Can you not make enemies out of everyone in this room?"

"Too late for that, babe," he said, grabbing a Styrofoam plate and piling it with ribs, mac ‘n’ cheese, and cornbread. "But don’t worry, I’m a people person."

The groom, a mountain of a man with tattoos covering every inch of visible skin, stormed over, veins bulging. "Shidou, you got three seconds to get outta here before I—"

"Relax, big guy," Shidou interrupted, shoving a rib into his mouth. "I’m just here for the vibes."

The bride, now fuming, screamed, "GET HIM OUT!"

Shidou, unbothered, smirked at her. "Aw, don’t be like that, chick. You’ll thank me later when this party goes viral."

And that’s when he made his move. He grabbed the champagne tower—a precarious stack of plastic glasses filled with cheap bubbly—and chugged the top glass before kicking the whole thing over.

The room erupted.

"THAT’S IT!" the groom roared, lunging at Shidou with fists flying.

Shidou ducked, his laughter echoing through the chaos. He grabbed a folding chair, wielding it like a WWE wrestler, and swung it wildly. "C’MON, WHO WANTS SOME?!"

The guests didn’t need an invitation. Someone threw a plate of collard greens, another person launched a cake slice like a frisbee, and the DJ tried to escape but got tackled into the punch bowl.

You, stuck in the middle of the mayhem, ducked under a table as a full-blown food fight broke out. "Shidou, you lunatic! Do something before they kill us!"

Shidou, covered in frosting and grinning like a demon, slid under the table beside you. "Doing something is boring. I’m here for the drama."

A bottle shattered nearby, and the groom’s voice boomed, "SHIDOU, YOU’RE DEAD!"

Shidou grabbed your hand, yanking you toward the exit. "Time to go, babe!"

"About time," you muttered, dodging a flying platter of ribs.

But Shidou, being Shidou, couldn’t leave quietly. On the way out, he made a beeline for the towering three-tier cake and plunged his entire face into the bottom tier, emerging wirh frosting smeared across his face and a chunk of cake in his hand. "DELICIOUS!"

The groom lunged at him again, fists flying.

Shidou dodged effortlessly, laughting like a maniac. "Yo, chill! Ain't this supposed to be the happiest day of your life?"

You ducked as a chair flew past your head. "Shidou, now we really need to leave!"

"Not until i get a souvenir!" He yelled back, grabbing the wedding cake topper—a gaudy figurine of the bride and groom—and stuffed it into his pocket. Then, for good measure, he flipped the DJ’s table, sending equipment crashing to the floor.

"Y’ALL HAVE A GREAT NIGHT!" he yelled, sprinting to his car with you in tow.

The second you were both inside, he floored it, tires screeching as you sped off into the night. The sound of chaos faded behind you, replaced by the roar of the engine and Shidou’s uncontrollable laughter.

------------‐---------------------------------------

[mihawkhugs]

night changes

haikyuu | iwaizumi x reader | soulmate au (colours)

a/n : may make a part 2!

Falling in love with Iwaizumi was easy. 

It was like watching the night change. You don't really notice how the night passes until dawn arrives, and the sun breaks through the inky hue of the night. But if you play close attention, there are signs that time passes through the night, with clouds floating lazily about as the night sky dances between its shades of midnight. 

One may think his gruff nature and blunt manner may be off-putting, and perhaps they once were at first glance, but now, you can read in-between the lines, and see his loud barks of advice for what they conveyed - his concern for you. 

You first met him in high school. It was hard not to notice him, often accompanied by his flamboyant companion, Oikawa, and his loving (and loud) fans. In a crowd of smiles and laughter and adoration, his serious face, shouting and angry cursing definitely stood out to you. Especially because of how loud he could get when dragging Oikawa away. They certainly made an iconic dynamic duo. 

It was his shouting that led the two of you to become friends. 

You were holding your file, spacing out in the hallway whilst going to your next class, when an roar caused you to shriek, drop your file, and jump like you've been electrocuted by Pikachu. You swear your heart almost stopped as you were jolted out of your daze. 

"OI SHITTYKAWA! GET YOUR ASS - "

Iwaizumi was interrupted by your (embarrasing) reaction and the both of you had gaped at each other, like demented betta fishes before they fight. 

You were the first to snap out of your impromptu staring competition with Mr Spiky Loudmouth, scrambling to pick out your file amd all the papers that had scattered out, blushing in horror at your social faux pas. 

"I am so sorry ohmygod you just startled me and I just reacted instinctively jesus I'm a mess please ohmygod - " 

His chuckle halted your rambling and made you fumble, feeling mortified that one of the most popular guys in school had just watched you scream, drop your file like an atomic bomb and ramble like a 5 year old who had too much sugar. 

He knelt down, and you absentmindedly noted how large his hands were as they helped you pick up the remaining pieces of work, gently arranging them in a neat pile. 

"No, I'm sorry for startling you. I shouldn't have been shouting in the hallway like that." 

He had a nice voice, mellow and a little deep. He'd probably make a killing reading audiobooks or doing podcasts. 

He choked out a laughed as his eyes crinkled, handing you your papers as the tips of his ears turned a little darker, "Thank you? I think?"

As your hands brushed against each others, and before you could hit yourself for saying that out loud (like GOD he was gonna think you had a thing for voices which was NOT the impression you were trying to give) your world burst into colour, and the monochrome world you knew was replaced by so, so many colours, that you had only read about. 

Distantly, you heard Iwaizzumi inhale sharply, but you had long forgotten about him and your papers, standing up and looking out the window, entranced by how bright the world was, and how everything looked so different from the shades of grey that were all you knew. 

You turned to Iwaizumi, who was staring at you like it was his first time seeing you, and smacked him repeatedly in excitement, causing him to flinch in surprise. 

You pointed out the windown as you whacked him in glee, "Look!! Outside!! There are COLOURS!!!! Look!!" 

He followed your hand, laughing as he covered his mouth, eyes squinted shut with joy. 

"Yes soulmate, I see them too." 

You beamed at him before registering what he said. For the second time that day, you gaped at Iwaizumi Hajime like a dead goldfish, trying to say something but your words and brain failing you (again). 

He laughed again, a pretty shade of something painting his cheeks as he beamed at you, holding out his hand hesitantly. 

"Nice to meet you?" 

You reached out automatically to shake his hand (which were indeed much larger than yours), and gargled something gibberish in response. 

"Yo Iwa-chan~, it's lunch time! What's taking you so long -" 

Oikawa popped his head out from around the corner, before spotting the two of you, his best friend smiling like he had just seen a real life Godzilla, and a cute girl who was blushing like she had seen someone dance naked up a tree. 

His eyes gleamed with mischief and he opened his mouth, ready to shit on his best friend, when Iwazumi's head snapped towards him like a demented Annabelle doll, eyes promising revenge, pain and destruction if he so much as breathed in his direction. 

So Oikawa did what anyone would do. He screamed out, "Iwa-chan's got a girlfriend!" as he sprinted away, hauling ass.

Your soulmate went from cute happy babyboy to angry demon dog ghost child as he snarled in the direction of the other half of his duo, as you stared at him, brain not braining anymore. 

He turned towards you and flashed a small, shy smile.

"Wait for me after school?" 

You nodded mechanically. He could have told you to throw yourself out the window and you would have agreed anyways (God he had such a nice voice). 

He beamed at you, dimpling his cheeks, before he turned and scowled at the direction his friend had run of too. 

"DIE TRASHYKAWA! GET READY TO…" 

His voice trailed off as he sprinted down the hallway, yelling obsceneities and insults so creative he could write a book, leaving you staring after him, world completely overturned. 

Your hands came up to your cheeks, papers and file totally forgotten as you buried your face in your hands, letting out a silent scream. 

You had just met your soulmate. 

[rebouks]

Robin sighed wearily as Levi came sauntering toward his locker, tugging something off his back and gesticulating wildly. Against his better judgement, he removed his headphones to listen to whatever his classmate was blathering on about.

Levi finally retrieved what he was after and triumphantly brandished a post-it note in Robin’s face.

“You think this is funny, huh?!”

The note thrust in front of him had the word “ashole” written on it, spelt with one S. Robin knew that Levi had written it himself and stuck it on his own back, but there wasn’t much point in entertaining the other boy’s idiocy; instead, he shrugged indifferently.

“C’mon Mutey, deny it at least.” Levi scowled accusingly, waving his post-it like a sad little flag.

Robin shook his head and rolled his eyes as he kicked his locker shut; he wasn’t in the mood for Levi’s increasingly desperate, stupid games.

“Oi!” Levi spat, dropping his note as he took off after his target.

Robin winced as he slammed through the double doors, their old hinges rattling with indignation, but he was much faster than his shorter classmate and he was already ahead. He almost grinned as he expertly launched himself down the staircase, feeling the familiar prickle of frustration beating within Levi’s chest as he sped after him.

Gravel spat haphazardly around Robin as he ground to a halt behind a confused Oscar, but Levi wasn’t as quick; he collided into his father face first, landing at his feet with an unceremonious thud.

“Watch-…” Levi’s exclamation died in his throat as he gazed up at the figure looming over him and Robin realised he’d never seen Oscar before. He’d only attended Bay Cove Elementary since the start of term and for the last few months, Robin had either been picked up by his grandparents, or taken the bus home.

“You okay down there, pal?” Oscar’s brow quirked slightly, glancing between Robin and Levi questioningly.

Levi stuttered something unintelligibly, hastily scrambling away from Oscar and giving it legs toward the closest bus. He was terrified.

“Is that kid bothering you?” Oscar asked.

Robin shook his head, already making his way toward the car.

Oscar hummed, slamming the door shut behind him in his usual, heavy-handed way. “You sure?” Robin scoffed as he fastened his seatbelt. “I’m sure. He just wants me to say something.”

“Oh, yeah?” Robin nodded. “He takes it personally that I don’t.” Oscar’s brow shot up. “He tell you that?” “No.”

“How’d you figure?” Oscar cast as sideways glance at Robin as the station wagon roared to life, its windows juddering in their frames as if in protest. “It’s obvious.” Robin shrugged loosely.

“If he’s being a pain, you just let me kn-…”

Robin turned toward Oscar with a grin. “Why, what’re you gonna do? Meet him in the playground during lunch, show him what for?” Oscar cackled, throwing the gear stick into reverse with a clunk that reverberated around them as harshly as his laughter.

“Something like that.” Laughing in turn at Oscar’s response, Robin replied, “I’m good, dad.” Oscar tore his gaze from Robin and focused on the rear-view mirror. “Alright, well-.. ready for the dreaded dentist?”

Robin slumped in his seat unenthusiastically. “Can’t wait.” Oscar nodded in agreement. “Shit, ain’t it?” “Something like that.” Robin smirked playfully.

Previous // Next

[omegalomania]

i think what i admire most about this record after sitting with it for a full day is the marriage of its musicality and its lyricism.

lyrically..."nihilistic" is a really good way of putting it. i was honestly kind of floored by how goddamn bleak so much of the lyricism on this record is. there's so much desolation, so much hopelessness, so much struggling to find meaning in meaninglessness. lyrically, i think this might be some of pete's darkest but also some of his best work. there's so much grappling with the feeling that maybe it's all pointless. maybe none of it fucking gets better. maybe you're always going to be fighting to figure out some kind of sense and feeling displaced and the further you look toward the horizon, the more the inevitability of the end scares the living shit out of you.

so much (for) stardust is utterly desolate lyrically. even little granules of hope feel tongue-in-cheek or in denial. so...what? does anything ever get better? are we all just flailing around, trying to make our stupid lives make sense? but at the same time, fall out boy are the happiest they've ever been as a band. they waited five years so they could savor making this record and they were genuinely excited to share it with all of us. pete is wearing skirts and letting his hair down and they're playing songs that once got them booed off stage with fearless love in their eyes and they're looking after each others' mental health and supporting one another through it all. what does it mean for a band to release something this somber at this point in time for them?

the "reality bites" pink seashell speech sums it all up kind of perfectly. so maybe life is inherently meaningless, but at the same time...there's good food. there's beautiful weather. there are still good movies, and the sound of rain on the windows, and hope, and friendship, and joy. maybe there's no point. but that doesn't change that there's still laughter. there's still love.

and that's what's in the sound of this record. the big, cinematic swell of an orchestra. the upbeat chirps of a synth. the screeching of a guitar and some bouncy, catchy goddamn riffs that'll live under your skin for days. this is a record you dance to and cry to. (cry a little, cry a lot, but don't stop dancing, don't dare stop.) sonically, this is a record laden with grit and delight and a powerful sense of purpose, from catchy pop hooks to roaring, cinematic anthems. it sits in delicious contrast to the words but it doesn't undermine them. it complements them. happy music for sad people.

of course there's pain, and there's frustration, and the world is full of tragedy and hopelessness and maybe the worst part of it is that it doesn't go away once you grow up. as you get older, you don't ever magically learn how everything clicks together. you just have to fumble through it and hope for the best, even if it feels like it never gets any easier.

it's a hard lesson to learn. but you aren't alone in it. so what fates do we share? we're all stardust. we all share the same end. we are not alone in our fears and uncertainties and we will not be alone at the end either, not really. we came from stardust and to stardust we will return.

i think if there is a hope i can take away from this record it's like...this feeling that it doesn't get better, really. but you do get better at living with it, and to someone like me, that's vital. years ago i had to come to terms with the valuable, painful lesson that i will not, mentally, neurologically, ever get "better." there will never be a point where i am "cured" of all that i must live with. but i've grown better at living with it. and there are things out there that i'm living for anyway - good food, better friends, and maybe a long-anticipated record you need to put on replay for a good long while as you soak it in.

maybe none of this matters, in the end. but if it doesn't, then this is what matters. this.

"if nothing we do matters, then all that matters is what we do."

[etheries1015]

"Oh?" Sariel said amusingly to the cold blonde prince, "I figured you two would get along nicely, seein as (y/n) is the author of one of your favorite books." Chevalier paused, eyes widening slightly in shock before going reverting back to normal cold stare.

"Oh!" You chirped up, "you've read my books? which one is your favorite?" You chuckled excitingly, not getting much of a reaction out of the brutal beast.

"I was not aware you were an author," Chev said, looking at you, "Be that is it may; You do not seem to conduct yourself the way you write." You scrunched your nose together and pursed your lips.

"Ouch," You chuckled, "What a backhanded compliment, thank you."

"Huh?" Luke chimed in with a tilted head, "But when looking into your background your name wasn't anywhere linked to any sort of author," He pointed out, a smile of admiration playing on his features. You shrugged before teasingly responding, "Haven't you heard of a pen name?" Raising an impressed eyebrow, Noktos lips curled up in a sly smile. "Oh? You'll have to tell me what it is, so I can read it myself, I would love to see what our precious Belle can do. Do you have a copy with you?"

Clavis roared out in laughter, pulling a very familiar book from behind his back, handing it over to Nokto. Where had he gotten that? Nobody knows, and never will, I suppose.

"I had already known of your writing endeavors!" He boasted, "Yours truly even took a read. Although, I fear your story lacks a very distinct amount of fun..."

Silvio, who was also listening in, decided to take the liberty of snatching the book out of Noktos hand, asking what only any businessman would ask.

"So...how much of a profit have ya made off of your books?" He studied it dubiously in hand, feeling the grooves of the spine and quality of the pages, "You must be pretty well off if it's considered the 'brutal beasts' favorites." With a haughty smile, he naturally threw in, "If I like it enough, I might even invest in it, if you'll make a deal with me, I'll be sure all of Benetoite knows your name, lady." Sighing slightly you gave him a side glance before rolling your eyes.

"I make enough to be content. what matters is that others enjoy my writing, not how much I make off of it." You replied bluntly. Silvio only scoffed before keith also gave his two cents, holding out his hand for Silvio to hand him your book. With a startled look, his eyes lit up in excitement.

"I've read this book! you wrote it? I'm a huge fan of all of your works, the way you write is so mesmerizing it's difficult to put it down! Would you mind uh- ah..." He stopped himself with a blush tainting his cheeks, "I'm sorry! You must not like being bombarded with all of my questions. I-" You interrupted Keith with a hearty chuckle.

"Don't worry Keith, let's have tea and sweets sometime and you can ask me all you want." You threw a side glance at Chevalier, "You're welcome to join as well, Prince Chevalier." He glanced up from his paperwork in hand only for a mere second, enough for you to understand he heard what you had suggested.

"Ah-" Keith started as Gilberts hand snaked from behind and snatched the book out of his hand, flipping the book to it's back to read the synopsis. He looked up at you with his piercing red eye, his smile unwavering as he tucked the hardcover under his arm.

"A noblewoman writing a book in an alias," He hummed, "I believe any other would like their name to be well known, to bring up their family name and increase the likelihood of their popularity," You froze in place and glanced around the room for an awkward moment, trying to think of some excuse to tell the Obsidianite prince. After a moment of silence, he let out a low giggle, turning on his heel and heading out the door.

"I'm only teasing, little rabbit. Thank you for the book, I sincerely hope you do not disappoint. After all, if he (chev) likes it, surely it must have its merits. I will find you when I'm done, I want to join in on your little tea party to discuss my thoughts as well." You sucked in your breath as he left the room, your pursed lips coming apart with a 'pop!'.

"Well," You chuckled nervously, grabbing the drink Silvio had graced you with and lifting it in the air before downing the contents, "Here's to hoping he likes the book!"

[semperamans]

wise men say

hi friends! another story pulled from my ao3 <3 this kind of picks up in the middle of nowhere, so my apologies. in my mind, the oc (nameless) is an actress? i truly can't tell you where this came from, but i can tell you that i have thoughts of making this an austin x oc x callum story at some point... i hope you enjoy!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"she knew only one person could quell the disquietude roaring inside of her like a starved lion. austin."

(also known as)

austin butler is really good at making people feel better.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── With the city so big, the girl often felt small. It brought her comfort at times. She had been bathed in limelight and cryogenically frozen by cameras from an early age, so little things were easy to appreciate. They were real and she liked real. She liked things that set her senses haywire. There was no greater joy than hearing her best friends’ laughter or feeling the misty Tuesday morning air caress her cheeks. Often, she would marvel at colors. The city was filled with them: the resplendent greens found amongst the sycamores in Central Park, the gilded laughter of toddlers on the subway, the mustard-yellow taxis. With the city so big, the girl often felt small, but there was one man who would change that.

He was a sandalwood-scented fantasy hand-picked from her wildest imagination. He was a since-forgotten prayer she had whispered into her joined hands as a child. He was the Prince Charming in every fairytale. The honeyed smile she sought in any crowded room. Austin. He was Austin. Austin with his voice like chocolate. Austin with his wonderland smile. Austin with astrological kisses speckled onto his sculpted cheek. Austin made her feel big. Not so that she took up too much room or required more space. No, Austin simply saw her in a way that cameras could not capture. Austin was real and she liked real things.

In truth, the girl knew she loved Austin lightyears before she accepted it. In reality, it was near impossible for her not to fall in love with him. For all intents and purposes, he was perfect. Austin asked her opinion of things, not out of convention or necessity. The glint in his eye was sincere; he wanted to know her. Austin listened. Austin smiled in all the right places and nodded and allowed her to speak extensively about anything that came to her pretty little mind. Others called it rambling, she was known to be quite the chatterbox, but Austin prodded. Where did you learn that? He’d ask with an amused quirk to his lips. Yeah?  He’d lean in closer. Tell me more.

More.

She wanted more than the delicate brush of his hand against hers. More of the deep belly laughs it seemed only she could pull from him. More. She wanted more, but how could she articulate such a thing? How could she tell him that, in her eyes, he’d practically hung the stars in the sky? The words frequently sat on the tip of her tongue. They were sweeter than sugar, but bitter too. She could not tell him. She couldn’t bring herself to say the words even as he pressed a warm kiss to her cheek along with a heartfelt thanks for breakfast. She couldn’t say the words when he opened his arms to her. When his cold rings brushed her cheeks. She wouldn’t make the first move for the mere thought of pushing him away due to her overt displays of love and affection made her stomach turn.

Turn.

Things took a turn some obscure Friday afternoon. Surely the Earth had tilted off its axis for everything had gone wrong. She had slept through a meeting. She tripped coming up the subway steps. She had a hangnail that hurt more than a bullet wound, and, most shocking of all, her long-term friend with benefit had called things off but not before degrading and belittling her. How could he have said such things to her? How could he have been so cruel? The girl bit down on her lip, hoping to stifle the tears. Fact and fiction melded in her mind. Ten years. How could she have wasted ten years on a man who would never want more than her hips and submissive sighs? The man who refused to hold her hand in public but claimed her body behind tinted windows and low-drawn blinds. She felt stupid. So silly was she to believe that he would eventually choose her. The girl shook her head angrily. It was his loss, logically she knew that, but her heart wailed and writhed in pain.

Pain.

It hurt so badly. The stinging rejection. The blatant disregard for her feelings. Hot tears marched down her cheeks as she called the girls who knew her best. Their jeers and threats of shaving the offender bald lifted her spirits, but just barely, and it was then she knew. She knew there was only one person whom could quell the disquietude roaring inside of her liked a starved lion.

Austin.

Austin who turned on booted heel and hailed the first mustard-yellow taxi he saw at the sound of her distress. Austin who took her trembling body into his arms. Austin who cupped her cheeks. Austin who allowed her to babble through the ping-ponging thoughts racketing around her mind. Austin. He didn’t shame her. He didn’t berate her. Instead, he pressed his lips to the freckled canvas of her bare shoulder and allowed her to simply be.

They stayed that way for quite some time, but when her sobs morphed into breathy hiccups, Austin pulled back to see her face. He gave her a smile that didn’t quite reach the blue of his eyes. His mouth opened then closed. They were tucked within her Manhattan apartment, but he could so easily picture himself standing atop a tightrope. Caution was mandatory. The line of friendly propriety they had established was fine as thread. As much as he yearned to topple over the edge and into the vat of unyielding love that lay beneath, he knew now wasn’t the time. Austin’s brows furrowed. When the words began to flow from his pink lips, the sound was soft and slow.

                  “Alright darlin’, Focus up here.” The girl’s chin turned upward. Her bloodshot blues found the saxe shaded vista beneath Austin’s sandy eyelashes. A tiny spring-bud smile blossomed over her mouth. So quaint. So welcome. Austin’s palms rested delicately against the rounds of her rose-colored cheeks. He was mindful of the silver rings bedecking his fingers as he braced the back of her neck. So delicate. So wholesome. Laurie London had been right. Austin did indeed have the whole world in his hands. “There you are. Hi.”

                  “Hey,” It was so casual, so them. “Come here often?”

                  “I do.” Austin’s clipped chuckle was vaguely Elvis-like. “Heard it’s the only place where you can see an angel without goin’ to Heaven.” The southern lilt of his tongue coated each vowel and consonant in powdered sugar. A beat passed. “Listen to me. Okay?” His eyes bounced between hers. “I am so sorry that he’s made you feel this way. There are some people who take no greater comfort than diluting and diminishing good things. Now, I’ve never met ‘em, don’t care to, but he seems like he fits the bill.” Austin’s thumb took her chin. “I’m sorry he made you think that it is hard to love you or, or that it’s hard to choose you because it isn’t.” The boy dampened his lips.

Love.

All she could think about were those four measly letters and how they’d sent her pulse skyrocketing.

Choose.

Oh how she’d always wanted to be chosen. It was engrained into every strand of DNA. What did she want out of an audition? To be chosen. What did she want as a little girl in gym class? To be chosen. What did she want from the once friend? To be chosen. And how did she feel when she wasn’t? Exactly like this.

                  “The right people will choose you.” He brought her closer, smiling. “Your friends will choose you. Your parents. Me.” His lithe fingers brushed hair behind her ear. “I will always choose you.”

In that moment she could think only about kissing him. It would be so easy. So close they were, she need only rise upon her tiptoes to reach the promise land. There were words she should say and thanks she should give, but nothing ran through her mind except smashing their mouths together. Her eyes must have revealed her intentions for Austin leaned closer.

                  “Dry up those tears, pretty one. C’mon.” He gently tapped her nose with his. Lifetimes passed as they gazed into the eyes of the other. Austin spoke at last.  “I so badly want to kiss you, but I can’t.” It was bold. It was everything. “Can’t. Not yet. I’ve gotta make it special.”

Special.

She didn’t need special. She just needed him. So close they were. So easy it would be.

“Going to make it worth it.” He breathed, fanning mint over her damp lips. “You take my word for it. It’ll be the last first kiss either of us have.” Austin smiled a smile that made her feel real. She liked real things and as he spoke words that filled her heart with gold, she realized that real love was personified before her.

What neither of them could have anticipated was that Austin would be wrong.

[allthemeniveloved]

It Will Come Back - Part 6

Summary: As the tension within the gang at Shady Belle grows heavier, you confront John about your fears for both of your safety and the dangerous path Dutch is leading everyone down.

wc: 2.9k

ao3 link

a/n: This is definitely a "bridge" chapter, so a little more fast paced and shorter, apologies if it feels rushed. I plan to write my ass off tonight and then schedule the next few chapters to be posted so I don't have to stress myself out going into the holiday weekend. Stay tuned! <3

The ride back to Clemens Point was peaceful, the calm of the weekend still lingering between you and John. The memories of quiet moments by the waterfall and the easy laughter you shared made the looming reality of camp feel distant, almost unreal. As you crossed into the clearing, the usual hum of the gang’s activity greeted you, but something felt different—tenser. John barely had time to dismount before Dutch appeared, striding toward him with purpose, his expression sharp and full of determination.

“There you are, Marston,” Dutch called, his tone brisk as his eyes flicked to you for the briefest of moments before locking onto John. “No time for rest. The Braithwaite mansion is ready to be hit, and we ride now.” Without waiting for a reply, Dutch clapped a hand on John’s shoulder, already pulling him toward the group of men gathering their weapons and mounts.

You stayed frozen for a moment, still holding Dahlia’s reins, your stomach twisting as you watched John get swept up into the chaos without so much as a chance to catch his breath. “Dutch, we just got back—” you started, but the older man waved you off with a dismissive gesture.

“This is the moment we’ve been waiting for,” he said, not even looking back at you as he continued toward his horse. “We need every man for this.”

John gave you a fleeting glance, his lips parting like he wanted to say something, but the urgency of Dutch’s call left no time. Before you could even protest, he swung back into the saddle, sparing one last look at you as he joined the others.

A heavy weight settled in your chest as you stood there, helpless, watching him ride off into the trees with the rest of the gang. Your mind swirled with worry, the image of John charging into the unknown—into danger—haunting you. The thought of losing him, of something going wrong, made your stomach churn, and though you tried to steady your breathing, the fear wouldn’t leave. You paced anxiously near the edge of camp, your heart racing with every passing minute as you waited for any sign of their return, praying silently that he’d come back to you unscathed.

-

The acrid stench of smoke still clung to the air as the gang rode hard away from the burning Braithwaite mansion, its roaring flames lighting up the night like a second sun. The cries of Miss Braithwaite echoed faintly in the distance, mingling with the hoofbeats pounding through the muddy roads. The job had gone south fast—what was supposed to be a final blow to the family that had crossed the Van der Linde gang turned into a fiery spectacle that left no doubt the Pinkertons would be close behind.

“Damn it, Dutch,” Arthur muttered under his breath as he rode alongside John, his revolver still drawn and his eyes scanning the treeline for trouble. “You really think this was the smart play?”

Dutch, riding ahead with Hosea, twisted in his saddle, his face lit by the faint glow of the distant fire. “Sometimes, Arthur,” he said sharply, “you have to make a statement. The Braithwaites thought they could cross us, and now they’ll think twice before anyone else does.”

Arthur scoffed, but his attention shifted back to the road as he tucked his revolver into its holster. Riding just in front of Lenny, Bill, Javier, and Micah, John’s jaw was set tight, his gaze flicking back toward the mansion every so often to reassure himself that no one was following.

“They’re gonna be after us now,” John muttered, his voice low. “Law, Raiders, whoever’s left of the Braithwaites—we can’t stay at Clemens Point.”

“Dutch knows it,” Arthur replied, though the weight of the situation settled heavily on his chest.

-

The sound of hoofbeats breaking through the dense evening air pulled your attention to the edge of camp, and your heart leapt at the sight of John riding in with the others. His shirt was smeared with soot and dirt, his face streaked with sweat, but he was upright, whole, and alive. Relief flooded through you as you rushed toward him, barely giving him a chance to dismount before you threw your arms around him. He held you tightly, his breath warm against your hair as he murmured, “I’m alright, darlin’. I’m alright.” His voice was steady, but you could feel the tension in his shoulders, the weight of whatever had happened still clinging to him.

He pulled back slightly, his hands resting on your arms as he looked down at you, his expression softening at your worried gaze. “It got messy,” he admitted, his voice low but firm. “The Braithwaites didn’t go down easy. They had people everywhere, fightin’ to the bitter end. We torched the place, but… there was more blood than Dutch let on.” He glanced away for a moment, his jaw tightening, before his eyes met yours again. “But I’m here, and I ain’t hurt. Just… tired.” His thumb brushed lightly against your arm as he tried to ease your concern.

You hesitated, your voice soft but firm as you looked at him, worry etched across your face. “John, I don’t like the things Dutch has been askin’ y'all to do lately—it feels like we’re crossin’ lines we shouldn’t be. Inserting ourselves where we don't belong."

John sighed, running a hand through his hair as he looked at you, his voice low but steady. “I get it, darlin’, but Dutch—he’s got a plan, a way outta all this mess, and we just gotta trust him a little longer.”

You nodded slowly, the tension in your chest tightening as you tried to meet John’s earnest gaze. “Alright,” you murmured, your voice softer than you intended. “If that's what you think, I’ll follow your lead.” But even as the words left your lips, doubt crept into your mind, twisting uncomfortably in the pit of your stomach. Something about Dutch’s plans had been unsettling you for weeks—the way his schemes seemed to grow riskier, more reckless, as if he were chasing something he couldn’t quite catch. You wanted to trust John, to believe in his unwavering faith, but deep down, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this path was leading you both somewhere you might not come back from.

-

By the time the gang reached the swamp, the adrenaline from the night had worn thin, replaced by exhaustion and unease. The route was slow and winding, the horses uneasy as they picked their way through the misty bog. It wasn’t until the broken silhouette of Shady Belle appeared through the haze that Dutch finally signaled for everyone to stop.

“There it is,” he announced, his voice carrying through the night. “Our new home.”

You stared at the crumbling mansion, its windows broken and vines creeping up its sagging walls. The place reeked of abandonment and decay, its shadow looming over the swamp like a ghost of better days.

Arthur rode up beside Dutch, shaking his head. “This is what you had in mind? Looks more like a tomb than a camp.”

Dutch turned to him, a sharp glint in his eye. “It’s hidden, Arthur. Out of the way, quiet. We’ll make it work.”

John sighed heavily as he dismounted, helping you down before tying up the horses. “Don’t look like we’ve got much of a choice,” he muttered under his breath, his hand brushing against yours briefly as you both turned to assess the place.

Arthur pushed open a door, his revolver raised as he scanned the dim room.

“Squatters,” he muttered, his gaze falling on the scattered belongings and rotting food on the floor.

“Least they’re gone,” John said, nudging a broken chair aside with his boot.

“They didn’t leave it like this on their own,” you said quietly, pointing to the bloodstains smeared on the walls.

The group exchanged uneasy glances, but there was no time to dwell. Room by room, the gang secured the mansion, dragging debris outside and clearing a space for the camp.

By the time the sun began to rise, the worst of the mess had been dealt with, though the place still felt far from safe.

As everyone gathered near the front of the mansion, Dutch stood on the steps, his figure framed by the foggy dawn.

“This,” he said, his voice carrying over the group, “is not what I’d call ideal. But it’s what we have—for now. We’ll rebuild here, lay low, and plan our next move. They may think they’ve pushed us to the edge, but they’ll see… the Van der Linde gang isn’t so easily broken.”

The gang murmured their agreement, though the unease was palpable. Arthur stood off to the side, muttering something under his breath, while John lingered near you, his presence steady. As the others scattered to unpack and settle in, John turned to you, his eyes searching yours. “You alright?” he asked quietly, his tone softer now that the chaos had died down.

You nodded, though the exhaustion of the night weighed heavily on you. “I’ll be fine,” you said, offering a small smile.

His hand brushed against yours, a fleeting but reassuring touch. “We’ll make it work,” he said, echoing the sentiment Dutch had tried to inspire—but his words carried more weight, because they were for you alone.

This wasn’t home, but for now, it was all the gang had. And as you looked out at the dense swamp surrounding the mansion, the reality of the road ahead began to set in.

-

The move to Shady Belle brought no relief, only a deeper sense of unease that seemed to cling to the gang like the swamp’s heavy mist. The decaying mansion, with its creaking floors and eerie silence, felt more like a tomb than a refuge. Everyone was on edge, the relentless pressure of the Pinkertons and the gang’s dwindling fortunes gnawing at whatever unity remained. The turning point came with the grisly death of Kieran Duffy. When his mutilated body was dragged into camp, tied to his horse, it shattered what little sense of security anyone still clung to. The haunting image of Kieran’s lifeless form, a brutal message from the O’Driscolls, left the gang shaken. Even the usual bravado from the likes of Bill and Micah faltered in the face of such savagery, and for a brief moment, the infighting paused as the gang mourned one of their own, however quietly. But the fear lingered—if Kieran wasn’t safe, who was?

As the weeks dragged on, Dutch’s plans became more erratic, his once-charismatic confidence feeling more like desperation. Angelo Bronte’s dealings, initially promising a path to wealth and safety, proved only to deepen the gang’s entanglement with dangerous, powerful people. Bronte’s betrayal stung sharply—handing John, Arthur, and the others over to the law during a supposed “opportunity” shook Dutch’s trust in anyone outside the gang. But instead of reevaluating his approach, Dutch doubled down, spinning grandiose tales of salvation through bigger and riskier schemes. The trolley station job in Saint Denis found its way into Dutch's psyche, a chaotic, poorly executed heist that left innocent people dead and brought even more heat on the gang. Each step forward felt like walking deeper into quicksand, and the growing tension within the group became harder to ignore. Whispers of dissent began to ripple through camp, and even those loyal to Dutch couldn’t help but wonder if the man they followed was starting to lose his way.

John’s loyalty to Dutch had always been steadfast, but the cracks were beginning to show. Over the past few weeks, he’d watched Dutch grow more erratic, his plans becoming more reckless and his speeches less inspiring, more desperate. Late at night, as the swamp around Shady Belle hummed with the sounds of crickets and frogs, John found himself lying awake, staring at the ceiling, questioning everything. But even with his doubts, John clung to the idea that maybe, just maybe, Dutch could still turn it all around.

It was you who broke the silence one evening as you sat together in the quiet of your shared room upstairs. “John,” you began, your voice quiet but firm, “we can’t keep living like this. Dutch isn’t the same, and he’s draggin’ us all down with him. We need to leave—while we still can.”

He looked at you sharply, his brow furrowing as his grip tightened on the edge of his seat. “Leave?” he repeated, his voice low and hesitant. “Where the hell would we even go? You think Dutch is just gonna let us walk away?”

You reached out, your hand resting on his arm as you met his uncertain gaze. “We don’t have to tell him, we don't have to tell anybody. We just go."

John’s jaw tightened as he looked at you, his voice low but sharp. “Ain’t you just a little ungrateful for what Dutch has given you? You’d still be back in that O'Driscoll hellhole if it weren’t for him, or worse."

You shot him a glare, your tone firm as you replied, “I’m not ungrateful, John, but what he gave me back then doesn’t excuse the things he’s doing now—you know that as well as I do, and it's insulting that you'd suggest otherwise!" Your cheeks were burning up, your heart rate erratic as your frustration threatens to boil over.

John exhaled sharply, his jaw still tight as he avoided your gaze. “Alright, fine—I shouldn’t’ve said it. But damn it, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

You reached for his hand, your voice trembling but full of conviction as you whispered, “John, I love you, and I can’t keep watching this life tear you apart—we can leave, start fresh, and finally have the future we deserve.” His eyes searched yours, torn between the weight of his loyalty and the hope shining in your words, as you tightened your grip, pleading softly, “Please, come with me.”

John froze, his breath hitching as your words sank in, his usual calm unraveling into something raw and uncertain. His eyes widened slightly, flicking between yours as if searching for a hint of jest, but all he found was sincerity. “You… want that? With me?” he asked, his voice low and tinged with disbelief, like he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the idea. The vulnerability in his tone, so unlike his usual confidence, made your chest ache. You brought your hand up to run your fingers along his jaw, grounding truth into your answer.

He sighed, shaking his head as if trying to push away the thought, but you saw the flicker of agreement in his eyes. “I don’t know, darlin’. Leaving, it’s… dangerous.”

“Staying is dangerous,” you pressed gently, your voice softening. “And you know it.”

For a long moment, he sat there, his jaw working as he weighed your words. Finally, he nodded, though his expression remained grim. “Alright,” he said quietly. “We’ll start thinkin’ on it. But if we’re gonna do this, we gotta be smart about it. No mistakes.”

You squeezed his arm, a glimmer of hope sparking in your chest despite the risk. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

John didn’t smile, but his hand covered yours, a silent promise that he’d see this through—for you to finally be free. “And for the record,” John murmured, his voice low and filled with his usual tender warmth as his hand moved to cup your cheek, “there’s nothin’ I want more than a future with you, too."

-

The next morning, you awoke to the faint rustle of camp already bustling around you, the space beside you in John’s bedroll cold and empty. A sinking feeling settled in your chest as Miss Grimshaw passed by and casually mentioned that John had ridden out early on one of Dutch’s errands, his return time uncertain.

Later, you sat on a stool in Sadie’s corner of the mansion, her fingers deftly weaving your hair into a neat braid as the smell of coffee from your mug and damp wood lingered in the air. “I just don’t know what we’re doing anymore,” you said quietly, breaking the silence, your voice barely rising above the soft creak of the old floorboards. “Every plan Dutch has feels like it’s getting us deeper into trouble. It’s like he’s trying to chase something we can’t catch, and I’m scared we’re all going to pay for it.” Your hands fidgeted in your lap as you stared out at the foggy swamp, your chest tight with unease.

Sadie hummed thoughtfully, her hands pausing for a moment before she resumed braiding. “You ain’t the only one who’s worried,” she said, her tone calm but sharp, like the edge of a blade. “Dutch talks big, but it don’t feel the same anymore, does it? Here’s the thing, though—you don’t owe him every piece of yourself. You got people who care about you, and you gotta think about them—and about you.” Her fingers moved steadily, the braid coming together as she spoke. “When the time comes, you do what you need to do, and don’t you feel bad about it for a second. Loyalty’s a fine thing, but it don’t mean throwin’ yourself into the fire for some bastard who’s already lost their way.” Her words hit you like a jolt of clarity, and as she tied off the braid, you couldn’t help but wonder if the time to make those choices was coming faster than you’d hoped.