#but wins rounds by sheer luck

[wanderingxmoth]

seen other people draw these three goobers together

[claramelooo]

Heyy! My dear! I'm so excited for the Christmas! So, leave in the comments (or send me an anon quest, if you feel more confortable) any scenes, moments or something you really want to see between Wanda and R. Maybe Santa will realizes your desires...

MINORS DO NOT MUST INTERACT

Warning: +18, NFSW, Blood

Paring: Mommy Wanda x Brat fem reader

Summary: Being at Wanda's home can be very...intense.

Read here: Prologue | Part 1 - Predator | Part 2 - The Prey | Part 3 - On Your Knees | Part 4 - The Spider | Part 5 - The Lamb

VELVET CHAINS

Pure Crimson

It was a sunny afternoon, so hot that you could see the heat haze blurring the landscape. You were at Wanda's house while your parents were in Greece. Not that you minded staying away from them—you had been distant for so long that you'd forgotten what the word "family" even meant.

The days at the Maximoff household had been an emotional rollercoaster. The environment was both warm and intimidating, and you were still adjusting to the unique dynamics of that family.

Your relationship with Billy and Tommy started off hesitantly, like strangers crossing paths in neutral territory. On the first day, while Wanda was busy in the kitchen and Vision was lost in his own thoughts, you sat on the living room couch, trying to look casual as the boys played with Lego pieces scattered across the floor.

Billy was the first to break the ice, shy but curious. “Do you like Star Wars?” he asked, holding up a small Lego spaceship, waiting for a response that might bridge the gap.

“I do! But I don’t really understand spaceships. Do you?” you replied, leaning forward with genuine interest.

His face lit up with the kind of enthusiasm only kids can show. “I’m the best spaceship builder in the galaxy!” He started explaining in detail how he had constructed each part, and soon Tommy joined in, adding comments about the spaceship's imaginary speed.

The initial connection was timid but quickly grew over the following days. You realized the way to earn the twins’ trust was to genuinely care about what they loved. They didn’t need grand promises or long speeches—just someone who truly wanted to spend time with them.

On the second day, Tommy challenged you to a video game match. “Bet you can’t beat me,” he teased with a mischievous grin. You accepted the challenge, and even though you weren’t very skilled, you played with enthusiasm. Tommy laughed so hard when you pressed the wrong button and sent your character tumbling off a cliff that tears rolled down his cheeks.

“You’re terrible at this!” he exclaimed, but there was no cruelty, only joy. And when you finally managed to win a round—by sheer luck—the two boys cheered for you like you had just won a trophy.

That same day, while Wanda was baking strawberry pie in the kitchen, you decided to help Billy with a school art project about national folklore figures. He was frustrated that his drawing wasn’t coming out the way he wanted. “I’m never going to get this right,” he grumbled, nearly crumpling the paper.

“It doesn’t have to be perfect; it can be unique,” you said, picking up the pencil and showing him how to add simple details to turn what seemed like a mistake into something creative. “See? It’s all about perspective.” You gave him a bright smile, and he looked at you with genuine admiration.

A particularly vulnerable moment sealed their trust. Tommy had hurt his knee playing soccer in the backyard—a nasty scrape. While Wanda was busy elsewhere, you cleaned his wound carefully, speaking soothing words. “You’re a warrior, Tommy. This is nothing for someone as strong as you.” He smiled through his tears and held your hand as if finding strength in it.

That night, as you were getting ready for bed, Billy called out to you. “Y/n, you’re like the big sister we never had.” Tommy agreed, and the two hugged you tightly before heading to their room.

From that moment on, it was as if an invisible bond connected you to them. They sought you out for everything—from playing games to asking for advice. More than that, they embraced you as part of their lives, and you realized that, in some way, you needed them as much as they seemed to need you.

Vision, however, was a different challenge. Always polite and courteous, but there was something about his demeanor, the way his eyes seemed to analyze your every move, that left you uneasy. Perhaps it was the contrast with Wanda, whose gaze seemed to devour you, while Vision’s felt like judgment.

One afternoon, you found him in the kitchen, organizing documents in a folder while sipping coffee. When you walked in, he glanced up briefly, offering a polite but cold smile.

“Good afternoon,” he said, his voice controlled.

“Good afternoon,” you replied, unsure.

Silence quickly settled, heavy and awkward. You searched for something to say, anything to break the invisible wall.

“The boys are excited about tonight’s dinner,” you commented, referring to Billy and Tommy, who had insisted you help pick the menu.

Vision simply nodded, his expression unchanged. “They grow attached easily,” he remarked, emotionless. “Especially to people… different.”

You felt the insinuation but had no time to respond before the sound of Tommy and Billy’s hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway.

“Y/n!” Billy exclaimed, running up to you with a huge smile. “Look what we made!”

He showed you a colorful drawing of you, him, Tommy, and even Wanda sitting around a large dinner table. In the corner of the paper, Vision was there too, but noticeably outside the circle.

“You’re part of our family now!” Tommy said, laughing as he clung to your side.

You couldn’t help but smile. “I love it, Billy. It’s amazing!”

“It really is,” Wanda said, walking into the kitchen with an amused expression as she looked at the drawing. “It seems you’re stealing their hearts.”

Tommy hugged your waist, looking at Vision with a mischievous grin. “We love you. Are you going to live with us now?” the boy asked, his eyes sparkling.

“Tommy,” Vision said firmly.

“What?” the boy asked innocently.

You crouched down to Tommy’s height, a gentle smile on your face. “I can’t, sweetheart. I already have a home...” you replied, awkwardly trying not to stumble over your words under Vision’s intense gaze.

Tommy pouted, but Billy quickly approached with another drawing in hand. This one showed you holding what seemed to be a tray of cookies, surrounded by the twins. “This is you, taking care of us. Because you make the best gingerbread cookies in the world.”

“Billy, I just helped! You guys made the cookies,” you laughed, knowing it wasn’t true—you had done everything from the dough to the baking. The twins had only decorated, but you’d say anything to see their smiles.

“It doesn’t matter! You’re the best helper,” he declared confidently, as if it were a universal fact.

Across the room, Wanda watched the scene with a soft smile. Her eyes shifted between the twins and you, as if capturing every detail of the moment.

“It’s true, Y/n,” Wanda said warmly. “You have a way with them that even I can’t compete with.”

Tommy quickly shot back, “Of course not, Mom! We love you too. But it’s different.”

Wanda raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms as if feigning offense. “Different how, exactly?”

Billy was quick to defend. “You’re the boss of us! But Y/n makes things feel more fun.”

Wanda’s laughter filled the room, a carefree sound that seemed to brighten the entire atmosphere. She glanced at you, her eyes a mix of amusement and admiration.

Vision, however, seemed out of place. He cleared his throat, drawing the twins’ attention. “Boys, you know family is a... fixed concept. One shouldn’t create expectations based on...”

“Don’t start, Dad,” Tommy interrupted, rolling his eyes dramatically.

“Yeah, we know how we feel,” Billy added firmly.

You looked at Wanda, expecting a more severe reaction, but instead, she was smiling indulgently. “They have strong opinions, Vision. Perhaps we should accept that Y/n is important to them.”

Vision hesitated, his discomfort clear, but he didn’t respond.

Tommy took the opportunity to hug you again. “So that’s it. You’re part of our family now.”

You laughed, touched by his sincerity, and looked at Wanda, who gave a small nod, as if silently confirming what Tommy had said. The warmth in your chest at that moment was indescribable but undeniably real.

Billy grabbed your hand, pulling you along. “Come on! Let’s play!”

You didn’t have a chance to resist as he and Tommy led you to the living room, leaving Vision and Wanda behind.

In the living room, the boys showed you their game cards, taught you crazy rules only they understood, and laughed until they fell over as you tried to keep up with their energy.

In the middle of the game, Tommy flopped onto the couch, tired, and looked at you with shining eyes. “You’re not leaving, right?”

“Not anytime soon,” you said, ruffling his hair.

Billy approached and gently took your hand, his expression unusually serious. “Mom has never seemed this happy before,” he said quietly.

The words hung in the air, heavy with an unspoken weight. You looked at him and then at Tommy, your heart tightening in your chest. They were such sweet kids, their affection for you so pure and genuine that it stirred something deep within you—a mix of gratitude and protectiveness.

Moments later, Wanda appeared in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame. Her presence filled the room effortlessly, and when your eyes met hers, there was an intensity in her gaze, a possessiveness barely masked by her enigmatic smile.

“It’s good to see you all getting along so well,” she said softly, her voice carrying a warmth that made your stomach flutter.

“She’s the best!” Tommy blurted out enthusiastically, and Billy nodded in earnest agreement.

“Yeah. She really is,” Wanda echoed, her words laced with an edge of certainty as her eyes lingered on you. Her smile deepened, enigmatic and knowing, as though she saw something in you that even you hadn’t recognized yet.

You couldn’t help but laugh, a light, genuine sound that filled the room. A warmth spread through your chest, a comforting sense of belonging. For the first time in days, amidst all the uncertainties, it felt like you’d found your place—at least with the twins. And, perhaps, with Wanda too.

[...]

The house was silent, save for the soft ticking of a clock on the wall in the living room. Wanda lay on the bed, but sleep felt like an ever more distant possibility. Vision’s steady, peaceful breathing beside her only highlighted the contrast with the storm raging in her mind.

You were there. In the room next door. So close that she could almost feel your presence, like an electric current humming through the walls.

For the third time, Wanda rolled over, burying her face into the pillow, trying to convince herself not to think about you. But the harder she tried to push the thoughts away, the more vivid they became.

She could recall every detail—how you bit your lower lip in concentration while helping the boys with their homework, the laugh that made warmth bloom in her chest, the shy way your eyes met hers when you tried to mask your nervousness. It was unbearable how much you had invaded her thoughts, staking a claim on every corner of her mind as if it all belonged to you.

Wanda sighed, feeling her heartbeat quicken. This wasn’t just desire; it was something deeper, something that made her feel both vulnerable and invincible. It was a sweet yet corrosive obsession.

“Why do you do this to me?” she murmured into the darkness, her voice a whisper tinged with frustration.

Her fingers clenched the sheet as a dangerous idea began to take shape in her mind. It wasn’t unreasonable, she tried to convince herself. Just a quick check to make sure you were okay. That was perfectly justifiable, wasn’t it?

But deep down, she knew it was a lie. The truth was, your proximity was driving her mad. Every second without seeing you felt like torture. The image of you, likely curled up under the blankets, your face serene in peaceful sleep, was almost irresistible.

With a sudden motion, Wanda sat up in bed, sharp enough that Vision mumbled something incoherent in his sleep. She cast a quick glance at him, but he remained in a deep slumber. Perfect.

She knew this was dangerous, that it crossed any reasonable boundary. But you were so close, and Wanda couldn’t fight the pull anymore. Not when the thought of having you felt so… inevitable.

Quietly, she slipped out of the bedroom, her bare feet making barely a sound against the floor. She hesitated for a brief moment in front of your door, her hand hovering over the handle as anticipation and longing swirled in her chest.

When she finally opened the door, a soft, almost predatory smile played on her lips as her eyes found you.

“Wanda?” your voice was lower than you intended, almost a whisper.

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she moved closer, each step heightening the tension in the room. When she reached your bedside, she leaned down, her face coming so close to yours that you could feel the warmth radiating from her.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she murmured, her voice low and husky, almost a groan.

You swallowed hard, struggling to find the right response. Wanda’s smile deepened, but there was a hunger in it, something that made your breath catch. Before you could think, she leaned closer still, her lips brushing against yours so lightly it was almost imperceptible.

“You’re in my head,” she whispered against your mouth, her breath warm and intoxicating. “Your scent is everywhere in this house.”

The air between you felt heavy, charged with an unspoken intensity. And in that moment, everything else faded away.

Your heart raced, and you tried to say something, but the words caught in your throat. Wanda didn’t wait. Her lips pressed against yours—firm, demanding—and you felt the full force of her presence in that kiss.

There was urgency in her touch, a hunger that had clearly been restrained for far too long. Her hands rose to cradle your face, holding you exactly where she wanted.

You felt trapped, but it wasn’t a trap you wanted to escape. When she pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, the intensity in her eyes sent a shiver racing down your spine.

“I needed that,” she murmured, her lips still so close to yours that it was hard to breathe.

“Wanda…” you began, but she silenced you with a finger against your lips. “Vision is in the next room,”

“Shh,” she whispered. “Tomorrow, you can think about whatever you want. But right now… right now, you’re mine.”

Before you could respond, she kissed you again, and all the tension, all the air seemed to vanish from the room.

Her lips were warm and soft, but there was more—something raw, a palpable hunger, a need that felt as if it might consume you whole. The kiss started firm but quickly deepened, turning more explorative. Her tongue brushed against yours, pulling a sigh from your throat, a sound that seemed to ignite something primal in her.

Wanda’s hands slid from your face to your waist, her fingers pressing into your skin through the thin fabric of your clothes. Your body responded instinctively, every nerve tuned to her presence. Heat pulsed through you, mingling with the adrenaline that made your heart pound in your chest.

She pulled you closer, so close you could no longer tell where you ended and she began. The urgency in her movements was intoxicating, yet there was a tenderness, a sense of restraint as if she were testing the limits.

Your hesitant hands rose to her shoulders, clutching the soft fabric of her pajamas. Wanda let out a low sound, somewhere between a moan and a sigh, and the sheer intensity of it left your legs feeling weak, even though you were lying down.

When she finally pulled back, it was only far enough for you to catch your breath. Her eyes remained locked on yours, dark and glowing with a mix of desire and an unshakable sense of control.

You tried to speak, but your voice failed, your mind still spinning from the sensations. Wanda tilted her head, a slow, knowing smile spreading across her lips, as if she understood exactly what she was doing to you.

“You feel it, don’t you?” she murmured, her voice low and husky, sending shivers cascading through you.

Before you could respond, she kissed you again, slower this time, almost reverent. It was as though she were leaving an imprint, marking every part of you, making herself impossible to forget.

She’s undeniably beautiful.

"Take off your clothes." She demands, and you're jolted back to reality. Her eyes pierce into yours, holding a glimmer of something you can’t quite place. You want to know more about her; you feel so off-balance. To avoid a disapproving look, you immediately take off the nightgown and wait for further instructions as she slowly walks around you.

The way the woman moves, the way she looks at you, reminds you of a panther stalking its prey. Wanda eyes you from head to toe, assessing you. She's behind you, and you can feel her gaze roaming over your body. Chills run up your arms in anticipation of what’s coming next, and the urge to turn around and face her is hard to suppress. "Lie down, Dekta. Mommy's going to take care of this."

You shiver at how close the words are whispered against your neck, internally chastising yourself as heat builds in your core. It feels like you're waiting for your own demise as her green eyes scrutinize you once more. You’ve never felt more like prey.

You hate how passive it feels. Your body is tense with the uncertainties this night will bring, not going unnoticed by the older woman. "Sweetheart…" now her voice is soft, just like the Wanda from earlier. "You're so tense." She brushes your face with her fingertips, noticing your shivers.

"I… I've never done this." you murmur softly—a mix of fear and shame. Wanda feels weak seeing you so vulnerable. Giving you a calm smile, she lowers her hands to stroke your forearm—a soothing gesture. "I know, my sweet. We don't have to do anything you don't want." Wanda lies on top of you, resting her head in the curve of your neck—her breath tickling your ear. "I just want to show you… how good this can feel."

She leaves a trail of kisses on your jaw, down your neck, to your collarbone—making you let out a shaky breath. “Do you trust me?” And there it was, that question again. “I do, Mommy.”

Wanda's hands take on a life of their own—stroking you, squeezing and massaging your curves, making you need her more and more. Needed for your touch.

She wanted you to get used to being touched like this, she wanted to get you ready to beg for her and for her hands.

Wanda's mouth and hands leave you inert—all the stimuli she was presenting to you took you to another dimension. Your pussy hurt, and you started to feel the need to ease it.

“Wands…” your voice came out shrill, as if you were slowly dying. The woman's warm lips worked on the back of his neck, biting and sucking passionately on the spot. “Hmm, what’s up, little girl? Do you want to say anything to mommy?”

Wanda moves away from your neck to look at you—making you miss the heat applied to the area. As you look at her, your heart skips a beat to see the expression of pleasure on the woman's delicate face—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and her bangs were messy—sexy and even wild.

With a little courage, you steal Wanda's lips for yourself—surprising the woman who decides to let you command the kiss, encouraging her confidence to blossom in her personality, like a flower that grows with the help of the sun.

Wanda would be your sun.

“H-it hurts.” you confess softly, with a husky voice—throwing your hips up, making your hot core rub against Wanda's thigh.

“I know, Dekta. I know… “ she murmured with difficulty, feeling the stickiness of your precious pussy sliding down her thigh with ease. “Mommy will make it go away, yes?” Wanda felt insane, at that moment, she would give you anything you wanted.

“Mommy…” you mumbled, equally crazy.

The woman, upon hearing this delicious title, began to lower her body until she was face to face with her sweet pussy. It was possible to see the stain of her juices wetting her panties. Letting out a shaky, excited breath, Wanda leans in closer to smell him—sweet and spicy, like sandalwood flower.

Wanda's few sexual experiences were never intense, always filled with normality. She hadn't married as a virgin, but still, all the men that came into her life didn't do justice to you.

The woman's unsteady hands cling to her thighs, squeezing for some comfort—she had never done this, after all. When the bittersweet taste reaches the taste buds of her tongue, Wanda moans and pushes her head against her pussy.

“Mmm…” She moans with her mouth working on her clit. Wanda seemed to have discovered a new world, one she didn't want to leave.

“Oh, please…” The enveloping tongue made circular movements, making you reach the edge, perhaps faster than normal. "Mommy!"

You shouted, making Wanda give you a dirty look.

“Be quiet!” She slaps your cheek, which tingles all over your face, warming you up even more—and which makes you push even harder against Wanda, offering yourself to her like a flower in full bloom.

“It’s hard… It’s so good.” your rolling eyes only showed Wanda how much of a stupid little bitch you were who couldn't follow a simple command. “I need… more!” His voice came out in a drawn out, needy whine.

Wanda growls against his sex, her focus never wavering. “What else, little one? More of Mommy’s tongue, sucking and licking that needy little bud of yours until you cry?” she asks, her voice muffled by her flesh.

“Or maybe it’s Mommy’s fingers you’re craving, plunging deep into that tight virgin pussy.” The woman's broken voice brought words that provoked you in a way that made you reach levels of pleasure you never imagined.

“Tell mommy what you need to scream her name like the stupid slut you are.” You roll your eyes when you hear such degrading words.

“I don’t know… it’s weird, but it’s so gooood!” Your only reaction—or instinct, is to rub himself against her even more. In cruel sadism, Wanda stops the stimuli abruptly, making you let out a frustrated groan.

“Ask, pet. If you want to get what you want, learn to ask for it…” she hummed, as if it was just a game for her.

You huffed, no patience for games.

“Your fingers, I want your fingers inside me.” His honesty hit the woman like a punch. And certainly witnessing Wanda falter at just his words did things to your ego.

Wanda positions her finger well, first, massaging, making you feel it. As soon as her middle finger finds your entrance, you tense against her.

“Shhh, dekta, it’s okay” she whispers against his forehead, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Will it hurt a lot?” Her lower lip trembles, her tone seems to seek a reassurance that only Wanda could offer.

“Just a little…” She promises you, looking deep into your eyes, and you nod, giving permission.

At first glance, the finger inside you seemed to burn, tearing you open and opening you up for Wanda to use that little hole as she pleased. You heard the woman growl against your mouth, then kiss you savagely.

Wanda, as excited as you, begins to rub herself against your sex while still thrusting inside you and feeling your finger being chewed completely by your hot flesh.

“So tight,” she growled, as she ground against you and bit your lip.

“Greedy little girl. Do you want mommy’s pussy?” You nodded without thinking twice. “You’re a vessel for my pleasure, a stupid little toy for me to use and abuse… and you love every moment of it, don’t you, little slut?” The woman's words dripped with promises of a corrosive, dangerous, dark desire.

You nod and push your hips even further—both for the friction of your pussies, but for Wanda's finger that is sinking even deeper into you.

“Mmm, yes… just like that, you filthy slut.” The woman's nails dug into her waist, creating half-moon marks. “Oh. Honey, mommy is almost there…” She moans wildly, taking her finger out of you—bringing you a feeling of emptiness.

The pussy rubbing was genuinely delicious. A unique place in the world that you two never wanted to leave. But it's when Wanda bites your nipple that makes you moan loudly and come hard—so hard that Wanda can swear when she feels your pussy tremble against hers.

Wanda falls on her side, desperately searching for breath. You think it's funny and laugh softly. The woman just arches her eyebrow.

“The problem is… I’m already an old lady. I don’t have much energy left!” Wanda’s excuse only made her seem even more adorable in your eyes.

“You’re beautiful.” You kissed her nose, letting your affection flow through the small gesture, offering her as much comfort as you could muster.

Wanda exhaled, a sound somewhere between exhaustion and contentment, as she shifted in bed to face you. Her hair was messy, her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes glimmered with a warmth that made your heart melt.

“Beautiful, huh?” she repeated, a soft smile curving her lips. “I think you’re just buttering me up so I’ll bake you more cookies.”

You laughed, finding her pout irresistibly cute.

“I’m not buttering you up; I’m just being honest,” you replied, your tone steady but tender.

She shook her head, a quiet laugh escaping her as she slid her arm around your waist, pulling you closer. Your bodies fit together so naturally, as though you were crafted for this moment, for each other.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” Wanda murmured, her voice tinged with humor and a depth of affection so profound it made your eyes sting slightly.

“Good trouble or bad trouble?” you teased, your fingers tracing lazy circles on her shoulder.

“Good,” she answered without hesitation, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Too good.”

For a while, silence settled between you, a comfortable stillness broken only by the steady rhythm of your breaths. You took in every detail of her: the elegant curve of her jawline, the gentle slope of her lips, and the way her lashes brushed against her cheeks like delicate whispers of her exhaustion.

“It’s all okay, you know?” you murmured, your voice soft, almost a whisper.

Wanda’s brow furrowed slightly. “What do you mean?”

“With us,” you clarified, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “You don’t have to overthink or worry. I’m here. With you.”

Your words seemed to catch Wanda off guard, her smile softening into something vulnerable and raw. She looked at you as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. Instead, she cupped your face with both hands, her thumbs brushing gently over your cheeks, her touch impossibly tender.

“You have no idea what that means to me,” Wanda finally said, her voice low and brimming with emotion.

“Then show me,” you whispered, leaning in to meet her lips once again, this time in a kiss so calm and intimate that it felt like sealing an unspoken promise between you.

When you finally broke apart, Wanda let out a deep sigh, as though releasing a weight she had carried for far too long. She drew you into her chest, her arms wrapping around you protectively, as though she wanted to keep you there forever.

“Sleep now, my angel,” she murmured, her lips brushing against your forehead as she held you even closer.

And so, you closed your eyes, your heart warm and full, certain that, in this moment, you were everything Wanda needed.

But as she watched your lashes flutter closed, her gaze shifted. Her hand, once tenderly cradling your face, now caught her attention—a deep crimson stain painting her fingertips. Blood. Your blood. Your purity.

Something primal and dark ignited within Wanda—a force that she couldn’t resist. Slowly, obsessively, she brought her fingers to her lips, tasting every drop as though savoring a forbidden fruit.

The warm, metallic tang of blood spread across her tongue, and instead of disgust, a raw, guttural moan escaped her lips. It was pleasure, unadulterated and feral, coursing through her with an intensity that made her tremble.

Her eyes glowed faintly, a flicker of something inhuman breaking through the surface. It wasn’t just about the taste or the act—it was about possession, about the irrevocable claim she had laid upon you.

The room was cloaked in silence, save for the sound of her labored breathing, low and almost animalistic. Her fingers, still stained red, moved over her lips, cleaning away every last trace. Her body quaked, not from fear but from the euphoria of knowing you were irrevocably hers.

Wanda leaned over you, her eyes tracing your serene features. You looked angelic, but to her, you were an angel wrapped in shadows—a contradiction so alluring it drove her to madness.

With trembling fingers, she gently touched your lips, the faintest smear of crimson left behind. Her touch was tender, reverent, yet stained by the chaos swirling within her.

“You don’t even know, do you?” she whispered, her voice barely audible but laced with a dangerous kind of adoration.

And as the night deepened, Wanda’s obsession with you solidified into something unyielding, something that would burn brightly, consuming everything in its wake.

Mine,” she whispered, the sound barely coming out but carrying a possessiveness that made the air in the room feel heavier. ��You are mine now. In every way.”

~*~

Wanda got more intense after watching Twillinght New Moon....

UNREVISED CHAPTER

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[navybrat817]

Focus

Pairing: Motocross!Steve Rogers x Motocross!Female Reader Summary: You have a crush on Steve Rogers, but you don't think you're his type. Word Count: Over 1k Warnings: Crush, longing, slight insecurities, swearing, nicknames, Curtis is a good friend, Motocross!Steve Rogers (he's a warning, okay?) A/N: Finally an intro for Champ and Daisy in our Dialed In AU! Took me how long, @yenzys-lucky-charm ? Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated! ❤️

A 450 rider like Bucky with a lot of wins under his belt, Natasha was serious when she said Steve was one of the best riders in his class.

It was one of the reasons people called him “Champ”, a nickname he wasn’t overly fond of since some of the guys liked to tease him after races where he didn’t place first. It also gave him flashbacks of when he was younger and smaller, virtually ignored or told he wouldn’t excel in anything physically.

With a lot of heart and a late growth spurt, he proved them wrong.

Bucky said once that his nickname should be “Adonis” because of his now statuesque looks and the pit lizards fawning over him or “Golden Boy” because of his success and admiration.

Steve never let any of that get to his head and refused to let the pit lizards distract him. He worked hard to get where he was and continued to give it his all on and off the track every single time.

His determination was one of the many reasons you found yourself drawn to him. He was the kind of rider and person many aspired to be.

Your crush only grew the day you two actually met.

A rider yourself, you earned the nickname “Daisy” thanks to the flowers on your helmet and general sweet demeanor.

The helmet was the very thing Steve complimented you on when he walked by you at your first pro race.

You hadn’t meant to stare when he walked by, but his reputation preceeds him. Clad in red, white, and blue like a patriotic God, his blonde hair sparkled in the sunlight and his eyes looked like the sky on a cloudless day.

The sheer size of him almost made you whimper when he got closer. How a man was able to walk with such confidence and dominance yet still had an air about that said he was humble was a gift.

He even stopped to speak to a few kids who were eager to meet him and you couldn’t stop smiling when one little boy wrapped his arms around his legs in a tight hug.

Who wouldn’t fall for him?

You were certain you still had a dopey smile on your face when he looked your way.

“Beautiful.” The deep timbre of his voice sent a shiver down your spine when you realized he was speaking to you, which you tried to blame on pre-race jitters. “Your helmet. It’s beautiful,” he said when you didn’t reply.

You deflated slightly because of course he didn’t think you were beautiful. You were just a rider and not like the girls who flocked to him.

“Oh, thanks,” you croaked, clearing your throat immediately to try and save face. “I like daisies,” you added, mentally kicking yourself for stating the obvious. Why else would they be on your helmet?

The lopsided grin he gave you brought your smile back to your face. “You’re Daisy. Heard good things about you.”

Biting your lip and glancing away briefly, you didn’t catch his gaze following the movement. “You have?” You asked, slightly surprised that your name made the rounds.

“Yeah.” He nodded toward the track. “And I’m eager to see what you do out there.”

Your stomach did a somersault, but you held your head high. “I’ll try not to disappoint.”

“I doubt you could disappoint anyone,” he quietly spoke, looking over his shoulder when Bucky called out to him. “Gotta go. Good luck out there, Daisy.”

“Thanks, Champ,” you said, shifting back and forth on your feet when he stood up straight and flexed his gloved fingers. Maybe you shouldn’t have used his nickname. “I mean, Steve.”

You couldn’t read his expression, but you felt better when he gave you one more lopsided smile. “Champ sounds nice coming from you,” he said before he walked away.

You tried not to swoon or check out his ass when he went on his way, but Curtis clocked you immediately.

“You might wanna wipe that drool off your chin before your race,” he said, nudging you with his shoulder when you glanced at the ground. “Nervous? Don't be. You’re gonna kick ass out there.”

“Not nervous,” you said, biting your lip again. “He said he heard about me.”

“Yeah. Riders talk, you know that. And the guys saw you practice, so they know you have skills,” he said, sighing when you lifted your head and longingly stared after Steve. “Look, don’t let him distract you.”

“I’m not letting him distract me,” you argued, moving your helmet between your hands. “It’s just nice to get a compliment from such a skilled rider,” you said, especially since a lot of guys had a tendency to ignore you once they knew you loved to race.

Curtis narrowed his eyes. “I’m a skilled rider and I compliment you. I don’t see you walking around with hearts in your eyes and having a little crush on me.”

Your cheeks flamed before you hit his arm. “More like you bust my nonexistent balls. That’s not the same thing,” you said.

He didn’t move an inch when you hit him, the wall of muscle that he was. “Perk of being my friend,” he deadpanned, looking in the direction that Steve went, too. “I’m not one for gossip, but Champ is single.”

You put your helmet on so your friend couldn’t see your face. “Good to know, but I doubt I’m his type,” you said.

Because why would he like you?

“Rogers is a fucking idiot if he doesn’t want a girl like you,” he said sincerely before he hit your helmet with the palm of his hand, the familiar grumpy stare back on his face. “But enough of that shit. Get out there and win your fucking race.”

Which you did.

Steve's heart skipped a beat when you removed your helmet and smiled.

Because the truth was, you were exactly his type.

And he’d sweep you off your feet if you let him.

They're sweet, okay? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Steve Rogers Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[flowercrowncrip]

Street harassment is so much scarier as a powerchair user because I just don’t even have the option of running away, or even just turning round sometimes.

I just had three men come up to me, stand blocking the narrow pavement and ask “are you a man or a woman?”

And like, I had so few options to get out of it. I could try and run into him and risk tipping my chair off the pavement (incredibly bad) or escalating the situation to physical violence (no way I’d win). The pavement wasn’t wide enough to properly turn around, and certainly not at any speed. And even if I could turn around I’m capped at 4mph so very catchable.

Luckily they were clearly very intoxicated and my response of asking“why does it matter?” and starting to move forward confused them enough that they stepped out of my way without really thinking. And luckily they didn’t decide to follow me

So like, all things considered, not a particularly bad situation but mostly that was just sheer luck. And it really highlights how I have so many fewer options in these situations than I did even as a manual chair user.

Nothing really happened and it was still so scary I went to the nearest open shop and just wanted to cry.

[nhlclover]

GINGERBREAD WARS RUTGER MCGROARTY

— event masterlist !

pairing: fem!reader x rutger mcgroarty

summary: you and rutger get into a not-so-friendly gingerbread house building competition.

warnings: talks of candy, reader and rutger being insanely competitive, mention of weapon as a metaphor kind of?

wc: 1.23k

notes: first work in my 12 days of christmas celebration! hope y'all enjoy this one

The onset of winter had draped the world in a frosty embrace, crafting the perfect excuse to stay nestled indoors. Frost etched intricate patterns on the windows, and the living room glowed with the cozy flicker of a cinnamon and clove candle. The scent mingled with the warmth of thick blankets as you and Rutger sat cross-legged on the floor, transforming your coffee table into a chaotic gingerbread construction zone. Between you sat two unopened kits, brimming with cookie walls, tubes of frosting, and a kaleidoscope of colorful candies, all waiting to be shaped into edible masterpieces.

“We’re doing this right,” you declared, pulling out your phone to set a timer. “One hour. Whoever builds the best gingerbread house wins.”

“Define ‘best,’” Rutger said, smirking as he tore open his box. “Because if it’s sheer dominance, I’ve already won.”

“Best as in structurally sound and aesthetically pleasing,” you countered, leveling a mock-serious glare his way. “No shortcuts, no sabotage.”

Rutger laughed, a deep, infectious sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Oh, it’s on.”

Competitiveness was the cornerstone of your relationship, transforming even the smallest activities into grand battles of wit and will. Whether it was a round of mini golf or a gingerbread showdown, neither of you could resist the pull of a challenge.

As the timer started, the room dissolved into chaotic creativity. You worked methodically, precision your guiding star, as you piped frosting along the cookie edges and pressed them together carefully. Rutger, in stark contrast, adopted what could only be described as a “freestyle” approach, squeezing frosting directly from the tube in uneven bursts. He slapped pieces together with reckless abandon, his hands soon sticky with icing and a streak of frosting somehow finding its way across his cheek.

“Looking good over there, babe,” you teased, eyeing the precarious tilt of his gingerbread walls.

“Oh, you’re intimidated,” Rutger shot back, his grin pure mischief. “Just admit it. My house has character.”

You snorted, sticking a gumdrop to your roof. “Sure, if by ‘character’ you mean it’s held together by sheer luck.”

The room filled with a soundtrack of quiet Christmas music, punctuated by your playful jabs and the occasional crunch of misplaced candies underfoot. For a brief moment, there was almost peace — until Rutger’s eyes flicked toward your symmetrical, candy-laden structure.

“Wow,” he says, leaning over to inspect it closer. “Looks… really sturdy.” He hummed as his hand hovering dangerously close. “Would be a shame if something—oops!” He nudged your roof piece just slightly, causing it to slide askew.

“Rutger!” you gasped, swatting his hand away as you shielded your creation.

“What?” he replied, all innocence, though his devilish grin betrayed him.

“If you try to knock my gingerbread house down one more time,” she warned, narrowing her eyes, “I swear, I will smash up your gingerbread house and glue candy canes to your eyebrows.”

His laughter boomed through the room, so loud it shook his already lopsided structure. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me,” you retorted, brandishing your frosting bag like a weapon.

What followed was an inevitable escalation. Rutger lunged for your house once more, but you were ready, swiping a line of frosting across his cheek in defense. He froze, mock-surrender in his posture. “Oh, you’ve done it now,” he said, his tone low and teasing as he grabbed his own frosting bag.

“Don’t you dare!” you shrieked, stumbling to your feet to escape the impending frosting attack, but found yourself cornered by the fireplace.

What began as a building contest transformed into an all-out war. A dollop of frosting hit your sweater, and you retaliated with a handful of gumdrops. Candies rained down like festive confetti as the two of you dissolved into laughter, the competition long forgotten.

When the alarm finally rang, Rutger threw up his hands. “Truce!” he panted, frosting streaked across his face and a lone sprinkle clinging to his hair. “You win. I concede.”

You stood triumphantly, frosting bag still in hand, your own cheeks flushed from laughter. “That’s what I thought,” you teased, grabbing a gummy bear from off the coffee table and stepping towards him, sticking it onto his frosting-covered cheek like a badge of victory.

He didn’t brush it away. Instead, he grinned and tugged you closer, his hands settling on your waist. “You know,” he said, his voice softer now, “you might be a little insane and intense, but I think I like you anyway.”

Your heart melted faster than the frosting in your hands. “Only ‘like’ me?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Fine,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “I love you, even if you’re a menace with frosting.”

You laughed, your hands resting on his chest. “Good, because I love you too — even if you can’t build a gingerbread house to save your life.”

Rutger chuckled, pulling you even closer until there was no space left between you. “I don’t need to build gingerbread houses when I’ve already got the sweetest thing right here.”

Your face heated at his cheesy line, but you couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across your lips. “That was awful. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Lucky, huh?” he teased, his eyes flicking to your frosting-smeared cheek. “Maybe I should test my luck again.”

Before you could protest, he leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss against your frosting-covered cheek. It was warm and tender, the kind of kiss that made your heart flutter and the world fall away.

“Mm, sweet,” he murmured with a smirk as he pulled back. “Maybe I’m not so bad at this whole frosting thing after all.”

You rolled your eyes, but your laughter betrayed you. “If you’re trying to distract me so I won’t remember the fact that we were in the middle of a competition, it’s not working.”

Rutgers grin only widened as he laced his frosting-sticky fingers with yours. “Nah,” he said, his voice softening. “I’m just reminding you that the best part of tonight isn’t winning — it’s this. Spending time together.”

Your chest warmed, and for a moment, you forgot all about the half-finished gingerbread houses on the coffee table, the candies scattered across the floor, and the frosting war still visible on your sweaters and faces. All you could see was Rutger, his gaze full of affection, his presence wrapping around you like a blanket on a cold winter night.

“Okay,” you said, tilting your head in playful concession. “But for the record, my house was going to win.”

“It absolutely was not.” Rutger scoffed.

“Oh, it absolutely was,” you insisted, your tone dripping with mock authority as you gave him a pointed look. “But I guess I can forgive you since you’ve officially declared me the sweetest thing in your life.”

Rutger chuckled, his arms tightening around your waist as he pulled you into a warm hug. “You are,” he murmured, his voice dropping into something softer, more sincere. “And I’ll prove it — just wait till next year. My gingerbread game is going to blow your mind.”

You giggled, your cheek resting against his frosting-smudged sweater. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

The unfinished gingerbread houses remained forgotten on the coffee table as the two of you sank onto the couch, curling up together under a shared blanket. The Christmas lights twinkled, the music played softly in the background, and the snow outside blanketed the world in peaceful silence.

[queenlua]

hey lua what decks do phoenix aceattorney and miles aceattorney play in magic

PHOENIX WRIGHT

once upon a time, a friend bullied me into going to a Pro Tour Qualifier, which was probably the largest Magic tournament i’d ever been to at that time, right?

i was happy to be bullied, to be clear, but the problem was… i hadn’t played standard-format Magic competitively in about 2-3 years.  so my knowledge of the current metagame, what deck archetypes were popular, and what the current cards even were, was staggeringly limited.

“it will be fine,” said my friend.  “here, take this spare deck i built.  it’s super-straightforward and easy,” he lied.

he said this to me approx. 8 seconds before the first round began, so uhhhhh, i sure was playing a game of magical cards without ever having even looked at the damn deck before!

so, lo, literally in the course of playing the deck, i was learning how this shit was supposed to work.  “oh!” i’d exclaim with delight, halfway through my turn.  “THAT’S how those two cards are supposed to interact.  oh that’s super clever.  what a neat combo.”  and then i’d proceed to shiftily look at my opponent over my cards, riffle those cards a lil bit, and then say “pass” with as much of an enigmatic vibe as i could muster.

meanwhile, my opponent was Actually Prepared, and they were Trying To Win, and they were pissed.  they threatened to call Slow Play on me because i was taking so fucking long reading all the cards.  as in, he literally called a judge over, who stood there watching me the whole time, in order to determine if i was being Criminally Bad At Magic versus just A Regular Amount Of Bad At Magic, and i was sweating bullets the whole time because i didn’t know this deck or their deck or any of those cards and AHHHH why is the judge staring at me!!!

….which only served to make it EXTRA-humiliating for this poor fuck when i proceeded to eviscerate them 2-0.  hahahah get dunked onnnnnnnn nerd!!!

and then i also proceeded to eviscerate my next opponent???

sheer dumb luck.  i cannot overstate how ill-prepared i was for this tournament.  i absolutely did not deserve these wins.

meanwhile the friend who gave me the deck was having a much worse time with their deck, and they were like “what the fuck. you weren’t supposed to win. how are you winning with that shit, my deck’s so much better than yours”

anyway.  i think that’s the kind of scenario Phoenix would get into if he were an MtG player.  dude Gets Himself Into Situations And Then Uses Cleverness + Bullshit + Luck To Get Out Again.

(AA4-era Phoenix seems like he’s doing the same thing… but, in reality, he’s actually been meticulously crafting his deck in secret for the past six months.  he’s not even aiming to win the tournament, he’s just exploiting a known weakness in the opponent-matching system that lets him know with certainty who he’s going to get matched up against (spoiler: first round is Kristoph), and he’s hyper-optimizing his deck to beat Literally Only Those People.  meanwhile, Apollo, who built a tryhard hyper-optimized variant of Red Deck Wins, is lowkey annoyed that Phoenix's seemingly-random pile keeps vaulting him just one table above him in the standings, because Apollo knows his deck is better. he knows it!!!! just let him go 1v1 and prove it aaaaughhhh!!!)

((also, in case you want Actual Concrete Cards And Colors And Stuff: in general i think Phoenix prefers limited play (draft, sealed, "anything where you open booster packs on the spot & throw a deck together") to constructed play, because he doesn't like being tied down to any one game plan. when he does play constructed, i think he's less attached to a specific colors and more attached to specific mechanics. in particular: he's not a combo player exactly, but he likes mechanics that feel like bullshit. dude saw Madness for the first time & his eyes lit up & he was in LOVE, "you mean i'm discarding the card but then i can cast it for free??? hell YES." he absolutely ran a poison counter deck during New Phyrexia. ah fuck i just realized he was probably a huge stan for noted awful expansion Battle for Zendikar, i think i gotta cancel him now, sorry))

((and i think Phoenix also has a touch of Timmy in him! like, i went to a huge state tournament once with a bunch of really skilled players, and there was this one dude in our car who had a really solid deck, clearly adhered to a lot of the trends in the meta at the time... but his win condition was a Shivan Dragon. which wasn't a bad card at the time, it was a reasonable win condition, but it was... slightly suboptimal? not at all the obvious pick? sort of random? and multiple people asked him "why is that your win condition" & he shrugged and said "i like dragons." so the dragon stayed & that dude ended up getting second place in the whole tournament so FUCK optimal play, bring a dragon. i think Phoenix would sneak in a dragon now and again. just 'cause))

MILES EDGEWORTH

this one is trickier!!!

young!Miles is just going to play Whatever The Meta Deems To Be The Best Deck, right. the von Karma perfection thing and all. it's all very boring & micro-optimized to be the Best Deck Of Its Kind & he pours over the results of the big name tournaments week after week & does some math or whatever to hyper-optimize his own build of the Obviously Correct Deck. there is no soul in any of this, purely Executing On A Formula.

...but then he experiences Character Growth & has his big gay crisis & now he has to pick up the game again. he opens the latest tournament results... clicks around some win % stats for various cards in a desultory kinda way, and... his heart's just not in it, right?

enter 2-4 era Miles. 2-4 era Miles is playing some utterly unhinged Five Color Good Stuff thing. there's a lot of Planar Chaos cards in there, because that whole set was about Weird Shit & cards doing Stuff You're Familiar With (But In The Utterly Wrong Color!!!) & all that is resonating with Miles more than he'd care to admit. he cannot possibly talk about his unnecessary feelings but he can make a weird noise rock album about them. and by noise rock album i mean this fucking Magic deck.

and he's playing this deck with a 100% straight face, as though this is the exact same behavior that won him the Junior Super Series five years in a row & not a desperate cry for help from a madman. everyone else is like Miles... are you playing fucking singletons... in a fucking standard deck... you know your deck will be more consistent with four-ofs right... and then he gives a cool fish-eyed stare & taps out to cast some arcane bullshit legendary creature & gives a single rap of his knuckles against the table to indicate that he's passing the turn.

and it works, is the thing! all those years of training to be the Spikiest Spike Ever have paid off; this Five Color Good Stuff thing relies on some pretty clever insights to make the mana base work, and parts of what he's doing eventually get adopted by the larger metagame to become an Actual Serious Deck. but, like. it's still a monstrosity. any skilled players watching are still definitely wondering Are You Okay, Dude.

after 2-4, i think Miles settles back into playing something more normal. he still cares about winning, but he's going to do it with a touch of class. he wants a game that involves dialogue, some actual back-and-forth, because just trying to combo off is lame coward behavior.

aw yeah baby we're talking counterspells!!!

he's a blue player at heart & he's happiest when he's updating the autopsy report shutting down whatever his opponent's plan is. he'll splash other colors as the occasion calls for it, but he'd be happy running mono-blue the rest of his life. like, i ran a pretty fun Legacy deck back in the day which consisted of:

every kind of counterspell i could get my hands on,

propaganda because FUCK creatures,

thieving magpies for the card draw,

and a few silver wyverns to, y'know, actually win the game

...and i think Miles would appreciate that deck. just play counterspells until the opponent runs out of steam & then cruise your way to victory with a couple birds. simple. elegant. classic. doesn't involve any of this modern Planeswalker bullshit (Miles regards most developments that happened to MtG post-Time Spiral block or so as affronts to game design).

(i do think Miles has a secret fondness for sagas as a card type, however. they remind him of all that Character Growth, but in an abstract/subconscious/nonthreatening way. too bad most of them are a bit of poor match for the kinds of decks he likes to play)

FINALLY: i think Miles hates playing Commander with every fiber of his being & Phoenix loves it & this is a pretty serious point of contention in their relationship. poor dudes

[fafnir19]

Desperate Gamble

Lewis ran his hand through his unkempt, long blond hair, the weight of desperation settling in his tired eyes. He had lost his job, and the mountain of unpaid bills loomed over him like a dark cloud. Determined to turn his luck around, he made his way to the casino, hoping for a miracle. As he settled in front of the slot machines, he felt a glimmer of hope dwindling away with each spin of the reels.

Empty pockets and desperation drove him deeper into despair. That's when he caught the gaze of a sharply dressed man, Natas. "You look like you could use a win," Natas said, his voice smooth as silk. Lewis forced a weary smile. "I've already lost everything. It's too late for me." But Natas offered him a lifeline, a handful of chips to try his luck at roulette. "Keep the winnings for yourself. But if luck turns, I get to change something about you," Natas proposed, a smirk playing on his lips.

Desperation mixed with curiosity, Lewis accepted the chips and moved to the roulette table, filled with apprehension about Natas' vague terms. As the wheel spun, a spark of hope flickered in Lewis' eyes. He won the first two rounds, his spirits lifted. Yet, as the wheel stopped on the wrong number, Natas intervened. Lewis' long hair vanished, replaced by a neat faded cut.

His reflection showed a stranger in the mirror, but the thrill of victory outweighed his unease. Natas commented, "You look a little more well-groomed now," as Lewis racked up more wins. However, as luck ebbed and flowed, Lewis lost another round, and Natas changed his clothes, transforming his casual t-shirt into a crisp, unbuttoned shirt.

"Much better," Natas remarked, a glint of amusement in his eyes. With each victory, Lewis felt a new surge of hope, until the next loss resulted in a drastic change. His entire body morphed, becoming younger and more athletic.

Natas observed, "What a handsome devil you are now." Despite his unease about Natas' unpredictable alterations, the thought of erasing his debts fueled Lewis' resolve. He played on, ignoring the nagging fear brewing within him. Then with another loss, Lewis was taken aback to find a curly brown hair sprouting on his scalp. It was an odd change, but he found himself oddly comforted by the familiarity of his hair quirks. Another loss besieged him, and with it came a sudden eruption of beard hair that covered him like an untamed wilderness.

He found some semblance of peace and was convinced that Natas had run out of new ideas and a smile tugged at his lips. After all, what more could Natas possibly change about him? A curly hair and a beard, he thought wryly. It seemed frivolous and, frankly, amusing. As he continued his winning streak, a glimmer of hope danced in his eyes. Perhaps, just perhaps, he could finally clear his suffocating debts. However, the relentless whims of fate had other plans and Natas was far from done with his cruel game.

The next loss swiftly changed Lewis' appearance once again. This time, he found himself clad in a tuxedo, the sharp lines and tailored precision a far cry from the chaotic jumble of curly hair that had covered his sculp moments before.

Natas remarked: "You're more of a classic type. The tuxedo and the buzz cut suits you,"

And with the next loss, the tailored tuxedo morphed into a classic tailcoat. The beard was gone, replaced by the clean lines of the tailcoat, disturbingly polished and refined.

Natas' smug satisfaction was palpable as he remarked, "You look like a sophisticated servant in a tailcoat. I like that!” His eyes glittered with a mocking expression that betrayed unspeakable amusement. It felt like being stripped of an armor that had been forged from sheer desperation. It was a strange spectacle, Lewis mused, as the weight of his debts and Natas' twisted game bore down on him. The classic tailcoat now clung to him like a haunting specter of the changes that had befallen him. He felt like a marionette, herded along by the whims of an unseen force, the fabric clinging close like a whisper from a forgotten time.

Euphoria clawed at Lewis as the stakes rose. He was close to ridding himself of his debts, the  question of what Natas might alter next became a distant thought. As the wheel slowed to a stop, Lewis lost once more, and Natas' next change left him reeling. A sharp pain seared through Lewis, and in an instant, he was circumcised. Natas' chilling words pierced through Lewis, "You shouldn't hide anything from me, not even your glans under your foreskin." Shaken to the core, Lewis struggled with mounting terror, but the specter of his debts loomed larger. Pushing his fear down, he steeled himself to continue, knowing he was only a few wins away from financial freedom.

However, this time, the ball landed on the wrong number, and Natas' eyes twinkled with a devious delight. Lewis's pulse quickened, a knot forming in the pit of his stomach as he awaited the next change. But nothing happened. Confusion etched lines into his forehead as he turned to Natas. "Why... why didn't you change anything?" Natas' grin widened as he leaned in, his voice dripping with wicked amusement. "Ah, my dear Lewis, sometimes the greatest changes are not physical but rather... internal." Lewis's gaze hardened with a flicker of trepidation as he absorbed Natas' words. "What do you mean, internal?" Natas' eyes gleamed with a sinister glint as he began to explain. "You see, my friend, this time I didn't change your appearance. Instead, I made a change to your very essence, your soul, your... personality." An icy jolt of fear shot through Lewis' veins. His breath caught in his chest as the gravity of Natas' words sank in. "What did you do to me?" Natas let out a throaty chuckle, relishing in Lewis' disconcerted state. "You are now my loyal servant, my dear Lewis," Natas said, savoring every word. "And from now on, you shall pronounce my name the right way round. I am Satan, and you are Siwel."

Lewis' heart thundered in his chest, and a chill crept down his spine. The weight of Natas's proclamation shattered Lewis' hopes and imprisoned him in an unfathomable terror. "No, this can't be happening. I won't be... Siwel." Lewis’ mouth twisted into a desperate plea. "Please, don't do this. I beg you," he implored, his voice laced with desperation. "There must be an alternate path. I can't be tethered to this... this servitude." Satan smirked, an eerie satisfaction twisting his features. "But where has your freedom led you, Siwel? Bereft of purpose, shackled by debts. Your existence is an aimless spiral." Lewis grappled with the turmoil in his heart, the stinging tendrils of despair clawing at his resolve. "I beg of you, grant me a second chance. Release me from this servitude," he pleaded, his voice wrought with anguish. Satan's eyes glittered with malevolent amusement, but he could sense the desperation in Lewis' words. "Very well, a gamble then," Satan proposed, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. "The next round will be the decisive one. If you win, you will be free to leave and return to your former self. However, if you lose, you will become my servant in every sense, including a change in your sexual orientation." Lewis' stomach twisted in knots, and a conflict raged within him. As the wheel spun, Lewi's thoughts whirled with indecision. His old life had been marred by despair and debt, while his new existence under Satan's tyranny offered a semblance of purpose, albeit twisted and vile. The thought of giving in to Satan's dark whims filled him with fear, but the prospect of returning to his old life was also grim. A daring impulse seized Lewis, and as the ball spiraled in the roulette wheel, he delved into the depths of his tumultuous mind. Surrendering to the chaos within, he let the ball roll and just as it neared a stop, he reached out and grabbed the ball and said with a cocky grin, "I think I've lost now!"

Satan's eyes flashed with dark glee, a cruel satisfaction washing over his features. "You seem to like balls," he remarked, reveling in Siwel's new fate. "From now on, you shall be a croupier in the casino, seducing people into gambling and addiction. And you'll offer your own balls for play, for both men and women alike." Siwel got horny by the thought that strangers play with his balls and he felt the shackles of his former self disintegrate with a  sensation of numb respite. "Yes, Satan," he murmured, inundated by a tide of delectable submission. "Thank you for this...refined purpose."

The sultry chuckle of Satan echoed through the dimly lit casino, sending a shiver of anticipation down Siwel's spine. The once-desperate man had transformed into a willing participant in Satan's twisted game, his heart pounding with a newfound exhilaration. As he stood before his master, a strange fusion of euphoria and apprehension coursed through him. "Satan, I'm grateful for the purpose you've bestowed upon me," Siwel began, his voice tinged with a mixture of fervor and trepidation. "I am eager to embrace my role as a croupier and seduce patrons into the vices of gambling and addiction." Satan's eyes glimmered with malevolent satisfaction. "Ah, Siwel, you understand the extent of your newfound purpose. Your willingness to indulge the desires of others will pave the way for their descent into the depths of temptation." Siwel's gaze drifted to the opulent surroundings of the casino, a haven for both decadence and despair. "I shall become the harbinger of their vices, an instrument of allure and enticement to beckon them further into the labyrinth of their own desires." Satan's lips curled into a sinister smile. "And do not forget, my devoted servant, that you offer your own allure as well. Your charismatic appeal will entice both men and women, binding them to the tantalizing allure of the game." Siwel's heart quickened at the prospect, a strange sense of purpose intertwining with his impending subservience. "I am ready to embrace this role wholeheartedly. Through temptation and allure, I shall ensnare their souls, binding them to the fate that I now willingly serve."

Days turned into endless nights, and Siwel was consumed by the intoxicating waltz of temptation and seduction. As he drifted through the hallowed halls of the casino, he became the embodiment of desire itself, a siren beckoning unwitting patrons into a turbulent sea of addiction and longing. One fateful eve, as the chimes of the roulette wheel reverberated through the casino, Satan's piercing gaze met Siwel's as the master of temptation approached his devoted servant. "Siwel, your dedication to the seductive arts has not gone unnoticed," Satan purred, his voice dripping with malevolent allure. "Your willingness to draw others into the enthralling web of temptation shall serve as a testament to your newfound devotion." Siwel's pulse quickened with a strange mixture of complicity and longing. "I embrace this role with every fiber of my being, eager to ensnare those who dare to test the boundaries of their desires." As the nights bled into each other, Siwel's spirit was consumed by the inferno of his newfound allure, a passion burgeoning within him that blurred the line between devotion and subservience.

On a moonlit night, amid the haunting melody of the casino's symphony, Satan approached Siwel once more. "Do you realize, Siwel, that to me, you are little more than a slot machine—an object to indulge the desires of those who dare to seek out their temptations."

Siwel's lips curved into a smile, a strange sense of excitement blossoming in his heart. "You have objectified me, my master, and yet, I have found a purpose in your bewitching design. Through the allure of temptation, I have become a vassal to the desires of those who revel in the tapestry of their vices." Satan's eyes gleamed with dark satisfaction as he beheld his devoted servant. "Your unwavering submission to the art of temptation is a testament to the mastery of your newfound purpose. Embrace the allure that envelops you, Siwel, and surrender to the symphony of enticement that binds you to the very essence of their desires." Lewis has become a living embodiment of his sinister master's command: An object of indomitable attraction, subservience and desire.

[scarletwritesshit]

♠️ Aventurine x Reader ♠️ Under the Gun

For a man who was betting a ton of credits, he looked unusually confident.

He could just be bluffing. You hoped that he was bluffing. But, from the nightmares described by various IPC members, as well as a bit of personal experience, you had to agree that perhaps, Aventurine was indeed a menace to deal with.

Among the complaints of varying degrees, Topaz’s gripes stuck out the most. She constantly mumbled about him being a slimy, unsavory bastard, and despite the two of you being on less than positive terms, she wouldn’t wish his presence upon you in a thousand Amber Eras.

Did you ever heed her warnings? Clearly not, as you were face-to-face with Aventurine in a two-person game of Belobog Hold’em. From the dastardly look on his face, he seemed to have a plan. And that plan was to completely drain you of whatever credits you had left in your pockets with his next move.

He rested his head on his hand and smiled at you, his eyes piercing your soul through his rose-tinted glasses. Aventurine’s smirk was that of a confident man who knew what he was doing, and perhaps nothing you could do could stop him from winning this game. Keeping your composure at such a sight was proving to be a challenge, especially considering how your hand wasn’t exactly the best. Aventurine could practically see through your hand, it felt like, and he was secretly amused by the almost guaranteed loss you were staring at.  To have this much confidence, he must either have ended up with a practically unbeatable hand from the sheer force of dumb luck, or he knew how to, quite literally, play his cards right.

Or, perhaps he could see that you were not quite paying full attention to the game, and your focus lied primarily within Aventurine himself. It was a sense of morbid curiosity to see if he was as truly awful as the rumors and tales had described that inclined you to play a one-on-one private game of poker with him. To Aventurine, it was all another one of his “business deals,” and he had business of lining his pockets with the spoils of your failure.

You had put so much money in, just to see how far you could take this game, but with every credit wagered on the table, his smile grew ever more confident. Perhaps you should’ve quit early to minimize your losses, but there was something about seeing that dastardly smirk that caused you to stray from your real goal of satisfying a basic curiosity.

Or did this “curiosity” extend beyond the simple urge to meet him alone?

The realization of your impending losses began to set in, and you were looking back and forth between your awful and Aventurine’s confident gaze. You couldn’t let things end here, but you knew that he had you backed in a corner and that a second round with him just wouldn’t be possible.

“Well?” he said with a little laugh, “What’s the holdup?”

You said nothing, as you attempted to maintain a cool and collected expression to hide the despair in your hand.

“Cat got your tongue, my dear?” he said, waving his cards mockingly like a fan.

“No,” you said, forcing your eyes off of him.

“Ah, then…what’s the holdup? Thinking a little too hard, perhaps?”

You didn’t want to allude to the awful position you were in. Not to him, especially, but at this point, what more could you do? No matter how hard you looked at your final hand, all combinations of cards were beyond awful. Aventurine could play the most underwhelming hand and he would still have you defeated like a sore loser, and his smile told the entire story.

That was a face of a man who knew he had won, one that had a chokehold on you.

Shaking your head, completely defeated, you placed your cards down on the table. Aventurine was all too happy to place his down with the same smug look that had been taunting you since the very beginning of this game.

You didn’t want to see just much Aventurine won by, so you merely concentrated on your own depressing cards as you flipped them over. A pair. There was no way you were winning anything with that.

“Well… it seems like I win this one,” Aventurine said.

After taking a deep breath, you finally convinced yourself to look at his cards. You knew he had you beat quite badly, but you didn’t want to see just how badly.

Four of a kind. It would’ve taken some immense luck on your end to beat that, something that you simply did not have. And now you found yourself down more credits than you actually had.

You should’ve heeded the warning of Topaz and the others. Aventurine was not one to be taken so lightly in the very game he specializes in.

“Another round might satisfy you, perhaps?” Aventurine asked, picking up a chip and fidgeting with it in his fingers.

“As much as I would love to continue playing with you, first I need to figure out how to pay you back,” you admitted.

“Pay me back? You mean to tell me that you kept betting with credits that you didn’t have?”

You nodded your head. You knew it wasn’t the brightest idea, but hearing Aventurine flat-out expose you in such a manner provoked some sort of irritation within you. The problem was, you couldn’t tell if you were more frustrated with yourself or him.

“And in a game with an IPC member, too.  What-ever could you have possibly been thinking? Did you maybe, want to go into debt or something? Did you want me to go after you?”

You were supposed to be the one going after him, but Aventurine took advantage of your blunder and turned things against you. Except, he wasn’t curious about some rumors, he wanted to collect his rewards. And a debt you did indeed owe to him, one he was all too happy for you to owe. It was as if he was awaiting this moment the entire time, as if he had a surefire way of making sure he would end up on top.

A method such as rigging the game, perhaps.

“Go after me? In what sense?” you asked.

“Hmm, how do you think? Relentlessly pursuing you until I get what I am after? Haha, though I have got to admit, I was fully expecting you to hit me up for one more round, maybe to try and win everything back. Takes a lot for someone to finally admit defeat.”

Was he complimenting you? Surely, he couldn’t be complimenting you, if anything, it was a snide commentary on how well you’ve managed to dig yourself a hole.

“Thanks?” you said, at a genuine loss for words.

“Ah, well, I know you’re thinking that you’re going to have to pay up eventually, but I can’t help but be curious that there was something else you were after,” he said, ceasing the fidgeting of the chip in his fingers and began smiling with devious intent.

“After what, exactly?” you asked, trying to clear up exactly what he was implying.

“Something that, to you, must be more valuable than any singular credit in all of Penacony. Something that was clearly enough to deviate your focus from the game and instead direct it to what was in front of the very cards that determined your fate.”

“You mean like the chance to wipe that insufferable look off of your face?”

“Oh, if only I could believe that you would do such a thing.”

You could challenge him to yet another round of Belobog Hold’em anyways, but he was well aware that your pockets were heading deep into the negatives, and the risk of falling even further into debt was greater than the reward. Your options were ultimately limited, but you weren’t willing to back down so easily. Especially not to someone as insufferable as Aventurine.

“Want me to prove it?” you said, glaring into his eyes.

Aventurine put the poker chip that he was fidgeting with prior down on the table.

“Now you’re getting awfully bold for someone who finds themselves deep in debt. I’ll have you know, it doesn’t matter if we’re talking about my IPC duties or playing cards, because I always hit the jackpot.”

“Jackpot?” you said, snatching the poker chip out from under him. “Can you really say that with such confidence, especially when foul play is involved?”

You held the poker chip up to one of your eyes, and closely observed Aventurine through the other. His confidence was not diminished by your revolt, and his grin seemed to grow ever slyer by the moment. He either knew that, despite you catching on, he had gotten away with his trickery, or Aeons be damned this man truthfully knew how to play his cards right.

“Luck and foul play do not equate, my dear,” Aventurine said.

“Do you want to run that by me one more time?” you said, moving the poker chip down from your eye and squinting at him.

With a teasing laugh, Aventurine stated, “I said, luck and foul play are not the same, my dear.”

He was driving you to your wit’s end. Aventurine had to be hiding some kind of dirty secret to never lose in such a manner. You were determined to fight the answer out of him, whether it truly was some form of hidden skill or everything now and before was rigged. Sometimes, the best way to counter foul play was to break the rules yourself and knock the self-declared king down the hierarchy.

Aventurine would spend the entirety of the evening waving his winning hand in front of your face if that is what it took for you to back down.

At this point, you didn’t have the patience for any more of his antics.

No roundabout way of making him confess his dirty little secrets would cause him to crack any time soon. Not to mention, you were nearing the point of wanting to choke him out.

You slammed the stolen poker chip on the table, which Aventurine looked down at the cards and chips rebounding from the force.

“Getting a little feisty now, aren’t w- “

You reached out while Aventurine was focused on the disturbed table and slipped your fingers under his choker. Before he had a chance to react, you pulled him forward across the table, knocking over what remained of the stacks of chips and cards. You held him firmly in front of you, giving Aventurine almost no other option but to look directly into your eyes.

“Two can play at that game,” you said, tightening your grip on his choker.

Despite the situation Aventurine now found himself in, he was strangely calm about the entirety of it. The smile on his face, though dastardly, was tainted with some sort of twisted joy.

“Ha, I can’t say I’ve ever played a game that ended with me in such a tangle,” he said.

“That’s an awful surprise considering how insufferable you are.”

“Insufferable? Coming from you, of all people? I’d argue that you’re doing this strictly on purpose, to study my ‘tactics’ up close and personally.”

“Because I am, so I can catch you in case you try to pull a fast one on me.”

“By looking at me ever so closely? Why, I’d argue that you’re more interested in me than that little bet you claim I’ve won by illicit means.”

You tugged on his choker a bit, to try and shake a little sense into that man. However, Aventurine’s smile never dissipated; his eyes only grew more focused with a kind of hunger only a man seeking his reward could have. He should sensibly be threatening you to hand over his payment, yet he had not uttered one word of demand for his credits this entire time.

Could he actually be finding some form of enjoyment from this? Enough to forgo the temptation of the hefty balance of credits that was being dangled in front of him like an earthworm worm to a fish?

“And for a man with the promise of becoming rich, you seem awfully distracted from your bounty.”

“Becoming rich?” he said with a laughter muffled by your grip, “Oh, sweetie, I have more money than your mind could possibly comprehend. It’s not often that I get as much enjoyment out of a simple game of poker as I am right now.”

It would appear that your theory was right. Aventurine was deriving some sort of sick enjoyment from your threats. Perhaps, he wouldn’t mind it if you stepped things up a notch, then?

“This isn’t a matter of it being a so-called simple game of poker,” you said, pushing aside the cards and chips that were in your way.

“It’s more of a game between us now.”

You pulled Aventurine even closer to you, close enough to where you can feel his breath on your face. Any further, and he would be pulled out of his chair onto the table, or even worse, a bit too close to you.

“Now? Are you sure that it wasn’t always between us?”

“Very clever of you to think such absurdity, though it would explain how horribly you were playing. Or, perhaps you’re just naturally awful. But I couldn’t blame you regardless, as I am quite the charmer, after all.”

“You want to repeat that, pretty boy?”

“Pretty boy. I do like the sound of that.”

You wanted to tug Aventurine even closer, but you physically couldn’t, unless you wanted him directly against your face. The most you could do is grip his choker even tighter, wearing at the leather with the sheer force of your fist.

“Quiet now, you scoundrel,” you snapped.

“Pretty boy? Scoundrel? Make up your mind,” Aventurine taunted.

He was indeed a pretty boy, but at the same time, he was a scoundrel. He had a way with words, a way with looks, and unfortunately, a way with cards.

“You’re keeping me awfully close for someone who thinks I’m a scoundrel,” he continued, “Aren’t you afraid I’m going to cheat you out of a little more than your money?”

“What could you possibly do with this quite literal chokehold I have on you?” you said.

“Repay the favor, of course,” he said, lifting up one of his hands that he used to steady himself.

You braced yourself for a hostile retribution. Repay the favor how, exactly? Did he have a genuine suspicion that you were trying to kill him? Out of sheer instinct, you grabbed your pistol with your free hand and held it directly against his head, flicking off the safety and finger almost desperate for the trigger. Even in the face of death, Aventurine did not flinch, and his smile was as dastardly as ever.

To your great surprise, he simply brushed some of the hair that had fallen in front of your eyes away. Despite the gun armed and ready to blow his brains out should he attempt something clever, he paid no mind to the imminent threat to his life.

“That’s it?” you said, completely deprived of words. “Not even with a gun aimed directly at your vitals?”

Aventurine nudged the gun away from his head, aiming it at the ceiling directly above him. You didn’t bother to reposition yourself, though you still kept the safety off, just in case.

“Oh, I know you couldn’t bring yourself to do such a thing,” he taunted.

Unfortunately, Aventurine was right. As much as he was getting on your nerves, it didn’t warrant taking his life. You slowly lowered your pistol onto the table, still keeping it close, just in case.

“Ha, you’re quite the pretty one yourself, even when you’re acting all scary. It’s almost enough to distract a man as sharp as me.”

“Almost? With the way you were eyeing me up, I could almost believe that you were too focused on me to even think twice about cheating.”

“Oh, back on that again, are we? Isn’t there something you’d rather focus on, instead of whether or not you can trust a little ol’ member of the IPC?”

Almost impulsively, you pulled him ever so slightly closer, to the point where he was agonizingly close to you. Hardly even a single inch of space separated you and him.

He was right. With him so close and in your grasp, you could care less about all of the credits you owed to Aventurine. Though, every time the topic of the debt was mentioned, Aventurine brushed it off almost as quickly as it came up. In a way, it was almost as if he could care less about what would be pocket change to him.

“Focus on what, exactly?” you asked.

“Who else, other than the bastard you have in your grasp right now? The one who you absolutely refuse to break eye contact with, the one you claim to despise so much?”

“Despise enough to not back down from, but…not enough to reject his company.”

“My point exactly,” he whispered while running his finger across your cheek, gently brushing the edge of your lips.

“Now what are you playing at?” you snapped, in an indirect way to ask for clarification on Aventurine’s intent.

“It’s something that I want, something that we both want, more than the truth behind the legitimacy of a back-alley game of poker,” Aventurine said, with a smile that suddenly went soft.

“Long story short, you mean each other. You think that our intent for allowing this game to spiral out of control was to win over each other, and not for the spoils of currency?”

“Judging by your poor performance, I’d say it’s far from an improbability.”

“And your constant diversion from the topic of the money,” you said.

“Perhaps.”

Your grip on him suddenly softened, allowing Aventurine a bit more freedom to move. Certainly, you weren’t expecting this to happen just because you wanted to fight back a little, but if that were really the case, then perhaps you were a bit too rough with him? No, Aventurine was clearly indulging himself in the pleasure of someone bold enough to step up to him. Someone who knew very well of his dangers, yet still faced him head on.

Everything about that gaze, that smile, those bastardly mannerisms of his had you so entranced.

And you so very badly wanted to put him in his place.

“Giving up already?” he said, disappointed at your sudden withdrawal.

“What? Did you want me to choke you out?”

“Ha, you like me too much. But feel free to tug me as close to that pretty face of yours as you wish.”

Obedience was not exactly what you were so eager to show Aventurine, but the chance to tug on him even more was not something you were going to pass up. You forcefully pulled him even closer, once again reducing the distance between your faces to hardly a single inch. The two of you were locked in a stare, closely watching for each other’s next move.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Don’t tell me you’ve gotten too shy all of a sudden.”

“I’m not, it’s just, is this really what you want out of me, Aventurine?”

“What do you think I’ve been trying to pry out of you this entire time, sweetheart?”

It would be comedically cruel to toy with him further, but also a wait that you could no longer bear. With no resistance from Aventurine himself, you yanked his collar further until your lips met at long last. Yet, you did not free Aventurine from your grasp the entire time, but he seemed to care not, as he had finally hit the jackpot he was alluding to throughout the entire game.

Once you two had drifted apart, you rested your foreheads against each other, though your fingers were still gently hooked on his choker.

“You freein’ me now that you’ve had your fun?” Aventurine said.

Sighing, you unhooked your fingers, allowing him to relax back into his chair. He stood up, and in one swift, graceful swoop, Aventurine collected the scattered deck of cards, even snatching your depressing play right from under your nose. The chips were neatly stacked and set to the side, no longer accounting for what either party had on the line.

“What about the debt?” you said, looking at the pile of now neatly organized poker chips.

“Debt? What debt?”

He didn’t forget about those credits at all, but Aventurine could care less as he simply won something far better than any form of monetary value.

“Don’t be afraid to hit me up if you ever feel like throwin’ down some cards again,” Aventurine said.

“I can’t guarantee that it wouldn’t end with me throwing you down on the table.”

“Are you threatening me with a good time?” Aventurine said, turning to look at you with a smirk. “Because if that’s the case, why don’t we skip the card games and head straight to the fun?”

[cynicalrosebud]

Handle It (11): Playtime

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Summary: The 141 K9 Hybrids enjoy some pack rough-and-tumble time outside as their handlers watch on in amusement.

Warnings: None, enjoy!

Notes: I thought I had posted this already, my bad!

The training yard, now cleared of recruits, had a much more relaxed atmosphere as the afternoon sun began to sink lower in the sky. Off to one side, Alex stood with Ghost and Price, arms crossed as they watched the scene unfolding before them. The three of them had settled into a rare moment of downtime, and their hybrids—You, Gaz, and Soap—were taking full advantage of it.

Out in the open space, the trio of hybrids were in the middle of a full-on play wrestling match. Soap, always eager to cause a bit of chaos, pounced on Gaz, knocking him off balance with a growl. Gaz retaliated immediately, flipping Soap onto his back, while you darted in, taking advantage of the confusion to leap onto Soap as well, pinning him with surprising skill.

Gaz barked out a laugh, “Got you, mate!” He looked proud of himself for managing to keep Soap down, but that victory was short-lived as Soap wriggled free, rolling over to swipe at both you and Gaz. You hopped back, nimble and quick, tail wagging wildly as the game intensified.

Alex, watching from the side, chuckled. “They’ve got more energy than I ever know what to do with.”

Price took a slow sip from his thermos, a small smile tugging at his lips as he observed his hybrid, Gaz, dodging and weaving. “Better they burn it off now than in the middle of a mission.”

Ghost stood with his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on Soap, who had finally managed to knock Gaz onto his back. He grunted, “Soap always acts like he’s trying to prove something. Even in play.”

Alex smirked, glancing at Ghost. “It’s in his nature, isn’t it?”

As if on cue, you took advantage of Soap’s distraction, slipping behind him and tackling him to the ground with surprising force. Soap let out a startled yelp before barking out a laugh. “Alright, alright, you win that round, lass!” He flashed you a grin, then reached over to ruffle your hair affectionately, though it was clear he was already planning his next move.

The three of you continued to wrestle, tumbling across the yard in a blur of fur, tails, and laughter. The sheer energy radiating from the trio of hybrids was contagious, and even the usually stoic Ghost seemed amused by the playful chaos.

“I almost forget how young they are,” Price remarked, watching as Gaz nipped at Soap’s ear before darting away, Soap giving chase.

Alex nodded. “They need this. It’s good for them to let loose when they can. Not everything has to be mission focus all the time.”

Ghost tilted his head, his eyes on Soap as he made a leap for you and missed, landing in a tangle with Gaz instead. “Long as they don’t bring that energy back to base. Last thing I need is Soap bouncing off the walls.”

Alex laughed softly, “Good luck with that.”

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity of chasing, tumbling, and wrestling, the hybrids started to tire. Gaz plopped down, panting heavily but grinning ear to ear, while Soap flopped beside him, equally worn out. You padded over to Alex, sitting at his feet, looking both satisfied and a little winded from all the fun.

“Burned it all off, huh?” Alex crouched down, scratching behind your ears as you leaned into his touch. He glanced over at Ghost and Price, who were making their way over, both their hybrids sprawled out on the ground, catching their breath.

“Looks like we’ll have a quiet evening tonight,” Price said with a satisfied sigh.

Ghost gave a rare nod of approval, his usual sternness softened for a moment. “I’ll take it.” He shot a glance at Soap. “If you’re done acting like a pup, Soap.”

Soap, still lying on his back, only grinned, not moving an inch. “Aye, L.T., I’m done—for now.”

Alex chuckled, watching the playful camaraderie between everyone. Moments like this were rare, but they were a reminder that even in the midst of chaos, there was always time for a bit of fun.

[serensama]

I think we're getting low on onions again...

Chapter 4

Heavy dialogue, hardly any exposition. Too much bravado throughout. ALSO- I’m willing to believe in Antiva, there is a dialect of mostly Italian and one mostly Spanish. It is the only way I can take the mashing of it all in DA:VG. That is all.

Read on Ao3 Prompt 2 out of 25: Braggadocio Rivain. 

How he loved the bustling docks, the scents of the sea and the vibrant, carefree atmosphere of the coastal city. There was no better place apart from his beloved Antiva. 

The city was always livelier whenever big names fought in the Hall of Valor- and with Rook in the city as Isabella’s headliner, it felt almost like Satinalia with the amount of people clamouring about. Everyone wanted to see the person responsible for leading the charge against the Elven Gods and saving the world. 

Apart from the buzz of excitement and the heady aroma of rich spices- there was something different in the air. As he moved between the market stalls, a familiar tension began to coil in his gut, like the soft whisper of a shadow moving just beyond his sight. 

A voice broke through the din of the evening crowd. 

"Well, well, if it isn't the infamous Zevran Arainai. I heard you spent most of your time in Ferelden now," the voice was smooth, not unlike his own, with the same lilting accent of his homeland. Zevran turned, his hand instinctively reaching for a dagger. Standing across from him was a man, sharply dressed in impeccable dark leathers, his eyes gleaming with the calm confidence of someone who knew exactly what they were capable of. 

Lucanis Dellamorte. 

Lucanis had no intention of ever taking up the outstanding contract on Zevran. It was almost an urban legend within the Crows, that only those who wanted to die took it up, and this angel of death granted them what they had so craved. He did not give it much credence, he knew the target was just a highly skilled Crow with a grudge (not that he could really blame him). 

Lucanis never thought he would come across the man, the world was wide and if he wasn’t looking for him, the odds of finding him were little to non-existent. But the Maker worked in mysterious ways. When he saw an elven man with golden hair and tattoos along his face sitting beside Isabella, he knew exactly who he was looking at. He had the tell-tale posture of someone who had once been a killer for hire, the dark glint of experience in his eyes—the former Crow was unmistakable, even after over 20 years since leaving his House.

"There is a contract on your head," Lucanis said without flourish, not wishing to do a disservice to the legend before him. This did not need flair, or a witty rejoinder to follow up the killing blow. "You can come quietly, or you can resist and die. Either way, you're coming back to Antiva to answer for your crimes against House Arainai."

"Ah, the newest Talon himself. Your reputation precedes you, Lucanis. Must we do this? I had not intended to join in fights in or outside of the Hall, but I must admit, I am intrigued. It has been a while since I’ve had a good scuffle," Zevran smirked as his fingers danced idly over the hilts of his twin daggers. "Tell you what, Fledgling —if I win, I walk free, and you return to Antiva empty-handed with an amazing story to tell. If you win, I will go back with you and face whatever punishments await. What do you say? Nothing too formal like a duel to the death, some Talons can take time to kill and I’d rather make it in time for the opening rounds at the Hall of Valor."

The ebony haired assassin narrowed his eyes, sensing the weight behind Zevran’s challenge. Plainly said it was obvious the man didn’t want to kill Lucanis, but he firmly held the belief that he could. There was no hesitation in his stance, and he expected no less, as one could not exterminate six Eighth Talons in succession through sheer luck alone. 

"Very well. Let us see if the man truly lives up to the stories history has told about him."

“Ahh you flatter me, Fledgling. To know that the Crows still speak about me warms the cockles of my heart,” the older assassin grinned whilst he unsheathed his weapons, the steel glinting in the light of the setting sun. 

“In truth, you are mentioned as more of a cautionary tale, a ‘don’t do what this idiot did and bring shame to all of Antiva’, sort of deal,” Lucanis chuckled as he pulled out his prized wyvern toothed dagger. 

Zevran threw his head back in laughter, his own daggers hanging limply at his sides. “Wonderful! Nothing makes me happier to know this. Well, it has been fun, Baby Talon, but let us make this quick yes? I would like to get something to eat before the show starts.” 

Lucanis rushed forward and the civilians around them dispersed quickly, far too used to seeing this type of scene happen in their city. Whether it was a fight between pirates, lovers' spats or just two very drunk people, it was not uncommon for disagreements to end with blood being spilled. The two rogues were left in a large circle in the middle of the thoroughfare for the two to fight without the worry of hurting a random passer-by. 

For the most part, it seemed the two rogues were evenly matched. Zevran still moved with the grace and agility of a Crow in his prime, his blades flashing in and out of the fading light as he tried to find an opening in his opponent’s defences. Lucanis danced around nimbly with sharp, precise motions- each step and slash made with the controlled, measured quality his House was renowned for. Zevran was as fast as Lucanis was shrewd, and neither could afford any mistakes. The two were a blur of steel and shadow, determined to test the other’s mettle.

“This cannot be it, Baby Talon,” Zevran clucked his tongue at him, knowing that the man trying to kill him was holding back. “If you do not pull out something special, I will be taking that pretty dagger with me as a prize.”

Lucanis knew he was taunting him to make a mistake, to get a rise out of him and if it were any other weapon, anything other thing- he would not have reacted. But this was Rook’s first gift to him, he valued it more than his own heart. Lucanis’ eyes blazed as a surge of energy wrapped around him like a cloak. In an instant, he took to the air with eyes aglow and the ends of his wings sharpened – to cut the Old Crow!-  for threatening to take something that was theirs. Zevran cursed under his breath as Lucanis darted well above him making him impossible to reach, weaving through the air with inhuman speed.

Zevran, however, was no stranger to adversity and was always on to think quickly on his feet. 

“The rumours of you being a good old fashioned abomination are true then? My goodness it has been a while!” he yelled out over the clashes of their weapons.

“Not abomination! Partners! We made a deal!” Spite sneered as he dove once again, his raw power undeniable but his movements erratic and void of the focus Lucanis had.

“You see, that is exactly what an abomination would say,” the older Crow snickered as he continued to skirt around him. “I’ve killed my fair share, though not enough to get a fancy and apt nickname like you, oh Demon of Vyrantium,” he guffawed, ducking a swipe aimed at his face that if it had connected, would have rendered him blind and vulnerable. 

“Oh you think I’m fancy? I’m honoured,” Lucanis retorted, taking back to the sky. “But make no mistake, the greatest honour will be collecting your contract and putting this business to rest after all these years!” 

Their weapons sparked after Lucanis’ attack was blocked, pushing the former assassin closer to the edge of their unofficial arena. They stilled for a moment, both breathing heavily and sizing the other up, before Zevran managed a soft laugh. 

"You will make a fine First Talon, Lucanis, truly. You have been a worthier opponent than most," he complimented the younger man, rolling his wrists and spinning his blades with unexpected dexterity for a man so long out of the Crow’s employ.

Lucanis dropped lightly to the ground, his eyes narrowing. He was not so green to trust that his enemy was not biding his time or using it to plan something to gain an advantage over him.

"My thanks. You’re not bad yourself, it is a shame the Crows lost you, you would have made a fierce Eighth Talon yourself if you had been so inclined. But your kind words will not win this battle, Master Arainai. You will answer for your crimes against the Crows."

Zevran, ever the charmer, flashed him a devilish smirk. It was not the first time he had heard those words and he knew it would not be the last. "Perhaps I will not win today. And you are right, I will have to face the consequences of all my actions eventually. But not today, and certainly not by you."

Lucanis’s lips quirked slightly as he looked at the elf, respect passing between them hidden underneath their snarky comments. A silent understanding born from their journey as Crows; fraught with hardship, and all the pain, blood and tears shed to get them both where they stood. 

“Before we continue, I hope you can humour me, First Talon.” 

“Certainly.”

“Tell me, Lucanis, are you as turned on as I am right now?” 

Lucanis asked Spite to repeat what Zevran had said, unsure if he misheard the man. Apparently, he did not. 

“What?!” Lucanis balked, afraid his eyes were bulging out of his head. He was a trained master assassin, things did not often surprise him but that- that random and invasive question confounded him. 

“Come now, you are a handsome young man, you must know this dance well,” Zevran grinned at his challenger's reaction.

“Dance of Death? Absolutely. Dance of whatever the hell you think is happening between us? Not at all!” Lucanis lurched, taking an unconscious step back. This was exactly why he preferred to get in and out as quickly as possible when it came to his contracts, whenever he stayed too long things got awkward; not much one can say to someone they’re there to kill without it being a little uncomfortable. Mind, he’d never been this kind of uncomfortable with a target but he supposed there was always a first for everything. 

“Look at you! So young and innocent to it all- it is so refreshing! The Crows sure have changed since-”

“Since you brutally and systematically slaughtered those Eighth Talons? Yes, yes they did. Not completely, and not all for the better, but changes were enacted thanks to the uh... consistent changes of leadership we faced, or so I was told,” Lucanis admitted thinking back on his past conversations with Teia and Viago. 

Zevran smiled and looked far too proud of himself for Lucanis’ liking upon hearing how he shook up the inner workings of his once beloved Crows. He felt like celebrating, not fighting- change was progress, change was good.

“I propose a new duel, we take each other to bed and the first one to fall to the raptures of bliss, has to let the other one go. The Loser has to be edged for the rest of the evening,” Zevran said as his eyes raked over Lucanis’ body appreciatively. “To be fair though... I wouldn’t mind being the winner or the loser.” 

The younger Crow stared at the lascivious man like he had just passionately made out with Caterina in front of him. 

“As...flattering though misguided your attempts to pitch woo at me are, I must deny you and insist we continue as we were,” Lucanis replied, cursing his body for reacting to the ex-assassin’s flirtations, his cheeks burning under the man’s gaze. Zevran was older, yes, but as an elf, he remained somewhat out of time’s clutches and looked merely 5-10 years older than the new head of House Dellamorte, and still as handsome as all the senior Crows had described.

“Pity. It would have been fun to frolic about with you and your lovely inamorata,” Zevran teased, falling back into a crouched position and readjusting his grip on his daggers. “Rook, right?” 

“You will not. Touch. Our. Rook!” Spite seethed with jealousy and possessiveness, monstrous waves of energy pouring out of him, alarming the crowd around them. “You should not breathe the air she breathes. We pity. For your chosen. You are Disloyal. Unfaithful. You dishonour them.”

The change in Zevran’s demeanour was imperceptible to most, but not to Lucanis. At the mention of someone the assassin held dear, the man’s bloodlust finally reared its head. 

“Your demon friend has quite the mouth on it, Baby Talon,” he hissed with such an edge that had it been a knife in his hand, he would have been the one to claim first blood. “You should teach it to speak only when spoken to and only on matters it understands. Your inamorata must be desperate indeed, to choose to lie with an abomination.”

“Old Crow talks too much. Knows nothing about our Rook,” the demon said, glaring at the blonde rogue, spinning his knives menacingly.

“Is that so? Well I do know that my Sereda is by far the most exquisite being to walk the world, in Orzammar and Thedas, and even so- she chose me freely.”

“My Rook is incomparable, resplendent and unrivalled in both the physical world and in all the Fade! The woman could have anyone but she has decided to stay at my side.” 

Zevran scoffed, pointing the tip of his blade at Lucanis’ head at the implication that anyone was more beautiful than his lover. 

“Sereda once killed seven enemy soldiers in succession using only her bow, three arrows, a dagger and a fork. She somehow managed to beat 2 of them to death with the end of her bow.” 

Lucanis snorted at his vain attempt to one up him through his lover’s accomplishments. For who could outdo Rook? 

“That’s nothing! Rook killed 20 darkspawn in a matter of 5 minutes- including two ogres!” 

“Impressive. But Sereda, an exiled dwarven princess, managed to make the human nobility of Ferelden bow to her whims and follow her judgements. She united clans of elves, werewolves, mages and dwarves to fight for her, together, under her command!” 

“Quite the feat. However Rook was once a Tevinter slave, and she rose up to defeat a blighted Qunari conqueror and saved Treviso from occupation- and that wasn’t even part of her saving the world, she just did it because she is a good and kind person!”

“Blighted? You want to speak of Blights? Sereda, was the Warden who ended the Fifth Blight in a year and killed an Archdemon! And during her downtime she chose the next King of Ferelden and Orzammar!”

“So what? Rook played personal matchmaker to Fen’Harel and the Inquisitor at the same time as stopping the whole world from being destroyed by the Elven Gods! On top of that, together we’ve killed two blighted dragons and two Archdemons!”

“...You did?”

“What... like it’s hard?”

“Seriously. How are you not turned on at all?”

“I know I am!” someone else chimed in behind them, startling the two rogues. Perched on top of a stone bench was Rook, grinning widely at them and waving all too casually. “Please continue, as a Lord of Fortune I heartily believe in relishing in one’s successes. Continue on telling everyone how amazing I am, Luca! Please, do not stop on my account. I’m about three more outlandish compliments away from orgasm.” 

The dwarf standing beside with her arms crossed shook her head and chuckled at the younger woman, her brash nature reminding her of herself back when she was running amok on the surface more than 20 years ago, flirting with everyone with a pulse. Rook glanced over her shoulder and turned back to the warring Crows. “Oh and please continue saying lovely things about my new friend Sereda Aeducan! Isabella introduced us, apparently the two of them go way back!” 

Zevran sheathed his daggers and smiled at his lover, leaving his neck thoroughly exposed to Lucanis. A rookie mistake. He had to exert more influence over Spite to ensure the demon did not prey upon it – it’s right there Lucanis! I could even bite him to death! -knowing that the man knowingly chose to end the match and no longer wished to fight. He could not bring himself to strike him down in good conscience, especially when Rook was looking at him so intently. 

“Principessa! Where have you been? I’ve been walking up and down these docks for hours waiting for your ship to come in!” he called out, completely disregarding Lucanis as a threat. “I was getting bored but some entertainment found me and kept me busy for a time.”

“I can see that Zev,” the Hero of Ferelden replied, glancing over to the First Talon. “Let me apologise for him, unfortunately once a smart ass Crow, always a smart ass Crow. I hope he didn’t cause you too much trouble.”

“Mi Amore! You wound me! I was minding my own business, when this man decided he wanted to collect on my long standing invitation. Did you just want me to accept and get killed for the sake of forgoing a little trouble?” 

“Zev, I do not believe that for one second!”

“It is alright my Lady Aeducan, he was no bother to me at all actually,” Lucanis called out, offering her a deep bow, scandalising the former Crow. Zevran, known for his quick wit was unable to reply with anything other unintelligible noises and offended expressions to anyone who was paying attention. Which unfortunately for him was no one but Spite, who cackled manically beside him. “It is a great honour to meet the Hero of Ferelden, I read of your accomplishments whilst growing up, I never thought I’d ever get the chance to have the pleasure of meeting you.” 

“You realise that I was the Warden’s companion throughout the Blight, yes? I helped!”

“Yes, yes that’s nice Arainai. Say, Lady Aeducan, have you ever come across a wyvern in your travels? I know you’ve travelled extensively and wanted to know the best places to go to see one in the wild nowadays.” 

“Oh yes, you’ll find the Hissing Wastes have many, and Crestwood has been known to have a few there too,” she replied, giggling at the childlike expression of awe her newest acquaintance wore. “I adore them, I spent three whole days just camped out at the Wastes, just watching them all go about their business. If you get me a map, I can mark where they were last and where I camped.”

“That would be amazing, thank you! I adore them too! Rook! Imagine, three days of wyverns!” Lucanis chirped excitedly. 

“I can’t believe I’m getting ignored for a glorified lizard,” Zevran whined, catching Rook’s eye who smiled at him apologetically. 

“Before you get too invested in planning our trip to the Wastes, Lucanis, Sereda and I were chatting and she told me Morrigan was also her friend. She was part of her team battling the Fifth Blight- what a small world right?!” Rook squealed, her feet tapping against the cobbled stone path. 

“Friend is… such a strong word,” Zevran chuckled as he took the dwarf in his arms and stole a kiss from her, not frightened to display his affection in public. Lucanis had a sneaking suspicion the elf probably enjoyed being watched. “Let us say she was a good acquaintance. A friendly tag-along. A mostly cordial associate who only occasionally threatened to make us eunuchs if we came a little too close to her fire at camp.” 

Rook hummed thoughtfully to the woman who assisted them since the start of their journey. “Are you remembering right? Our Morrigan was always so polite and personable, I can’t think of her to be anything else.” 

Zevran stared at Rook, his expression full of doubt and then back to Sereda who looked at the mage with surprise. 

“Huh. The only time Morrigan was ever personable to me was when I stole her mother’s grimoire for her… and then again when I killed her mother for her,” Sereda thought back, scratching her chin. 

“Ahhh that Flemeth! Part of me wished we had let the old bird live. If we got her out of the swamp and into some nicer clothes- she could have been a Wynne-level beauty and maybe she would have let me rest my weary head on her bosom.” 

“Was that before or after you beheaded her?” Sereda snorted. 

“YOU BEHEADED MYTHAL?” Rook shrieked, horrified at what she had heard. 

“Mythal? What are you talking about? Who is Mythal?” Sereda asked, openly confused. 

“The All-Mother of the Evanuris and my people! She was an elven goddess who took refuge in Flemeth!” Rook grimaced, remembering her time with her in the Fade. Thank goodness she hadn’t tried to kill her and just used her words- how many times was that woman murdered?! 

“Well hey look at that Baby Talon, my Sereda helped kill an Elven God too!” the fair-haired rogue rejoiced, finding another reason to brag about his lover, the woman in question only staring at him and shaking her head at his need to best the other man. He was impossible. 

A loud voice called out over the crowd, reminding them that the matches were set to start in one hour and to get to the Hall of Valor as soon as possible if they wanted seats. 

“Oh we need to go, Sereda!” Rook quipped, “They’ll be waiting for us.” 

“Us?��� Lucanis asked, brow crinkled with curiosity. 

“Isabella managed to twist my arm and have me fight in the arena with this one here,” the dwarf grinned, pointing to Rook with her thumb. “Isabella has pools running on which one of us will be able to get more kills.” 

“I’m willing to take Sereda for that bet,” Zevran said, pulling out his rather hefty money pouch and jingling the coins within. 

“Not so fast, I’ll double it, in favour of Rook ,” Lucanis countered and brought out his own very sizable purse from inside his jacket. 

“Not possible, Signore, for I will bet thrice of whatever you will put down!” Zevran chimed, pulling another pouch out from the sash at his waist. 

“Alright, alright, I can see where this is going- no need to pull out all your sacks and measure whose is biggest,” Rook grinned, waggling her eyebrows. 

“Well there’s no doubt, obviously the heir to the House of Dellamorte is going to have the biggest sack,” Sereda said matter-of-factly, much to the irritation of her lover. “But if we’re talking cocks, that’s got to go Zev.” 

“… I beg your pardon?” Rook asked, her laughter ending abruptly. “No no, Lucanis has the biggest sack and cock arou-”

“Child, the thing of beauty between my man’s legs-”

“… Do you feel a little dirty?” Lucanis asked Zevran, watching as their partners loudly debated their penis size for all of Rivain to witness. 

“Yes. And not in the good way,” he answered, his face clearly displaying his distaste at the downward trajectory their discourse was headed. “Ladies! Ladies- truly the only way we can ever know is if we all band together tonight and we celebrate the old fashioned way- an orgy with Isabella. For old times’ sake.” 

“… One orgy, 20 years ago and I will never live it down,” Sereda muttered, sending him a look of muted annoyance. “Come Rook, let me see what this generation of god killers can do.”

“Hey did I hear him right? You killed a soldier with a fork?!”

“Yes, it’s remarkably easy. I’ll show you when we’re in the arena.”

The two Antivans watched on as the women linked arms and headed towards the Hall, leaving both of them standing alone in the streets. Their original purpose for fighting each other long since forgotten after talks of wyverns, gods and testicle euphemisms. 

“So,” Lucanis began, “it seems you did manage to charm the Hero of Ferelden and keep her for all these years. I guess not all the stories about you were as embellished as your fighting prowess has been.” 

Zevran bit at the knuckle of his forefinger, laughing at the audacity of the younger Crow. 

“I like you Baby Talon, I think you and I will become good friends yet, orgy or no. So please don’t make me dispatch my first, First talon. There are not enough Dellamorte’s to succeed you like in House Arainai.” 

“I’d like to see you try. Unlike Rook, I also know how to kill someone with a fork.”

Zevran sighed happily and threw an arm over Lucanis’ shoulder, ignoring the hiss from the demon that resided within him. If the future of the Crows, and the world, were in the hands of Rook and her Talon, perhaps it wouldn't be too long until he could return to Antiva as a guest and not as fugitive-

“He might be okay with you. But I don’t like you, Old Crow. I’ll eat your face when he goes to sleep.”

… Maybe not.

[wolven91]

Beginner's Luck

Did you know humans were lucky?

Ask any fik and they'll be able to tout any number of stories and anecdotes of how humans are not only lucky, but divinely so.

Brön, didn't put much stock into all that nonsense. As a male taurian, it was expected that he would know better. To not bother with superstition and focus on the real world. But he learnt that humans were lucky by sheer luck and a slip of the tongue by a human himself.

Luke was the first human Brön had come across in real life as an interaction. Not unusual given their rarity. At most the taurian had seen them on the news or waving from a secure area.

But as a taurian, and a registered guardian, when the human had appeared on his station, he had done his job as necessary. Brön wanted to make it clear that the taurians would be the best of the guardians. Ssypno weren't to be trusted and the ursidains were too stupid to know how to care for others.

So Brön escorted him round the station and ensured his safety whilst showing the sights, keeping to the finer areas. Humans were still critically endangered after all, one had to ensure they were safe, whilst giving them the enrichment they needed. Cute as humans were, Brön knew not to let his human out of his sight. Thankfully, Luke had made pleasant conversation that put Brön at ease. Luke didn't appear to be one of the mischievous humans.

Plenty of other guardians had gotten into trouble for allowing their human too much leeway and getting them sick or hurt. Mercifully, this Luke seemed to enjoy his wit and rather forward jokes. Brön had researched male humans after all and was told that they enjoyed the kind of humour their taurian women did. The taurian grinned listening to the human's belly laugh, it was so loud it echoed down the promenade, much to Brön's chagrin.

When they came across the gambling merchant, Luke had mentioned that he wouldn't mind putting on a wager. When Brön had asked why, the human merely turned to him and had said it was 'a vice'.

Brön watched as the human produced his stylus for interacting with the many touch screens of the modern day. Claws on ninety percent of the population meant that touching a screen directly usually earned the user a fine. The taurian watched the human curiously as he rubbed the stylus against his chest, before using it to select his choice of bet.

The human noticed Brön's quizzical eye ridge and grinned.

"For luck."

Brön thought nothing of this at first. Rubbing one's equipment did not make the object lucky or any action beyond what one can manipulate and better or worse. But as the pair watched the screens, a series of squidgits, each the size of a canid, race around a large track. The bet had been an odd choice, the human had picked an underdog for an upcoming race. The taurian noticed the human retrieve another item from his pocket, its morbid appearance held the prim and proper taurian's attention.

A set of keys connected by a single metal circle. Attached on the same loop, with a small, fluffy, taxidermized paw that he held tightly with his thumb. Again the human must have felt Brön's eyes boring into him as he leant to the side to whisper;

"For luck."

Damn Brön's horns, the human won.

Now. Brön was a male taurian so held himself to a high standard. But on learning the human enjoyed games of chance and luck, the taurian made enquiries into private card games where the human could play with others who enjoyed the same thing.

Brön grinned into his delicate drink at the bar whilst he watched his human be handled quiet easily by the ladies.

He was currently being held aloft in the middle of the barracks of the station far above Brön's head. A friend of his was currently celebrating her forth win at cards, whilst hold the human.

The group around the table groaned and threw their cards back onto the table, none beating the large lass's cards.

"This isn't fair! Let me hold him for the next hand!" demanded another tall, black furred taurian, one giant hand outstretched expectantly.

Luke was crushed into the current holder's chest as she held him tightly and protectively.

"Oh no no! He's my good luck charm! I have to keep him near me at aaall times..." she exclaimed in a sing-song tone. Luke didn't seem to be distressed or thrashing too much. The cad seemed to be enjoying the attention from Brön's position. Although the male did need to speak up a handful of times.

"You're suffocating my charge again."

Looking down, Brön was right and the taurian was, indeed, suffocating Luke against herself.

"Sorry! Sorry!"

Despite being slightly red in the face, Luke seemed in good spirits, laughing and extending his thumb skywards before demanding another hand and another drink.

They sat for another hand, Luke having his head rubbed by each of the taurian gamblers present for good luck.

[silly-inky]

First meeting

So I've writien a short booigi fic to go along with this after, the first part of it is after the art, I hope you like it (^^)

The fic ⬇️

Word count: 2028

Mario decided to visit Island Delfino again despite what happened last time, Peach unfortunately wasn't able to come this time due a very full schedule, but this meant he could instead bring his amazing twin brother Luigi who declined last time because he didn't want to be stuck third wheeling the couples vacation. They are both looking forward to a much needed brake.

But unfortunately their bad luck strikes again, and who decides to go on a vacation at the same time to the same place? Why our dear scaly friend Bowser of course. Now this is also a vacation for him so although he's pissed he has to be around Mario and Luigi, he has no intention of doing any evil on his stay. This does not mean he suddenly turns into a more polite person however.

Mario wants to stay at the Casino this time round since he enjoys a good bit of gambling every now and then, and if he has Luigi with him, he at least has a good chance at winning in a few games of poker, and he is able to get himself a good discount from the owner himself for a fun battle last time and helping to deal with Bowser and his antics yet again.

Bowser was actually banned from most places on the island because of his troublemaking, including the Casino itself, but Bowser decided to Bully himself into the establishment. He was being rude and shouting at the poor workers, pushing through crowds and generally being a mennace, so after Mario and Luigi have situated themselves in their rooms, they decide to go down and deal with Bowser

Mario is much more direct and tells Bowser that he doesn't want to start a fight but he needs to stop being an ass to the workers and to quit scaring people off, Bowser with his infamously short tempor quickly looses his cool and deicides to start a fight anyways.

Luigi not wanting any of that to happen, grabs onto Bowser's tail before the Koopa can try and land a punch on Mario and spins him around. Not hard, but just enough to throw him off balance and ends up falling to floor. Luigi is now between him and Mario.

this has pissed Bowser off even more and now goes for Luigi, chasing after him. Luigi runs off with Bowser in hot pursuit, Mario tells the staff to get the bouncers while he chances after them, but Luigi and Bowser being the two faster ones out of the three, he struggles to keep up and falls behind.

After running around for a while, Luigi manages to slip into the restaurant area before Bowser could see where he went, in a panic Luigi slips into the first seemingly available booth he can find before Bowser comes in looking for him.

However, In his haste to get onto the slightly larger than normal seat, he didn’t notice the man who was sat across from him until he turned his head around when he figured he was in the clear for the moment.

Sat across from him was a very big man, no, not just big, he was a giant, he could have easily been as tall, if not taller than Princess Rosalina who was a proud 7’7. He was wide too, his sheer size was intimidating to say the least, but his appearance didn’t really play into that, he proudly wore a Hawaiian shirt completely open exposing his stomach and chest with two big gold chains hung around his neck.

His hair was long and half was loosely tied back in a bun, parts wrapping around his ears and framing his face, it was a lovely pale pink with streaks of white shining though.

On top of his head was a crown encrusted with lovely red gems which insinuated he was a royal from somewhere, but with how he was currently dressed, it didn’t exactly scream royalty to Luigi. But even with the mismatch of jewelry and clothes, the man somehow managed to pull it off the look.

His face somewhat reminded him of King Boo’s but his eyes where much different and surrounded by blue, not to mention he was happily out in the sunlight not looking uncomfortable at all with the lights. He looked to be a very laid back individual, although he did look to be just a little startled by his surprise visitor.

“Umm, heeeyyyy there..?? You doing alright my guy?” The man asked, a twinge of concern lacing his voice, it wasn’t as deep as Luigi was expecting, it was actually quite smooth and welcoming

“Oh my stars, I’m so sorry! I was trying to hide from someone and I didn’t relize anyone was sat here- I was in a bit of a rush! I-I’ll leave, I’m sorry for disturbing you sir-" luigi stumbled out an apology feeling mortified, but as he started to shift to get out of the seat, he was stopped by the other

"Woah! Slow down dude, just sit there for a minute okay? Take a breather. Are you alright?" the man reassured Luigi, gesturing to stay seated while he peared out to see if he could spot any culprit that could have been after this very distressed itallian

"I'm alright, just trying to hide, having to deal with that guy is a pain sometimes, I just wanted to relax for once.." Luigi sighed, calming down a bit

"Do I need to call security? when i deal with someone physically it can turn south pretty quick so that Amy not be the best option" the man nervously chuckled at his comment, scanning Luigi's face to try and get a read on him

"No no, I think it will be fine, I'm good at blending into crowds so I should be able to hide somewhat easily, but he's a guy that isn't exactly easy to throw out of places, I wouldn't trouble yourself about Sir, really. he'll calm down soon enough and head somewhere else"

"You'd be surprised with the guys we have to throw out of here, and second, no need for all this 'sir' stuff, you can just call me Sunny. But seriously if you need him gone, we'll make it happen, no matter how big this guy is" Sunny reassured

Sunny definitely suited the man, he seemed to be a big ball of sunshine, but again a bit informal for someone he assumed to be royal

".. How well do you think you'll be able to handle King Bowser?" Luigi asked nervously

"Seriously?! That guy is back again?? I thought I told the staff not to let that damn lizzard back in here after the last damn time, that Mario guy had to come in here and sort all of that out" Sunny complained, not seeming to be intimidated by the mention of Bowser at all

"Told the staff? Do you run a business here? And uhh.. Bowser sort of shoved his way in here, the staff didn't have much of a chance, me and my brother called him out for it along with some other things and he got cross with me" Luigi questioned

"A business? This whole place is my business, I'm the owner of the casino, and now he's being rude to my staff?? I'm going to teach him a lesson. Did he hurt you at all? He better not have! " he started to get up to search for Bowser

"No! Bowser didn't hurt me, not this time anyways, your staff are fine thankfully, he wasn't really causing much of an issue, and I'm sure your bouncers can handle it, plus my brother is here, I don't want you to get hurt Mr Sunny" Luigi grabbed a hold of the man's arm and pulled him back into the booth

The man wanted to argue back but stopped when he saw how distressed the other man was

"Alright... But you stay here until I know for certain he's gone alright? I'll tell the staff to keep me in the loop. But what is your brother going to do?? "

"Ah! Uhh- my brother- he's- my brother is Mario" Luigi struggled to get out what he wanted to say

"Mario is your brother?? It makes so much sense now, ha! I thought you looked familiar, you guys look so similar, you're much cuter tho" Sunny laughed

"So that would make you Luigi right? He told me about you last time, glad to finally be able to put a face to the name, he said you would freak out if you met me"

"Why would i freak out??" Luigi asked. A little flustered at the compliment. Why would he be scared of this guy?? Sure he was big but he didn't seem scary at all, in fact he was actually more nervous because he was a bit attracted to the man

"Well, you see I'm one of the King Boo's? I know I don't exactly look like a normal Boo, but I can assure you I am one" Sunny said slowly, trying to not freak Luigi out. From what Mario has heard last time, and what the other Kings have told him, Luigi doesn't do great around ghosts, to be fair, neither does Mario.

"Ah... " Luigi sat there for a moment, processing the information

He just looked between Sunny and the table gathering his composure, he was hoping with all his might that Sunny wasn't about to attack him with any hidden frames or lightning bolts or something.

"Well.. You don't seem evil..?" Luigi winced

"Pfft, of course not, I mean I know I don't exactly have the best morals and stuff, but I'm not going around trapping people in paintings, too much effort, I prefer to sit around and eat or just chill in the sun" Sunny replied

Luigi seemed relieved with that response. Sunny mostly spoke for the next few minutes, hoping to get Luigi to calm down and trust him while he got a few good jokes in, Luigi wasn't a big talker anyways unless it came to special interest of his.

"well I appreciate this, I haven't been able to sit down and rest all day, I'm so thirsty, thank you for letting me sit here with you again" sighed out

"don't mention it, I don't usually have people coming down to sit with me, it's a nice treat. Hey wait! I have an idea if your down?" He looked between his food which had been sat beside him this whole time, and Luigi

"an idea?" Luigi asked

"well if you want, we can share my smoothie? I always get a very large cause (Pat's stomach) yo mans likes to eat, but it's meant for the couples and all that crap, so they always give me an extra straw" Sunny chuckles as he reaches for the extra straw he put to the side

"really?? You wouldn't mind that? " Luigi sputtered, a bit flushed

"nah dude, don't worry I don't have any germs to contaminate the drink with" he chuckled "plus it ain't like I'm gonna starve (hands Luigi the straw) it's nice to actually be able to use it for once. Just between you and me, I think the staff here keep giving it to me thinking it'll incourage me to bring in a date

Luigi taking a sip of the smoothie "oh that's really good- wait, so do you think they will assume we are on a date??"

"pfft, who knows, maybe it'll turn into a real date, who am i to turn down a handsome guy who isn't scared to share a meal with me" Sunny winked

"well you haven't asked me out yet" Luigi nervously chuckled

well we are literally drinking from the same cup at the same time" he takes a sip while Luigi is doing so to to add emphasis "I mean, what else you want me to say? (gently grabs Luigi's hand) Luigi, would you like to turn this into a date~?" he laughs and let's go of Luigi's hand " I joke I joke" he smirks at the very flustered look on Luigi's face

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

And that's all I have for now, I may make this into an actual fic, who knows ��

@skulls-soul @brosif40

[an-idyllic-novelist]

Hi, could I request for a Lady Tamayo!Reader paired with Buddha?

This reader was revived by Brunhilde to be the doctor for the 13 champions and she's loyal (not too loyal) to her bc she saved her from her punishment from being a demon.

The scenario would be that they met when she treated him after his fight and they got to know each other after that?

Please and thank you

Here it is! Special thanks to @nixes-noxes for proofreading/editing to make sure that the characters weren’t OOC. Enjoy and have a lovely day/evening!

Warnings: manga spoilers

Buddha was…a difficult patient. Despite all of the odds that were stacked against him in his fight with Zero, he won. Yet his victory for humanity isn’t an excuse to sneak out of his room to bask underneath the canopy of his bodhi tree and enjoy a passing breeze with sun shining down from the sky.

That is one of the reasons why Brunhilde had summoned Lady [First Name] [Last Name] from Helheim despite being a demon; before she had been killed by Muzan after drugging him with an elixir during their confrontation in the Infinity Castle, Lady [First Name} had been a doctor. Together with her companion Yushiro, she helped as many humans as she could with their alignments,including those who had been afflicted with Muzan’s poisonous blood and became flesh-eating demons.

In retrospect, dying to give the Demon Slayers a chance to destroy the man who had ruined her human life wasn’t a terrible thing…but Lady [First Name] had not expected to wake up in a dark wasteland teeming with demons that were just as dangerous, if not more, than the demon king himself. It was through sheer dumb luck that she had survived for so long until the Valkyrie had brought from her ‘punishment’ and offered her the position of being humanity’s chief physician in the medical wing.

It did not take the young woman very much time to give Brunhilde an answer. At this point anything was better than being stuck in Helheim. Disinfecting wounds, monitoring a patient’s health, and making sure that they are being properly fed? Yes. She can do that.

But the demon did not recall that being the ‘chief physician’ also meant chasing after a stubborn god.

Shaking her head in disbelief, Lady [First Name] walked up the steep grassy hill as best as she could in her [Favorite Color] kimono and zori sandals till she was standing right behind Buddha, munching on snacks that she specifically recalled telling him to cut back on until he was ready for the next stage of his treatment.

“Why am I not surprised to find you here, my lord?”

“Should ya even be surprised anymore, doc?” Buddha snarked back, unwrapping a candy bar and throwing it in his mouth. “Besides, do you really believe I’d miss an opportunity to get some fresh air?”

She frowned. “I never said that there was a problem with being outside, Lord Buddha. In fact, it is supposed to improve your sleep, cognition, and overall well-being rather than being confined indoors all of the time. I did, however, say that you can but it would be in everyone’s benefit to inform myself or the staff that you wish to go outside instead of sneaking out. Lady Brunhilde was quite upset when she came to the medical wing earlier this afternoon to find out that you were…missing.”

“Bruni will be fine, she’s a lot tougher than she looks, believe me. Let her focus on the eighth round. I might have won but we still need more wins if the gods’ll leave the humans alone. More importantly,” He glanced over his shoulder, a single aquamarine orb staring right at her. “Do I even know you?”

Lady [First Name] tilted her head, staring at him for a moment before smiling softly. It appears that Lady Brunhilde was not joking when she had casually mentioned just how laid-back Buddha is…or simply doesn’t give a shit about anyone. The Valkyrie’s words, not hers, thank you very much. But being a doctor secretly researching demonic transformations or performing blood transfusions did not have its own issues. She also had to handle human patients too. Inhaling a deep breath through her nostrils, she calmed her anger before answering Buddha.

“All you need to know is that my job is to ensure the mental and physical health of all humanity’s champions, Lord Buddha. It goes against my oath as a doctor to force a patient to do something against their will. In this scenario, however, I offer…an ultimatum.” She paused, staring at the blonde-haired deity. Since Buddha didn’t interrupt nor look away, the demon took this as a cue to elaborate.

“I will speak to the staff and allow you to lounge outside here or in the greenhouse until a fixed time. When that time is up, you must return to your room and rest. Yes, this is a curfew, but this is the best that I can offer you right now. You may no longer be in critical condition, though there is a chance that your health or recovery might have some setbacks.”

She could tell immediately that Buddha wasn’t too thrilled with this restriction. No one likes having someone hovering over their shoulder or counting down the minutes until they have to go back to their room when all they want is a little time to themselves before running through medical tests for the nth time of the day.

“Is there any chance you can include snacks-”

“That will be taken into consideration once your bloodwork comes back, Lord Buddha.” Lady [First Name] chuckled, witnessing one of the most powerful gods pouting petulantly like a child. Shaking her head, she decided to do something that she hadn’t done in all of her years of practicing medicine: she sat next to him under the bodhi tree, paying no heed to getting grass stains on her kimono as she stared up at the floating islands of Valhalla in comfortable silence.

He did not say anything….that was progress. Maybe?

[s1llyalabaster]

Gambling on love - Sampo Koski

Where the mischevious dealer takes a gamble on the chances of winning your heart (but you, being too drunk, doesn't notice it) ~500 words, SFW but implications of intimacy

“Oh , come on! There’s no way I went over 21 with just three cards!” 

You couldn’t even count the number of Blackjack rounds you’d had this night with two hands. Pouches upon pouches of Aideen Tokens were tossed away just from one night of gambling and… way too much alcohol than you should be drinking.

“For me to go easy on you, you’ll have to pay a little somethin’ somethin’ extra, yknow?” 

Oh, Sampo Koski. The dealer who seems to have a lucky charm (or rather, a curse to players) on him at all times. Some people say he uses “black magic” to win every time, while others just think it’s sheer luck. You, however, seem to be extra unlucky when he’s the dealer. 

“Uuuugh! How come it’s always YOU that I lose to?” You growled, the shots of alcohol making you unaware that your voice was almost loud enough to surpass the Dreamscape and into the real world. Sampo smirked, eyes lidded with smugness as he lifted your chin for your eyes to meet his. 

“Only one little gemstone has gambled away his life and gave me a good run for MY own money, dear player. You’d better put out lots more effort to even be on par with him. Or…”

“Unless you beg.”

Maybe it was the alcohol that made you be bolder than ever, but your half-conscious self decided to follow his orders. Sampo watched as both of your knees hit the carpeted floor of the casino, slightly showing off your cleavage. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, no. His prideful gaze was replaced with that of lust. But no, you were too drunk to give consent to actually do…something else with him. Sampo didn’t even know if it was the alcohol talking or not, or if future him was just going to be a one-night-stand. 

“You…”

Sampo couldn’t form a word. He’d probably been staring at you for minutes on end. He grasped your hand and brushed his lips across your knuckles, then proceeded to trace the faint lines of your palms with his slim fingers, calloused from handling casino chips and other…dirty business. 

“Whew… it sure is getting hot in here,” Sampo unbuttoned his shirt, letting his waistcoat and harness free. You looked up at him with glossy eyes, dazed from the alcohol and the sight before you. The mischievous man grinned once he caught your gaze, gripping your arm and throwing it over his shoulder to allow his strong arms to carry you. 

You felt your body slowly land on the velvet couch in one of the rooms in The Reverie. It was intoxicating how Sampo treated you like you were a doll, handling you delicately with his hands touching you ever-so-softly. 

“Don’t go…” you murmured. 

“Oh, I’ll be here with you, darling. ‘Till the end of time.” 

A/N: The "gemstone" referred was Aventurine, in case you guys didn't catch on~

[pumperpup]

In the heart of a sun-drenched theme park, amidst the laughter and the clatter of roller coasters, Thomas found himself standing before a quaint stall, its banner fluttering like a flag of promise. The challenge was straightforward yet enthralling: win a bottomless soda. With a blend of luck and sheer will, Thomas emerged victorious, the prize a frosty mug with a sparkle like no other, brimming with a beverage that sang of endless summer days.

From the moment the liquid kissed his lips, it was as if time itself bent to the will of this magical concoction. The soda, effervescent and sweet beyond reason, ensnared him with a flavor that whispered of dreams and infinity. He drank, and with each gulp, an unbelievable transformation began to unfold.

As the sun arced across the sky, marking the passage of hours, Thomas's body responded to the unceasing flow of soda with an eagerness that defied nature. His once slender frame began to expand, a visible swelling that progressed with each passing moment. Clothing that fit snugly that morning grew tight, seams straining and threads stretching, as if trying to contain a force majeure.

His transformation was stark, rapid, and surreal. His midsection ballooned, a burgeoning expanse that rounded outwards with a startling velocity, as if the soda was not just filling him but becoming a part of him. His face, too, transformed, cheeks puffing outwards, creating a visage of indulgence personified.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the bustling theme park, Thomas experienced a moment of lucidity amidst his enchanted indulgence. The realization struck him with the force of a roller coaster's drop; the soda was not ordinary—it was magic, a potion that was reshaping his very form. Each sip seemed to add to his growing frame, his clothes tightening around him like a vise. Yet, the revelation did little to dampen his desire. The soda, with its effervescent sweetness and tantalizing flavor, held him in a spell he couldn't—wouldn't—break. It was as if the drink whispered promises of endless pleasure with each gulp, promises too intoxicating to ignore. Despite the evident changes, the lure of its taste, the rush of joy with every sip, bound him tighter than any physical chain. Thomas stood at a crossroads, fully aware of the magic coursing through him and the consequences it wrought, yet the thought of parting from the soda's delightful embrace was unfathomable. He was caught in the soda's delicious grip, a prisoner of taste and magic in equal measure.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, Thomas found himself a changed man. The weight gained from the bottomless soda anchored him physically and metaphorically. What began as a delightful curiosity had morphed into a corporeal testament to the limits of excess.

Surrounded by the twinkling lights of the theme park as it embraced the night, Thomas sat, a solitary figure on a bench that creaked under his newfound girth. The magic of the soda, once a source of unbridled joy, had exacted a swift and irreversible toll. In the span of a single day, he had journeyed from elation to a reflective contemplation on the nature of desire and the ephemeral beauty of moderation.

As the fireworks exploded overhead, casting vibrant colors across the sky, Thomas, with his endless soda still in hand, pondered the price of endless indulgence. The transformation, as rapid as it was profound, left him with a newfound wisdom—that the quest for boundless pleasure, when left unchecked, can lead to constraints far beyond the physical.

[insufferableprotagonistpoll]

Round 1

Propaganda why Rintaro Okabe is insufferable:

"He's sexist: he feels ashamed to be in the same lab as Kurisu, a genius, so he spends his time saying sexual jokes to embarass her. He is super annoying with his complotist larping. Why wouldn't he shut up? (Actually he shuts up at the middle at the story, the point where it becomes good).

Also transphobic stuff (the "but he's a boy" joke... *aaaaaaargh*)."

"Commits insufferably to the bit.Will cut off and correct you if he thinks you're in the wrong.Severe Mary Sue syndrome of sorts but that varies wildly alongside his emotional state.Does not shut up ever.Misgenders and gropes his friend after transing her(It's a whole story but the way they treated them before wasn't ideal either).Technically caused an apocalypse but the rest of the main cast were accomplices in this so it doesn't really count.Creates a time loop so he doesn't have to face his friends's deaths and inevitably goes insane and tries to kill them all.Causes property damage to his landlord's home near daily.Gives his friends false hope that they'll be granted their greatest wish only to go back and say he has to undo them because they caused too much temporal distortion.All of them forget this happened but still.Kills a friend's dad,again technically.Don't think I've said he's obnoxious yet but if I did it bears repeating"

"Listen I love the game with all my heart but this guy is obnoxious.He's LARPING constantly.He always wants to be the smartest in the room.He groped someone to ""see if they're really a girl"" and(spoilers ahead) he grants every friend he has a wish that would be impossible otherwise via time travel then undoes all of that because whoops! Messing with time causes unforeseen consequences such as *checks notes* his friend Mayuri dying.It's been a hot minute since I've played S;G so I might be misremembering some things but good god the whole game we've been going over How Time Travel Is Bad Actually and he STILL went ahead with it!You've been targeted by the FBI and see someone turn into goo because of this!Even if he wanted to be nice because let's be real his friends deserve it after being targeted by the FBI because of him,undoing that because he misses Mayuri is a dick move.I'm not unpacking the emotional baggage he has with her,but objectively what he did was kind of horrible.He also trapped them all in a timeloop that one time."

"A young man who hides his insecurities below an neverending overconfident RP.

Because Kurisu, a scientific genius girl, challenges his authority in his flat, he regularly humiliates her by telling sexual things she finds embarassing.

Plus there is some other sexist and transphobic stuff I don't need to go into.

I know in the second half of the story he loses his mask and actually show his vulnerable and caring side. But gosh, he is so unbearable in the first half!"

"His voice is so grating and is the reason I didn’t want to watch the show."

Propaganda why Richard Rahl is insufferable:

"The character always, always has to be Right and Moral and Good. He always knows more than: his wife, organized religion, any and all government orders that he didn't set up personally. While he starts out reasonable enough in the first few books, he slowly devolves into the author's Ayn Rand-fantasy stand-in. In every book there's always a huge monologue that's secretly about how bad (fantasy) communism is.

Richard is also hypocritical. He will flip flop on issues and change with the whims of the author, but the narrative always portrays him as in the right no matter the context."

"Protagonist of the most idiotic book series ever, literally wins by sheer dumb luck and being too stupid to plan as the world bends around him. His girlfriend keeps getting kidnapped so he can rescue her, despite allegedly being powerful. He’s a fantasy Ayn Rand follower. He inherited a sword and the Most Powerful Magic Combination Ever which he can’t be trained in because he needs to learn by instinct. Every woman ever falls in love with him or is determined to help him by prophecy. He gets captured and tortured by several bdsm women (author fetish, blatantly) and doesn’t even appreciate it. He gradually seizes more and more control over he world than even his evil tyrant dad, then throughs a fit and runs off into the woods to sulk, leaving them to a violent conquest, when people object to this via voting. He’s inexplicably good at death football. I can keep going."

"Literally the oc in the author’s shitty Ayn Rand fantasy novel. All the women want him, he does magic by instinct. He cannot be trained because he has super rare magic that nobody else has had for millenia. His birth has been prophecied for centuries. Every new book features a new problem only he can solve by being too instinctly good at magic and untrained. He comes up with the Wizard’s Rules of Magic by dumb luck.

In one book he defeats communism and hopelessness by crafting the perfect statue of his girlfriend Kahlan, who is a way cooler character but still a Mary Sue & an idiot. The statue is so cool & beautiful & well made for the joy of making (unlike work under communism), that he sparks a riot and toppled the evil empire. By building a statue."