#dear god who set him loose

[bebethsas]

look, I know this applies to multiple blorbos, but show of hands:

how many of us immediately thought of Eddie Munson?

🤚

can you come collect your freak of a man please. He’s doing things

[illyrianbitch]

Winner

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: You and Azriel are both sore losers. But when you cheat in a game of cards, winning takes on a whole new meaning.

Warnings: alcohol mention, two competitive losers, a card game, a makeout, some wandering hands & fluff!!

Word Count: 4.6k

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Cassian threw his hands up in defeat, letting out a deep groan as he fell back further into the couch— wings sprawled out, spine slumped. He turned his head to Mor.

“Looks like Az and Y/N beat us again.”

She only groaned in response, rubbing her face with her hands before running them through her hair— taking a moment to smooth it down and tuck a few loose locks behind her pointed ears. 

 “You guys are relentless,” she said in disbelief, “I’m out. You two can have the winner's title.”

You and Azriel exchanged a look— a quick, almost instinctual, response. 

“No way.” You shook your head with a frown. “We can’t both be winners.”

From beside you, Azriel nodded. The movement was eager in agreement, but the alcohol in his body caused his motions to be slower than usual, sluggish, and Mor raised her eyebrow in response. 

“One more game,” he said, eyes tracking between both Mor and Cassian. “Just to settle this properly.”

But Mor only raised her hands in surrender. “Dear gods, no,” she responded, “I’m way too drunk for this.” 

You let out a small sound of disapproval but Morrigan ignored it, turning to give Cassian one last look of retreat before she stood up— unsteadily and disoriented. “Good luck with your showdown. I’m going to bed.”

Azriel gave her a scowl, a look that she matched with another brow raise. With no verbal response given, she turned to offer Cassian an outstretched hand. “You smell like a bar. It’s bedtime for you too, I would say.”

Cassian stilled, staring at her extended hand in a moment of contemplation. His eyes darted towards where you sat next to Azriel—meeting your gaze momentarily before jumping back to Azriel. His lips pursed, eyes narrowing for a second before he seemed to draw a conclusion and his face relaxed. 

“Yup,” he said with a decisive clap of his hands on his thighs. He pushed himself up and grabbed Mor's hand. "I'm outta here. I still have a fun buzz and Az's seriousness is going to kill it."

You let out a small sigh, lips falling into a frown as Cassian met your gaze once more. "Come on, Cass, just going to give up like that?"

He gave you an apologetic shrug. "Sorry, Y/N. You two can fight amongst yourselves.”

“She can't,” Azriel began as he turned to look at you. Something sparkled in his hazel eyes and the corners of his lips twitched into the ghost of a smirk. “The only reason she plays so great is because you two make her look better with how awful you are at this game.”

Your mouth fell open and an offended scoff left your mouth. You smacked his bicep. "That is not true."

Mor chimed in, "Yeah—we aren't that bad."

It was Cassian who responded with a raised eyebrow at her. She scowled at the gesture. 

“Whatever,” she muttered, waving him off with a casual hand as she began walking away. “It’s bedtime."

“Night.” Cassian gave you and Azriel a lazy salute as he stumbled towards the exit. “May the best competitor win.”

You both watched as they left the room, emitting subtle groans as the weight of their drinks began to manifest in their bodies. When their figures disappeared from view, you and Azriel brought your gazes to one another at the same moment, eyes narrowing in on the other. The room quieted around you. 

“I know I can win,” you said, straightening yourself, “I’ll show you.”

Azriel stared at you for a moment, eyes darting around your face before holding your gaze again. A smile grew on his face— confident and slightly lopsided, and his shadows swirled slightly around him in response. “Alright. Let’s keep going.”

You hummed as you cleared the table from the previous game, grabbing a deck of cards and setting the scene for Speed— the perfect game for a winners victory. It required quick reflexes and sharp focus. 

You threw a glance at Azriel, whose eyes were already on you. This felt like a routine. 

Azriel was extremely competitive. He made everything a competition, whether it needed to be or not. Who could get somewhere the fastest, who could get Cassian to say a specific phrase first. And out of everyone, you were the one able to match that energy the most. 

You knew you were competitive. It wasn't something you tried to hide—not that you could. And when you were around Az, it tended to come out the most. But on nights like these, drinking and playing card games, it seemed to come out even more, like a monster at night feeling the strength of the full moon. Except the monster was your inability to accept defeat and the moon, in this case, was the glass of wine you had downed alongside Mor.

Your eyes shot to the empty glass of whisky Azriel had nursed before smirking at him.

“Ready?” 

Azriel's expression turned serious and he nodded slightly, the movement tousling a loose strand of hair on his forehead. You found yourself momentarily distracted by it before quickly snapping your attention back to his intense gaze.

"You sure you’re up for this?" he teased, a hint of a challenge in his voice. "Last time, I seem to recall you complaining about my unfair advantage."

You rolled your eyes. "Unfair advantage, my ass. Just because you have shadows whispering in your ear doesn’t mean you’re unbeatable."

Azriel chuckled and his eyes gleamed with the sound, something bright and warm, golden like honey. "We'll see about that."

With a final shuffle, you placed the deck between you. "I’ll start.”

You began the game, cards flying between you as you tried to outpace each other. Your fingers moved swiftly, eyes darting between the cards and Azriel’s focused face. 

"Is that all you've got?" you teased, slapping down a card.

Azriel gave a low, deep chuckle. "Just getting started."

You matched each of his moves with your own, feeling your competitive fire burning bright within you, a simmering, insatiable adrenaline that made your heart beat faster. The sound of cards slapping against the table echoed through the room, mingling with your rapid breaths and the occasional muttered curse. You bit your lip, tightening the hold on your card.

"You’re slowing down," Azriel taunted in a melodic, light tone. You could hear the grin in his voice and you resisted the urge to look over at him. 

"Wrong," you shot back, eyes darting to the next card. “I’m just giving you a chance to catch up.” 

He snorted beside you, a sound so casual and childish that you bit back a laugh at it. He scooted closer to the table, moving forward to place another card, his arm brushing against yours in the process. 

It only took that one movement for you to become acutely aware of the closeness between you, of the heat of his body radiating into yours. Each time he grabbed or placed a card, the sensation built, sending a nervous flutter through you— a flutter too strong to be attributed to the alcohol alone. His shadows brushed against your skin and you bit back a shiver. 

You tried to ignore it, focusing on the game, but his scent—dark and intoxicating—kept pulling you back in, his body continuing to brush against yours—his knee, his arm—each touch subtle yet electrifying as he drew his hand back.

You briefly considered moving away to regain your composure, but the thought of disrupting your flow and losing concentration on the game held you in place. Then Azriel moved again, placing another card down, and you found yourself fixating on his fingers more than the card itself. The card faded into a white blur against the dark wood table as you stared at the ridges of his scarred hands, his slender fingers, his tan skin— they were attractive. Real attractive.

Azriel was attractive. This was a fact. And if you were being honest to yourself, you always harbored a crush on him—- though, you'd never acted on it, even if there were times where you could've sworn he felt something for you, too. You were good friends, great friends. You never dared to think about it too much. There was no use in entertaining unrealistic ideas. 

But Azriel looked even more attractive now—laid back, hair tousled, cheeks tinged with an alcohol flush, shadows stilled, and determination set in his grin.

You blinked.

"What the hell am I doing?" you muttered under your breath.

Az turned to you. "What?" 

"Huh?" you responded, feigning innocence, but Azriel narrowed his eyes, scanning your face intently.

"What did you say?" 

"Nothing," you replied quickly, trying to regain your composure. Azriel’s gaze steadied on yours, probing and assuming.

"You seem distracted."

“Me? No. I don't get distracted," you asserted, straightening yourself and sizing him up. Azriel raised a brow, a small smirk playing on his lips.

"No?"

"No.”

He leaned back slightly, his smirk widening.

"Then why are you losing?" he asked casually.

Your eyes widened as you snapped your head to the table, a movement so swift and abrupt that a dull ache pulled at the base of your neck. Sure enough, you were losing. Az was one card— two if you were lucky— away from a clean victory. You ran your tongue along your teeth, forcing a smile as you tossed a glance back at him. 

"It's part of the plan.”

"Right,” Azriel quipped, the amusement seeping through his dimpled grin. “The plan to lose?”

That competitive fire flared within you. Damned him and that smile— that arrogant, smug smile. You couldn't let him win so easily, couldn't let him win at all. You rolled your eyes. 

"Are we gabbing like old ladies or are we playing?" 

He raised a brow but pulled himself even further to you. “Neither,” he murmured, “I’m winning.”

You gave him a mocking smile as he placed his next card, falling into another quick-paced round. You were bound to lose— a reality that had begun to manifest right before your eyes, solidifying with every card Azriel placed down. 

You needed to see his cards to strategize, to figure out your next move. But Azriel was laser-focused, his determination etched into his features like details in a finely crafted statue. Each time he brushed against you, a subtle heat ran through your skin. You stilled, shifting your gaze to his face. 

"Oh, Az, wait," you murmured softly. He glanced at you, brows furrowing in slight confusion as you leaned closer to him. Bringing your lip between your teeth, you bit down on it lightly to contain your growing smirk, voice softening as you continued, "You have something."

Azriel frowned and you seized your opportunity, bringing your hands to his face and lightly brushing the corner of his mouth with your thumb. It was a feigned gesture, as if you were wiping away a crumb or a smear of chocolate from the pastries you all had enjoyed earlier that evening. 

There was nothing there, of course, but it served your purpose well.

You made sure to let your thumb linger there for a moment, to brush the pad of your finger against his lips as you pulled back. You held his gaze— a burning, deep hazel. His eyes danced across your face and you watched as he swallowed hard. A satisfied grin tugged at the corners of your lips but you fought it away, letting your hand fall down. 

You stole a quick glance at his cards before you leaned back, casually examining your own cards as you pretended to ponder your next move. He remained still beside you and you ignored the flutter in your ribcage, the strange, trickling sense of excitement that filled your gut. 

You placed your final card down on the table, the sharp snap of it breaking the momentary silence. Azriel snapped out of his reverie and looked down at the cards, then up at you. You leaned into him once more, a playful grin now tugging at your lips— smug and confident. "Speed," you declared confidently.

He blinked and shook his head slightly as he leaned in further to the table, examining the cards laid out before him. 

"Looks like I win.”

He dropped his cards onto the table and his gaze shot up to meet yours.

"You cheated.” 

You leaned back slightly, a mock hurt expression crossing your features. "I did not.”

Pointing an accusatory finger in your face, Azriel's voice grew firmer. "You're a cheater." 

You swatted his finger away, feeling the brush of his shadows swirling around it. "Get your finger out of my face.”

Azriel looked down, seemingly addressing his shadows in a murmured aside, before his gaze returned to yours. 

"It's not my fault you were so distracted," you teased, goading him with a sly glance.

"You distracted me!" 

Casting a nonchalant glance to the side, you shrugged casually. "I don't know what you're talking about," you replied, leaning back into the couch with a playful grin. "You're just mad I won."

"No, you didn't win," Azriel insisted, his jaw tightening in determination. “Because you're a cheater.”

Waving him off dismissively, you rolled your eyes. "There's that word again. Blaming me because you were distracted is such a sore loser move, dude." 

“Dude.” Azriel scoffed.  "You'd be pissed if I did the same thing.”

You innocently shrugged again. "I don't know what you're talking about. I would never get so distracted.”

He raised a brow and a sense of challenge flickered across his face. “No?”

You shook your head. “Nope.”

It was a flat, bolstering lie. You knew it well. A simple brush against you had you so distracted that you nearly lost. And gods, does he look good like this, flustered, focused entirely on you. His furrowed brow, the intensity in his eyes—it was all so alluring. Some being, some butterfly must be trapped in your chest because the fluttering deep within your ribs intensified. 

Azriel didn’t move, his eyes scanning you in a manner that made you itch— made you feel naked and completely bare before him. 

"Don’t move," Azriel said, his voice low and teasing. You felt it against your skin like it was something tangible. "I think you... you have something here."

He leaned in closer, bringing his hand to your face, fingers poised to wipe the corner of your mouth just as you had done to him earlier. The movement was slow, sensual almost, and your heart nearly stopped when his eyes moved from your lips to your eyes. 

You held your breath and the corners of Azriel’s lips twitched. 

"Oh, nevermind," he murmured, withdrawing his hand. "Guess I'm seeing things."

You traced the path of that lip twitch, watching as it grew into a subtle, sly grin. The game had shifted now and Azriel seemed to think he was in the lead— seemed content in his victory. 

Absolutely not.

You let out a small hum. 

“Aw, Az,” you said, softening your face at him. You brought a hand to his bicep— he was dressed casually tonight, a simple black, short-sleeved shirt adorning his frame. His eyes widened slightly at your boldness but he didn't pull away. You placed your palm on his exposed skin, tracing a light, delicate path up his arm. “Always so thoughtful.”

He tensed underneath your touch, and his shadows curled over his shoulders, still and curious, peering down at the motion. Goosebumps ran along his skin and you felt him shudder underneath you, an almost imperceptible reaction. 

When you met his gaze again, Azriel’s eyes were molten. A muscle feathered in his cheek.

You gave into your urge, delicately brushing a small strand of hair away from his forehead and tucking it back into place. In truth, it felt like an excuse to touch him, to feel the softness of his hair beneath your fingertips. You heard a quiet, sharp intake of breath as his shadows moved slowly around his shoulders, watching your every move just as precisely as he did. 

“Well,” he said, and the sound came out as a croak. He cleared his throat as he brought his hand up to yours, wrapping it around your wrist as he lowered your hand with his own. “I’m thoughtful when it comes to you.”

His words didn’t feel like they were said only to get under your skin, nor did they seem like words chosen merely to rile you up—they felt like a confession. You fought to balance your reaction as you felt yourself being pulled in three different directions.

His words made you melt in a strange, almost pathetic way. They felt tender, caring, and you thought about how true they actually were, how much Azriel cared for you, and how often he made that care known. It was one of the reasons you liked him as much as you did, why it was so easy and comfortable being around him, why you felt so emboldened to distract him, to play with him, in such a manner that you did.

But then there was another emotion, a spitfire of competition that felt as if he had exposed a very vulnerable, very delicate nerve. That he was winning this game, that you were so openly affected by simple words and his hand around your wrist.

And finally, there was something else, something as strong as those flutters, something warm and hot that filled you with an urge to run your fingers through his hair, to pull him against you and feel those hands somewhere else. 

You scanned his face, watching as his expression seemed to soften a bit, as a crease formed between his brows. He was thinking too—deeply, intently, thoroughly thinking. It was almost the same look he wore in every game when he was strategizing, but this felt more intimate, more charged. You tried to reel yourself in, tried to throw every thought away and pull your mind together, fix your scent, your posture.

But then his eyes dropped to your lips.

Your heartbeat quickened and something fluttered in your chest, deep within your ribs— that damned caught, trapped butterfly moving in a frenzy. Your eyes dropped down to Azriel’s lips, and when you met his eyes again, he mirrored your actions. You took in the dark, thick lashes that adorned his eyes—lashes that you were able to see so clearly as he looked down towards you, towards your mouth.

The next moment was a blur. You weren't sure who moved first, but suddenly his lips were on yours. They were warm and soft and swallowed you completely— mind and body. 

His taste was intoxicating, a blend of the whiskey he had been drinking and something uniquely him. There had been small fantasies of Azriel that had creeped past your restraint over the years— images and thoughts about his lips and how he mustve felt pressed against you, how he fucked the countless women you’d seen him with.

Even this simple, heated and frenzied kiss was better than your most detailed dreams. 

You felt his hand slide up to cradle your face, his thumb gently tracing the curve of your cheek as he deepened the kiss. Your own hands found their way to his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you leaned into him. 

This felt better than any win you’d ever experienced.

You needed to cheat more often.

You pulled away for a brief second, gasping for breath, but the separation was short-lived. His eyes, dark and filled with a desire that mirrored your own, locked onto yours before he captured your lips once more. This time, the kiss was hungrier, more urgent. Azriel's hand slipped to the back of your neck, his fingers threading through your hair as he tilted your head slightly to deepen the kiss. His hands— those large, rough, and beautiful hands— roamed, one staying at your neck while the other slid down your back, drawing you even closer.

The world narrowed to just this moment—  to the way his lips moved against yours, the way his breath mingled with yours, the way his hands felt on your skin. His hands guided you, and before you realized it, you were laying down on the couch, Azriel hovering over you, his lips never leaving yours. His body pressed against yours and his shadows threaded through the strands of your hair, the silky, air-light touch of their movement contrasting with the warmth of his skin— a heady mix that sent shivers down your spine.

He broke the kiss, lips trailing down your jawline, planting soft kisses along the way. You felt a deep, thrilling ache as he kissed the sensitive skin there and you tilted your head back, giving him better access as your hands roamed over his back, feeling the muscles tense and relax under your touch. You circled the base of his wings, admiring how they stretched out above you, and he shivered under the touch, leaving a small playful bite on your neck in response.

“Finally!" 

A heat of panic ran down your skin and you pushed yourself upright— a movement so quick that it sent Azriel falling back onto his side of the loveseat. You caught a brief glimpse of him—disheveled, lips swollen, breathing heavy—before your gaze snapped to the intruder.

Cassian stood in the doorway, grinning from ear to ear.

"What?" you managed to gasp, your own breath coming in shallow pants.

“This.” Cassian pointed a finger between you and Azriel. "Fucking finally."

You casted a glance at Azriel who stared at his brother with a single raised brow. 

“How long have you been standing out there, Cass?" He asked.

Cassian shrugged, still grinning. "Long enough.”

“A bit too long, actually,” Mor’s voice rang out as she rounded the corner, now adorned in a comfortable sleep set. She settled into a stand next to Cassian, offering a small, sheepish smile. “I was starting to feel like a pervert.”

You cringed, a heat flushing your cheeks as you glanced over at Azriel, who met your gaze immediately. But he only sighed, running a hand through his hair as a lone shadow moved down the couch to wrap around your ankle. You ignored the skip of your heart.

"That's real weird, guys," you said.

Just a semblance of dignity is all you asked for.

Cassian waved it off. "Trust me, I've seen more than a handsy makeout with Az."

You grimaced, scrunching your face in distaste. Mor gave Cassian a pointed look. "Cassian—"

He shrugged, unperturbed. "I gotta admit, though, I didn't think we could get you to go that far. I thought maybe a realization—but holy shit!"

Mor’s eyes widened and she smacked his arm with the back of her hand. "Cassian!"

You threw a glance at Azriel but he didn't meet your gaze this time. Instead, he sat up straighter, his eyes narrowing at his brother. It was both unnerving and incredibly attractive—oh gods, focus.

You sat up straighter. "What do you mean you could get us that far?"

Cassian gave an unsure smile before responding, "Oh, you know, just a friendly little push." He looked at Mor, who looked equally guilty but offered you a sheepish, dimpled smile. 

"We were just trying to help you two along.”

Cassian pointed a thumb at her. "Her reasons are selfless, mine are selfish. I just couldn't deal anymore. It's like shoving two dolls together and making them kiss." 

He brought his hands up, mimicking the motion of holding two dolls and repeatedly mashed them together while making loud, exaggerated kissing sounds. Mor watched him with an unamused, scrunched face. 

You furrowed your brows and opened your mouth to talk, but Cassian cut you off, falling into a tipsy ramble.

 "I didn't anticipate how much we needed to drink, though. I thought I was going to get alcohol poisoning before you even touched."

Mor rolled her eyes. "Alright, that's a bit dramatic—"

"It is not," Cassian interrupted, turning to her.

"We barely—"

“You call that barely?”

"—We had one bottle—"

"-— A family-sized—"

You exchanged a glance with Azriel, eyebrows slightly raised, lips twitching with barely suppressed smiles. His eyes flickered with a mix of disbelief and mirth as Cassian and Mor continued their bickering. Leaning back, you extended your hand toward the shadow near your feet. 

Azriel groaned. "Guys—" 

They kept talking.

"Guys!" 

They finally stopped and turned to face him, the room plunging into an awkward silence. Azriel sighed deeply, then said, "Get out. Please."

Mor's eyes widened. "Right! Sorry," she said, giving you a sheepish smile. Cassian, however, turned to you with a grin. 

"You're welcome," he said, and then turned to Azriel, winking. "You're extra welcome."

Mor scoffed, pushing Cassian out of the room. She turned around as she left, flashing you another smile and giving you two thumbs up. You felt a blush rise to your cheeks, and your fingers tightened around the shadow on your hand.

When they disappeared from view, you exhaled deeply and turned towards Azriel. His gaze softened as he looked at you and the corner of his mouth lifted in a small smile. The room felt quieter now, more intimate, and your heartbeat began to slow—  the fluttering in your chest giving way to a warm, steady pulse.

He let out a breath. “Well, that was..." 

"Something," you finished for him.

You locked eyes for a moment before bursting into laughter, the sound echoing throughout the room. 

"I love your laugh," Azriel murmured, his voice low and intimate.

You went breathless, the last note of your laughter leaving your tightened chest in a whisper. 

"Yeah?" 

A flutter filled your chest. 

He nodded and your smile widened as he edged closer, his hand gently cupping your face once more, drawing you to him. 

“They interrupted us," he whispered, his lips brushing against yours.

You swallowed and your cheeks flushed subtly with a blush as you leaned further towards him.

"What a shame," you murmured back, your words a soft invitation.

"A shame indeed." 

Without any further hesitation, his lips found yours again. The kiss was filled with an undeniable urgency—a promise and longing that had simmered beneath the surface for far too long. You melted into the sensation, every nerve ending electrified by the closeness, by the brush of his shadows against your skin.

He pulled away for a second, his breath warm against your lips.

"You were really good at that game, by the way."

You frowned.  "I was losing. Badly."

A faint smirk tugged at his lips as he shook his head. "Not originally. I was."

His thumb circled gently along your cheek. "But who knew all it took was a couple of brushes against your arm to get ahead again."

Your eyes widened in shock and you let out a small gasp, pulling back further to observe his face in full.  He met your gaze with a smug smirk, and despite yourself, a grin of impressed disbelief spread across your face.  

"You dirty little cheat!" you exclaimed, half in playful protest, half in genuine admiration.

He shrugged nonchalantly, his touch still caressing your cheek. "I'd say it worked out."

“Does this mean I win—" 

He cut you off softly, "Just let me kiss you."

Your protest melted away into a sigh of surrender as he closed the gap between you eagerly. You welcomed the warmth of his lips against yours, falling lax in his touch as he moved to hover you again. The world around you faded into insignificance. 

You definitely won tonight. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

idk why but this is one of my favorite lil moments ive written, it gave me butterflies writing it (i am touchstarved and a sore loser)

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon 

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @panther-girl-124 @bubybubsters 

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @feyretopia  @ninthcircleofprythian @velariscalling @azrielrot

@justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli

azriel tag list 🫶🏻

@thisiskaylin @serrendiipty @acourtofsteelandthunder 

[redsray]

Batkids playing any kind of board game but make it extra competitive because whoever wins gets to choose what Bruce wears for the next gala.

Bruce, in a sparkly top and skinny jeans:

Reporter: Ah, who chose your outfit tonight, Brucie?

Bruce: That'd be my eldest, dear!

Dick, behind him, full into the gala persona: Flattering, isn't it? He should wear it more often, don't you think, sweetheart?

Reporter, flushed: Oh, absolutely.

Bruce (to Dick): Get a new fashion style. Please.

Dick: Never.

Reporter: Who would be responsible for your wardrobe tonight, Brucie? It's certainly a statement.

Bruce, head to toe in a pink suit and Hello Kitty accessories: Gorgeous, isn't it? All the credit will have to be given to Jason, though, I'm afraid.

Reporter: Your second son, if I'm not mistaken?

Bruce: The very one.

Jason from across the gala hall, trying to not cough up his drink with laughter:

Tim, next to him: He's pulling it off, though. Little spins and everything.

Jason: Still ridiculous. That's Batman right there, Timbo.

Tim, snickering: The Dark Knight, huh?

Bruce, dressed in a collared white shirt, sweater and skirt, looking like he just came out of a light academia novel:

Reporter: Wow, Brucie. Who do we thank for that wonderful outfit choice?

Bruce: Ah, flattering, is it not? Tim's choices when it comes to fashion are wonderful, if not a bit simple.

Tim, nodding from behind him: Only the finest satin skirts. Charming, right?

Tim, to Bruce: Don't call my style simple, Mr. all I wear is black.

[Jason handing Dick $10 in the background because Bruce does, in fact, pull off a skirt.]

Reporter: Oh lord, what a gown! Who influenced your fashion choice tonight, Brucie?

Bruce, in a long green and black gown with gold accessories, nothing short of royal-looking: I fear only one person I know could choose an outfit as gorgeous as this one.

Damian, proudly next to him, in a smaller, matching gown: Only the most exquisite. You lot in this flimsy country cannot compare.

Bruce: Yes, Damian has a fine taste in fashion. He gets it from his mother.

Damian, quieter: Well certainly not from you.

Bruce, dressed in an elegant white dress shirt, long black pants and a corset with red accessories, a fan in his right hand:

Reporter: What an entrance! Anyone to give credit to for the wardrobe, Brucie?

Bruce: That'd be my daughter, she certainly shines with her choice of clothing.

Cass, grinning with a matching fan: Very pretty.

Bruce: Thank you, Cass.

Reporter: Woah, that's certainly new. Any reason for this choice of clothes, Brucie, dear?

Bruce, in a snapback cap, loose jeans and a band t-shirt, complete with rings and a chain around his neck: Well, all of my children are creative, but... Duke might just take the cake for this one, love.

Duke, losing his absolute shit next to Jason, Dick and Tim: You look great, B.

Steph doesn't usually go to galas, but she participates in the game nevertheless. If she wins, god help Bruce, because it's a gamble with her. He either ends up wearing a gorgeous outfit with eccentric and trend-setting accessories or literal checkered pyjamas. Worst yet, he has to say he picked it himself, since he can't directly blame Steph.

[lecsainz]

May I request a Luke Castellan x reader who happens to be Annabeth’s older sister? They like each other, but they pretend they don’t. Thank you!

˒ ⌕ I THINK YOU’LL LIKE

parings: luke castellan x chase!reader

summary: that one where you're annabeth's older sister, and you and luke like each other but don't admit it.

an: YAY, I'M SO EXCITED FOR TODAY'S EPISODE! I think I might have lost my way in the writing 🤦🏼‍♀️. and if there are any grammar mistakes, forgive me 🙃

( last work || go to main masterlist )

You had woken up early that morning, expecting it to be like any other—getting up, getting ready, and heading to the arena to train the younger campers. You enjoyed the routine, especially passing by Hermes' cabin to catch a glimpse of Luke interacting so amiably with his half-siblings, causing your heart to skip a beat.

Determined to head to the training area, you were interrupted by a younger camper who needed help tying the laces of their worn-out sneakers.

"I thought you had this down, Claire," you said to the daughter of Hermes while expertly looping the shoelaces.

"I couldn't figure out what you did at the end," she murmured, glancing around as if expecting someone.

You eyed the younger girl suspiciously and proceeded to show her how to tie the knot. "Well, you just need to—"

"Hey, Y/N." Luke cut in as he jogged towards you.

Standing up, you turned to face Luke and saw him handing out sweets to Claire.

"I can't believe you just did that," you accused, pointing a finger at him.

"I didn't set anything up." He raised his hands, laughing as if surrendering. "I like your braid." Luke approached, tucking away a loose strand of your hair. "Suits you."

Feeling your cheeks warm, you stepped back from the brunette and crossed your arms.

"What do you want, Luke?" You asked curiously, starting to walk as you noticed some kids from your cabin heading in the direction you were supposed to be going.

Luke matched your pace. "Can't a dear friend want to see you?" He asked, and you felt one of your hands brushing against his as you walked side by side. "Actually, I-I..." He was interrupted by Annabeth calling out to you.

You both stopped, and Luke stepped back, scratching his neck as if embarrassed.

"Luke! Y/N!" You watched your sister come towards you. "Come on, Y/N, I've got a new tactic I want you to try with the bow," Annabeth said excitedly, pulling you towards the arena.

"Go on, then!" Luke waved to you. "Mind not hitting any campers with your bow, Y/N/N." He teased.

"You're an idiot, Castellan," you teased back, running off with Annabeth while hearing Luke's laughter.

The journey to the arena was short, but Annabeth wouldn't stop discussing the idea she had for the next capture the flag.

"He likes you," Annabeth halted before the arena entrance and stared at you.

You stopped and laughed at her. "He doesn't."

"He does," she insisted. "And you like him too." She slung her arm around your shoulder, amused because you and Luke were obvious to everyone at camp except yourselves.

"He's just a friend, Annie," you said as you both entered the arena.

The morning passed swiftly, not because you dwelled on what Annabeth had told you earlier or because Luke wanted to talk to you earlier. Soon enough, you found yourself alone in the arena, searching for your broken bow and arrows, supposed to be where you always left them but nowhere to be found today. Determined to fix it, you murmured, "I'm sure I left it here," while scanning through various other campers' bows.

"You left it here," Luke appeared behind you.

"Gods!" You startled, placing a hand on your chest and turned to him, annoyed.

"I didn't know I was that ugly to startle you," Luke said, leaning against a table nearby.

"You're not ugly, Luke," you mumbled softly, looking at him. "Wait what do you have behind you?" You asked, approaching him.

"Nothing," he murmured, turning so you couldn't see what he was hiding.

"Let me see, Luke," you stepped closer, trying to grab whatever he was holding.

Luke stepped back, and you stepped forward, causing both of you to collide and end up almost face to face, except for the height difference.

"I really want to kiss you right now," Luke spoke softly, and you wondered if you heard that correctly.

Summoning courage, you looked at him and locked eyes with his mouth. Luke released what he was holding, brushing a hand on your waist, pulling you closer. He looked at you, waiting for some sign of confirmation, and you stood on tiptoes and kissed him. Luke's hand cupping your cheek as he leaned in. Time seemed to stop as your lips met in a gentle yet fervent kiss, a mix of warmth and electricity passing between you.

When you pulled away, a gentle smile graced Luke's lips, and you were sure you were blushing. You rested your head on his chest, and he placed a kiss on your head. "I have something for you," Luke suddenly spoke and moved away to where he had hidden something. "That's why I wanted to talk to you earlier, but Annie showed up, and..."

"So, you used Claire to delay me?!" You accused, laughing, then stopped when you realized what he was holding.

"Don't blame me; I wanted to surprise you." Luke explained, and you couldn't help but find it endearing that he sought help to surprise you. "I saw it broken yesterday." He extended your bow towards you. "I tried fixing it myself, but I don't have the skills of a Hephaestus kid," he chuckled nervously. "I think you’ll like."

You took your bow from him, amazed at Luke's gesture. "It's perfect, Luke," you ran your hand over the drawings - more like scribbles - that weren't there before. "I love it." Surprising him, you hugged him, and Luke let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "Thank you, truly."

Luke hugged you back, his arms enfolding you with a mixture of surprise and contentment. "Anytime, Y/N." he murmured, his voice soft.

You pulled away, holding the repaired bow with a newfound appreciation. "I can't believe you did this," you said, a smile lighting up your face. "You're more talented than you think, Luke."

He scratched the back of his head, a bashful grin spreading across his features. "Well, I had some inspiration." Luke's eyes met yours, holding a warmth that sent a rush of comfort through you.

"Thank you, Luke," you repeated, feeling genuinely grateful. "I owe you one."

He chuckled softly. "How about you owe me a rematch at capture the flag?"

You laughed, nodding in agreement. "You're on, Castellan."

[jamminvroomvroom]

our secret moments.

ln x fem!reader // childhood friend to lovers

in which you’re friends. best friends. but then you buy a dress for him to take off.

this one is for you guys. thank you for inspiring this, my beloved dress anons. i hope you guys love this as much as i do, and that i got it right for you! obsessed with the concepts and brain rot that went into this aaaaaaa lemme know what you think i beg <3 also sorry if the formatting gets weird, trying out smau elements again :D

songs to set the mood: DRESS by taylor swift

warnings: 18+!! minors dni! smut, oblivious friends to lovers, fluff, minor angst, mutual pining, general sex acts, language, an argument

5.6k words

-

your dress sparkles like a mirrorball as the lights flash along the strip.

vegas week begins with a bang; it’s the night of lando’s 24th birthday. the name of your dad’s company is plastered all over the city, as it usually is wherever there’s a race weekend. a round of golf leads to dinner plans and you get dressed up nice with your girlfriends.

you’re almost ready when lando texts you, your friends giving you a look that you brush off when they see the papaya heart next to his name. you tell him you’ll all be ready soon, that’ll you meet him and the boys in the lobby.

high heels sound against the marble floor of the hotel. you walk confidently, tall, scanning for the group of men you’ll be spending the evening with. you spot max fewtrell first, your dear friend here for the occasion, and then ash, who has his back to you. it’s because he’s talking to lando, your best friend, the man that made you fly in to sin city a week earlier than you would have liked.

he’s looking at you before you even see him, watching you walk towards him over ash’s shoulder. he’s checked out from the conversation the second he spots you, glittering under the chandeliers. he can’t breathe, because you’re wearing a dress that renders him somewhere between life and death.

but you’re getting closer, and max, who can see the look on lando’s awestruck face, nudges him so hard in the ribs. he forces himself to inhale, smile, keep breathing.

“good evening, mr norris.” you grin, squeezing his shoulder. “we starting with slots or drinks?”

both is the agreed upon answer, and you let loose in the casino. you watch him roll the dice at one of the game tables, and suddenly, you’re twelve years old again, playing board games on the floor of a hotel room, while your dads talk at the bar downstairs.

your father is, perhaps, the worlds biggest motorsport fan. he’d been sponsoring different series’ since you were little, and he hadn’t stopped expanding as you’d gotten older. that’s how you’d met lando, aged ten years old with braids in your hair, covered in mud, somewhere in the english countryside. you’d been going to kart races since you could walk, and you were sure from the first time you spoke to the small british boy that you’d be destined to meet him. he’d left a mark on you that day, something golden; he radiated sunshine.

your friendship flowed like wine over the years, nice and easy. time on the road with your father meant that lando was the friend you saw the most, and it stayed that way throughout your teenage years. lando’s step up into formula 1 was paired very well with your dad’s investment into mclaren, and five years later, you rarely missed a race.

lando was so easy to be friends with that it was only natural that he was just as easy to love. platonically. you loved him platonically. it was easy to have late night dinner’s with him in his hotel room, easy to walk around the cities you visited with him until your legs hurt, easy to fall asleep on his bed after a netflix binge. so when he told you to pack your bags and be in vegas, it was like he’d pulled an invisible string, because of course, that’s where you would be.

your friend is waving her hand in front of your face when you finally snap out of it. you’ve been staring across the room for god knows how long, and now the girls are laughing at you.

okay, so maybe it’s not just platonically, but you’d rather die than admit it.

“still gonna tell us there’s nothing between you?” nancy, one of your closest friends, teases. your other friend, mia, is giggling beside her. they’d both flown out for the race as well, and had spent the last two years helplessly watching you fall harder and faster.

“shut up,” you whine. “he’s my-“

“best friend.” they both cut you off in unison, mockingly. nancy rolls her eyes.

“he is!” you protest, waving them off.

you leave them in the dust to join the lads at the table. lando’s arm is draped over your shoulder the second you arrive.

“lost your millions yet?” you whisper into his ear. he tuts in response, knowing grin on his face.

“you have no faith in me, honey.” he bumped your hip with his as he spoke.

the game continues, and somehow, much to your surpise, lando gets richer. the walk from the casino to the club is short, and soon enough, you’re drunk and sweating under strobe lights. rounds and rounds of shots disappear and you sink deeper and deeper into the booth you’d reserved.

you let the music thrum through your body, closing your eyes in contentment. a knee nudges yours, and you open your eyes to see lando sliding into the booth next to you. he hands you a drink, and you mouth him a thank you.

“got your eye on anyone here?” lando’s head is resting in the crook of your neck when he asks. it’s obviously just so that you can hear him.

you pull back from him, scanning his face for a moment, really taking him in. the slope of his nose, curls matted on his forehead, grey blue eyes that you swear flit to your lips for just a second. just a brief second. you smile, soft and tired.

“nope.” you mouth back to him. “you?”

lando returns your smile, mirroring you perfectly. he shakes his head.

it’s around 3:30am when you crave the sweet release of sleep. your feet are aching and your head is throbbing. no questions are asked when lando offers you a piggyback ride.

you ignore the way your friends look at you both when he carries you up to your room.

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youruser: sin city for nozza’s birthday

user: are they together?

otheruser: mother?

landonorris: lost millions.

user2: the photo of the dress next to the photos of lando? she’s tryna tell us something i think.

and 444 other comments

-

you ignore the nausea pooling in the pit of your belly.

apparently, the medical centre isn’t that far away when you sprint there. harsh fluorescent lights greet you when you burst through the door, searching for a mop of curls and a burst of orange. your eyes find adam, lando’s dad, and you rush to his side.

“is he okay?” something about the fear in your eyes makes adam crack a smile. it seems there’s no hiding how you feel from anyone except lando.

“they’re just checking him over now, think they might take him to the hospital, just to be safe.” adam explains. “he was asking for you.” he smiles again.

“so it’s just precautionary?” you ignore the last bit. you ignore the way it makes your stomach twist and your brain fight to keep a smile off of your face.

“you can see him, if you want.” adam gestures towards the nearest examination room.

you’re gone before he can say anything more, bursting into the room without even thinking of knocking.

lando’s pretty much stoned. god knows what they gave him but it seems to be working; he’s propped up on the bed, cracks a sleepy smile when he sees you.

“hey, pretty girl.” he drawls, waving slowly. you pray you’re not blushing.

“scared me out there, you prick.” you joke, but your voice shakes.

“c’mere.” he frowns, so you walk around his bed. he slaps the small spot next to him clumsily, and you perch on the edge of the bed.

lando grabs your hand, pulling you in closer, eyelids drooping as he does it.

“i’m sorry, honey. always wanna race well for you.” lando is pouting. he’s fucking pouting at you.

“hey, hey, it’s fine! as long as you’re okay.”

he nods like a child being told off, but he doesn’t drop your hand. he doesn’t drop it in the helicopter to the hospital, either.

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youruser: alls well that ends well (but i’m in a new hell every time you go to the hospital)

landonorris: whoops?

user1: THE TAYLOR LYRICS HELLO?

user44: do y��all think we can’t see you.

user2: 3RD SLIDE HELLO?

yourfriendnancy: anyway. the dress ate.

otheruser: @ yourfriendnancy WHAT DO YOU KNOW

and 567 other comments

-

“i just don’t get why you keep wearing the fucking shoes if they hurt so much.” lando bumps your shoulder with his, teasing you.

“sometimes you do what you gotta do for the ‘fit.” you huff, trying to keep up with him.

you’re on your way to dinner with lando, marking your first night in dubai. the restaurant isn’t too far, but your shoes are simply not cooperating. you’d left lando to book a table, knowing that a name drop from him would mean good food and not too many people there to watch you both eat it. after vegas, the rumour mill was working overtime, and you’d had a headache for two days as a result.

none of your other friends have arrived in the emirates yet, so it leaves just the two of you to hang out. it’s something you usually love to do, but after the whirlwind of the last few days, it makes your tummy twist.

you can’t stop thinking about the hospital, your hand in his, the way he’d demanded you accompany him despite the presence of his literal father. you absolutely can’t stop thinking about “pretty girl” or the lazy smile on his face when he said it, like it was what he always called you. he usually sticks to honey, not the most platonic thing in the world, but he said it once and it just stuck.

you’re pulled out of your downward spiral by the way he suddenly comes to a stop in the middle of the pavement. you look at him confused, but then he’s making a suggestion that makes you want to lay done in front of an oncoming ferrari.

“want me to carry your shoes? you can put them on right before we go in.” lando shrugs. you must be blushing by the way he fights off a smile.

“lando, i cannot walk down the streets of dubai shoeless.” you scowl. he chuckles.

“says who? give ‘em here. you can wear mine if you want.” lando reasons, and after staring at him likes he’s grown a second head, you cave.

you start to crouch down but he beats you to it. your breath hitches in your throat when his fingers graze your ankle. you watch in shocked silence as he undoes each clasp, letting you step out of the shoes. the pavement is relatively cool under your feet, and it snaps you out of your state. you decline his offer of his own shoes, and he’s started walking again when you stop him.

“lando, why are you doing this?”

“you took good care of me last weekend. least i can do.” he tells you, and you nod once. “c’mon, we’re gonna be late.” he ushers you along and you walk the rest of the way in silence, silver heels swinging in his hand.

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youruser: dinner w bestie

user: lando took this. bet.

user3: her other friends aren’t in abu dhabi yet she has to be with lando

landonorris: how was dinner?

youruser: @ landonorris u tell me.

user4: a date if i ever saw one?

user63: are we sure they’re not just friends?

user4: @ user63 girl. be so fr

and 329 other comments

-

the restaurant is licensed, so you find solace in a glass of white wine. lando sticks to water.

your mains arrive and you natter back and forth, discussing the end of the season and any gossip you may have acquired. you barely stop laughing, head thrown back every time he opens his mouth. it feels easy again, and you find yourself thawing out, previous worries shoved to the back of your mind.

“so what’s next year looking like? last year of your degree.” lando wiggles his eyebrows, wearing a hint of pride on his face.

“might have to stay away from race tracks for a while. it’s gonna be a busy year.” you sigh. his face obviously falls.

“how long is a while? need my cheerleader.” it’s said in jest, but desperation lies in the outskirts of his voice.

“until the summer break.” you frown. you’d gotten far too comfortable studying on the road.

“can’t you continue as you are? i’m gonna mis- your dad will miss you.” lando corrects himself and your fork clatters against your plate.

“can’t get rid of me too easily, norris.” you clean up the awkward mess before it can even become one, returning to the lighter side of the conversation.

“trust me, i’m not trying to.” he flirts. in jest.

you roll your eyes and gulp down wine.

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youruser: new heights n pretty lights

user2: i know who took 3/4 of these pics.

landonorris: i want that hat back btw

user6: she is the moment

user: mommy? huh who said that?

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lando.jpg: from the road

oscarpiastri: violation.

youruser: can u send me these. especially the one of oscar :)

user4: WAIT didn’t she post the second one a while? LANDO TOOK IT?

user81: oscar 😭😭

maxfewtrell: why don’t you take nice pictures of me like this?

user11: the wags are fighting omg

and 799 other comments

-

your back is to his chest and the music is unbearable. it doesn’t stop you from swaying your hips against his.

nothing beats the abu dhabi grand prix’s after party.

lando stays p6 in the championship, but it’s only by one stupid point. celebration is certainly called for, and you bask in the freedom of the season ending.

you don’t even want to think about the way he hugged you when he got out of the damn car.

so you don’t. you drink and you dance and you beg for someone else to try and take you home so that you can avoid him. you’re scared, fucking terrified, and avoiding him seems like the best option.

that’s until he finds you in the sea of people, because of course he does, and you get closer, closer, closer, until there’s no room for god and his hands are on your hips.

it feels too fucking good to stop, you can’t even compute pulling away, so you let yourself go. what’s the point in trying to hide the way you feel when he’s holding you against his crotch? ah, yes. a cornerstone of friendship.

but it’s too hot and it’s too bright and it’s too loud and the anxiety hits. it hits and you can’t stop the way you freeze up against him. you’re sick to death of pretending. you’re sick to death of nights like this one repeating themselves far too often, only to wake up in the morning and act like it means nothing. like the way he holds you and looks at you and touches you means nothing.

no matter how drunk he is, no matter how far gone he is, he knows you too damn well. he’s spinning you around in his arms and pulling you through the hoards of people.

cool air lands on your flushed skin and you realise you’re in the smoking area. lando looks wrecked, but he’s watching you as intently as he can manage.

“you okay, honey? want me to take you home?” he’s rubbing your arm as he speaks and tears well in your eyes. you’re not entirely sure why.

“stay, i don’t wanna ruin your night.” you croak. you need to get out of there immediately.

“no, no, no, you’re my priority, i’ll call us a driver and w-“

“stop it, lando. i can go back to the hotel alone.” he looks bewildered, and you don’t blame him. you sound harsh, way too harsh considering what he’d offered.

“i should take you.” he replies quietly and you feel bad.

great, now you are crying.

“just- i don’t want this to change, i don’t want us to change and if you keep on like this-“

alas, everything changes, then. every unsaid word is fair game and neither of you are holding back. the shots you’ve thrown back fuel an explosion.

“if i keep on like this? what, you think i don’t see the way you look at me?” lando’s words hit like venom and you’re white hot with embarrassment.

fiery despair hits you and you’re bound to regret every word when you’re sober and sane.

“at least i don’t fuck with your head.”*

“you think that doesn’t fuck with my head? the one woman i- fuck, you know what? it doesn’t matter.” he bites his tongue but you most certainly don’t.

“what? what, lando? as if the way i look at you compares to carrying my shoes and putting me to bed and calling me pretty and every other thing that you do to drive me up the fucking wall.” you spit.

your tears burn your cheeks, you’ve always been an angry crier, and they fall faster when he practically deflates and turns away, disappearing into the club.

you make your getaway, your father’s assistant sends you a car.

you cry yourself to sleep in your hotel room, watching the orange sun rise.

-

the flight home is quiet.

your plans to fly home with lando are abandoned, and you board the earliest flight available.

you never fight with him, so you don’t know how to proceed. everything had changed in a matter of words and you ignore the lump in your throat when you land in miserable, rainy london alone.

you’re surprised to see your dad’s blacked out range rover waiting for you when you get through customs. he’d been on the first flight out of the emirates as soon as the race had finished, and you assumed he’d be asleep for at least a day or two. the man never rests during the season, from the minute the lights go out in bahrain, until the flag falls in abu dhabi. then, he biblically crashes, the excitement and adrenaline hibernating until next year. average behaviour for the world’s biggest motorsport fan.

he’s out the car and opening the boot for you before you even reach him, and he’s pulling you into his fatherly embrace when you finally do. you let out a shaky breath, having been in desperate need of a hug.

“hey, kid.” he mutters into your ear. maybe it’s good to be home.

“what are you doing here?” you ask from the passenger seat, once all of your luggage is packed into the car.

your dad sighs, turning to look at you. you groan, thudding your head against the headrest. you know that look, the one that precedes a motivational speech, a bit of tough love, and usually very sound advice that you never ask for.

“lando called me.” he deadpans. they’d grown somewhat annoyingly close over the years.

“fantastic.” you reply, sarcasm as clear as day.

“he was beside himself. told me what happened.” your dad says softly and you squeeze your eyes shut.

“it’s so, so fine. i don’t wanna talk about this.” your voice trembles and you don’t have the energy to cry anymore.

“there’s nothing wrong with telling him how you feel, sweetheart. don’t throw something away because you’re scared.” and, here we go… you think.

“i can’t lose him.” you whisper, furiously wiping away the stray tears that fall, staring out the window.

“you won’t lose him if you tell him. trust me, kid. we all see how that boy adores you. no father ever thinks a guy is good enough for their girl, but lando comes pretty damn close.”

“i don’t even know where to begin.” you rub your temples, battling the tension headache you’d developed sometime the night before.

“well, start thinking. you’ve got a week.” you can see your dad smirking from the corner of your eye.

“what?” you blurt, blindsided. you’d need more than a fucking week.

“end of year gala, kid. pick a dress.”

fuck.

-

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youruser: commotion for the dress?

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mclaren: always good to see you! 🧡

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-

you’re glowing, draped in champagne pink silk.

from the other side of the room, you watch lando, and he watches you. it’s like a game, who’s gonna break first? who’s going to extend the olive branch?

he looks so pretty in his suit that you would cry if there were any tears left in you, if you hadn’t purged them all out of frustration and longing in the week of radio silence.

you’re nursing a glass of champagne, waiting for dinner to start. the room is full of rich people with big ideas, icons of the racing world, both past and present. you make small talk with oscar and his girlfriend, exchange pleasantries with your father’s many friends, and beg that lando makes the first move.

the clinking against a glass indicates that dinner is ready to be served, and you scan the tables for your place card. apparently, the event coordinator has a vendetta against you, because scrawled in deep orange cursive on the place card next to yours is mr lando norris. you scan the room for the nearest exit. your grand scheme to flee in a floor length gown and too high heels is interrupted by the sound of your chair scraping out next to you.

you feel a ghost of breath against your bare shoulder. curls tickle your skin and then, a head rests in the crook of your neck.

he says your name, and the world stops for a second.

“i’m sorry.” lando whispers in your ear, and your heart falls to your stomach.

you whip around, holding him tight as you wrap your arms around him. the tension plaguing your body since abu dhabi dissipates in seconds.

“don’t apologise. just… i missed you.” you sigh.

“you look… fuck. you’re gorgeous.” he breathes in your ear. one hand skims low over your waist. something inside of you explodes.

you don’t even try to fight the blush that tinges your cheeks.

someone important is trying to make a toast, so you take your seats. you’re not listening to a word being said, though. you just smile at lando, and lando smiles back.

you’re gonna tell him, you decide. he has to know, although you suspect he already does; you can’t imagine another day without the privilege of him looking at you the way he is right now.

dinner is a breeze. you eat, drink, laugh at the stories exchanged. you remember why you love this world you were raised in, and find yourself grinning mindlessly at your father as he rattles off yet another wild tale from your travels. you’re lucky, you know you are, and it’s reaffirmed when the man sat beside you - who you think you love a bit more than platonically - drapes his arm over the back of your chair.

plates are cleared away and a band starts their set on the makeshift stage. the mtc is lit so beautifully, fairy lights twinkle above you casting dainty light over the makeshift dance floor.

“dance with me.” lando requests. he hates to dance at these functions, so you know the request comes from the heart.

“lead the way.”

he takes your hand and you make your way onto the floor, which is slowly filling up with other couples. his hold is firm, yet gentle, and you lean into him as he keeps you close. eventually, your ear is to his chest, and you can hear his heart hammering away. you melt further into him as the song plays out, and you wish it would play forever.

“we gonna talk about it?” lando murmurs, just loud enough over the music.

“we are.” you mumble against the lapel of his jacket.

“come home with me.”

you nod, inhaling the scent of his cologne; god, how you missed every little part of him.

you keep dancing and dancing, until the champagne runs out and the band starts to pack up.

-

the door slams softly behind you.

lando takes your coat, and you drop your bag on his coffee table. when you turn around to find him, he’s stood in the doorway watching you. there is so much to say, but you can barely form a thought.

“i can’t take this any longer.” lando tells you.

your breath hitches in your throat.

“neither can i.” you whisper.

“we can be more.”

“what do you want us to be?” your chest is tight and you’re looking at him so fucking intensely, desire as clear as day in your eyes.

“you know what i want. and i know you want it too.” he walks towards you slowly as he speaks, footsteps punctuating each word.

“i need to hear you say it.” you breathe. you’re shaking; you’re not sure if it’s the anticipation or the way you’re holding yourself back.

“all i want, all i ever wanted, is you.” he’s right in front of you and his hands are on your waist. you’re tingling everywhere.

lando’s nose bumps yours. you’re scanning his face, every line, freckle, slope that maps him out. he can’t help but look at your lips, darkened eyes flitting over your face. all you can hear is shaky breaths, and perhaps your heartbeat ringing in your ears.

“can i…?” lando mutters.

you close the gap some more, lips brushing his.

“of course you can.”

he kisses you like he’ll die if he doesn’t. his hands cup your cheeks and yours find his neck, gently pressing your fingertips into his skin. lando’s frantic, passionate, oh so careful as he deepens the kiss, pulling you somehow closer. you hum in surprise, and you feel him smirking. he’s moving hungrily, and you’re starving, impatient when your hands find his curls. the groan he emits at the sensation makes you ache for him all over.

you’re both panting when you pull away, the urgency to breathe the only thing stopping you. the relief you feel is astronomical, your lips lock perfectly and he feels wondrous under your explorative hands. he smiles wide and you grip his collar, pressing your forehead against his.

“i was gonna tell you, and then you turned up looking like this… fuck.” lando groans, and you can’t help but lean up into him once more.

the kiss is slower this time, languid, and he licks slowly into your mouth. his pupils are blown when you break apart and his eyes flutter open. your thighs clench under your dress.

“so, you like the dress?” you giggle incredulously, buzzing from the interaction. lando looks at you like you’re stupid.

“you look…” he runs his eyes over you, pausing mid sentence tentatively.

“say it.”

“fucking incredible.”

“thanks. bought it with you in mind.” you tease, smirking coyly.

his jaw goes slack; you can see him mentally undressing you, and then he’s kissing you all over again.

his bedroom isn’t far, but he insists on carrying you there, sweeping you up into his arms. he peppers kisses over your neck, kicking the door open with his dress shoe.

lando places you on your feet at the foot of his bed, smoothing his hands over the curve of your waist, the silk of your dress. he tucks your hair behind your ears, drawing you close once more as he does, cupping your face in large, calloused hands.

“what do you want tonight?” lando asks, searching your face for any sign of hesitancy.

“need you. all of you.” you keen into his touch, and his breath hitches in his throat.

“we’ll go slow.” he murmurs.

“no.” you shake your head, and his hands drop from your face. “don’t want to hold back anymore.” he finds your ass, grazing his fingers upwards until he finds the fastening of your dress. you maintain eye contact while he drags the zip down, shivering as your hear the faint buzz of the metal.

lando stops, just for a second in an attempt to compose himself.

“take it off. bought it so that you could take it off.” your brutal honesty breathes some urgency into him.

he keeps his eyes on yours as the silk falls off your body, pooling at your feet. the cool air brushes your skin - covered only by lacy panties and stilettos - but his touch warms you when he grabs your waist. lando walks you backwards until the backs of your knees hit the foot of the bed. he places you on the bed, on top of you like a shot, kissing you into the mattress.

he clambers off of you, sliding down your body until he reaches your heels. kisses trail up your legs while he takes them off, the thud of them hitting the floor making you jump. anticipation pools in your barely there underwear; he can see you, all of you, and he cannot bring himself to look away.

“careful with those, they were expensive.” you joke, but your voice sounds wrecked already. you can’t even imagine how you’ll sound when he’s done.

“i have different priorities right now.” he flashes a grin and you lose him between your legs.

your underwear stay on when he dives into your pussy, teeth scraping over your covered folds. he can definitely taste you already, stuttering out a moan as he casts his tongue over you. you sink deep into the sheets, bucking your hips into his face, but his hold on you is firm and you have to relent. he lets go of you for a moment, just to pull your panties down, and as soon as they’re gone, he’s delving deep into you.

the sounds he’s making are obscene, his entire face buried away. lando flicks his tongue over your clit, beginning an extended assault on your nerve endings, sucking hard and fast until you whimper his name. a knot forms in your core.

lando takes his mouth off of you, lips slick and glistening. he swipes his tongue over them, sitting back on his haunches. he begins rolling his sleeves up, and you manage to push yourself up so that you’re resting on your elbows. you reach out to toy with the buttons of his dress shirt, leaving his torso exposed to you. you rake your nails over his abs, transfixed on the way he tenses, shudders under your touch. once his sleeves are out of his way, he pushes you back. your hair fans out around you as he resumes his position between your legs.

one finger ghosts over your clit, poking and tracing the bud. you’re reeling, writhing at the feeling of everything and almost nothing at all. he drags the digit down until he finds your entrance, abandoning the teasing and slipping it inside of you. he twists his wrist, adding a second finger, grinding them deep. he’s slow with it, watches the way your face twists in euphoria, finding a deep sense of pride in the way he makes you shake.

“you have no fucking idea how long i’ve wanted to do this.” his words have you clamping down on him, fucking yourself onto his hand.

“the feeling’s mutual.” you gasp.

lando cocks an eyebrow. he scales your body until he’s hovering over you again, fingers still working in and out of you. the angle change is delightful, your back arching and your nipples harden as they skim his bare chest.

“is it, honey? was it mutual all those nights i pictured you next to me, right on this bed? all those nights i watched you dance in your short skirts? all those nights i carried you to bed and wished i could stay?” he whispers right into your ear. his fingers speed up.

“fuck, lando. yes.” you cry, mouth hanging slack.

“tell me. tell me how mutual it was and i’ll let you come, pretty girl.” he teases; goosebumps litter your skin. there he goes again with pretty girl. this fucking man.

“always wanted more… was too scared to ask for it.”

“oh?” he coos, mockingly.

“couldn’t lose you if you didn’t want me.” you pant. a weight lifts off your chest as you let the words slip, his efforts sending you hurtling towards an orgasm.

“not going anywhere.” he kisses the base of your throat. “ever.” he punctuates, thumb sliding over your clit. “let go, love.”

the wave of pleasure crashes on your shores and it doesn’t stop, rippling through your belly and down into your toes. lando’s name falls from your lips like a sin, over and over until you can’t even hear yourself anymore.

lando’s smiling when you come down, small and knowing. he pecks your lips, once, twice, humming into the kiss when your hands find a home under his shirt. it’s unbuttoned already, so it slides over his bronzed shoulders easily. you hear it thud softly when it hits the floor.

“what?” you catch him looking at you, giddy.

“i can’t believe we’re doing this.” he grins. his words overwhelm you.

“i know.” you beam up at him bashfully.

he undresses himself and then the wait is over, and god knows it was a long one. he finds home between your thighs, runs his cock through your folds.

“you sure?”

“don’t make me wait any longer.” you insist.

it takes you a moment to adjust; he strokes your walls nice and deep and you feel everything he has to offer you. it’s surreal, really, stretching around him like this. you’d only ever daydreamed of the possibility, and now that it’s happening you can’t quite believe it. he moans low, forehead resting on yours. you watch his eyes roll back when he bottoms out.

your lip is quivering; it’s too intense, he’s too good. he takes it slow, just like he’d insisted, but he grinds deep, long strokes making you dizzy. you leave imprints of crescents in his shoulder blades, marking his pristine skin.

you can’t take much more of this, his hips hitting yours at such a delectable pace. he drags in and out, building a blissful rhythm and you’re whimpering into his neck. your teeth dig into the muscled plane of skin, minimal pressure applied, and his thrusts turn erratic, curses tumbling freely from his pink parted lips. it makes you squirm, spilling all over him, white hot and wet.

lando collapses into your damp body, the room is humid. you drag your nails through his hair, pushing the sweat slicked curls off of his forehead, and then your hand thuds lazily against the pillow.

“i’m done pretending.” he mumbles. “i’m yours.”

the last few years of your life flash before your eyes. you think back to his buzz cut and every time you’d failed to rebound. you think of bleached hair and lies about love and how he always saw the best in you. you think of nothing but him, you, together. he’s carved into you now, you think he always has been.

you fall asleep happy. you’ll wake up by his side and then you’ll do it the morning after, and the one after that too.

-

youruser just posted on instagram

liked by landonorris, mclaren, francisca.gomez, lilymhe and 735,641 others

youruser: our secret moments

landonorris: “only bought this dress so you could take it off” 🕺🏻✨💘

youruser: @ landonorris omg shut up (omw over)

user1: FINALLY

user4: bisexual panic is a real thing.

otheruser: i used to pray for times like these

maxfewtrell: took you long enough.

yourfriendmia: mum n dad

user63: mclaren ships it and so do i

and 1,442 other comments

-

taglist

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maintenance: i’ve removed any tags that weren’t working! lemme know if you wanna be added or removed!

[awill2live]

𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐄

summary: you captivate the city’s kingpin sukuna during your performance one evening. later, as you unwind in your dressing room, finally alone and removing your makeup, he pays you a visit.

part 1

You walked down the dim hallway toward your dressing room, the soft sounds of the crew packing up the last of the set fading behind you. You just wanted to escape into your own quiet space, shed the glitz and glamour, and finally go home. Your hand reached for the familiar door, shoulders relaxing slightly as you stepped inside.

With a sigh, you sank into your chair, tossing your heels to the floor and stretching your legs out in front of you, a satisfied moan escaping your lips as you finally let your muscles relax. You reached for a hair tie, gathering your curls into a lazy updo, letting a few loose strands frame your face as you settled into the comfort of peace. Bit by bit, you wiped away your makeup, watching as your true face began to emerge in the mirror.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror, lipstick still perfectly intact, a small reminder of the evening's performance. You were still riding the high of it, the thrill pulsing softly beneath your skin. The dressing room was filled with the soft scent of your perfume, the only sign that someone had occupied the space at all.

With practiced grace, you wiped off your lipstick, admiring the red stain left behind on the tissue. You was almost finished with your routine when a sharp knock broke the stillness. You rolled your eyes, letting out a sigh in annoyance.

"Dear God, I'm not in here," you groaned to yourself, hoping whoever it was would get the hint. But the door swung open anyway, revealing a tall, figure who leaned casually against the frame. He wore a lazy smirk on his lips, a look that seemed designed to make everyone else in the room feel like they were playing his game, whether they wanted to or not. Sukuna's crimson eyes glinted under the dim lights, his gaze slow and unashamed as it drank in the sight of you without even a hint of subtlety.

You didn’t immediately acknowledge his presence, removing your earrings with a practiced hand. Your eyes never left the mirror. “Look, I’m not in the mood for fans or autographs. Whatever it is, can it—” Your words caught in your throat as you took in the full sight of the man standing before you. Sukuna Ryoumen, the kingpin of the city's underground, notorious for his cold demeanor and ruthless ways.

"Well now, Ms. L/n, that's not a very nice way to greet a fan, is it?" he said, his voice smoother than silk and colder than ice. Your heart skipped a beat, but you weren’t about to let him see that. You titled your head to the side, smiling sweetly, "I didn't know you were a fan, hun." You replied, voice laced with sarcasm. "Or that you paid attention to anyone but yourself."

Sukuna took a step closer, his hands casually slipping into his pockets, as he pushed off the doorframe and stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

"Oh, I pay attention to the things that matter" he said, his gaze lingering on your bare neck, exposed by your updo. "And a voice like yours…is difficult to ignore, you know."

Your hand hovered over your heart, playing along with the game. "Flattery from the city's most notorious kingpin?" you smiled, turning to face your reflection again. "I must be doing something right." Your heart raced, but you kept your composure. Sukuna was not a man to be played with, and you had learned long ago to never show fear, especially to men like him. You continued your routine, never taking your eyes off the mirror.

"More than just 'something,'" Sukuna said, his voice like velvet. "Tonight's performance was... amazing" His tone softened, almost as if the words surprised even him. He glanced at you, a strange glint in his eye. "But I didn't come prepared. An oversight on my part." You turned to him slightly, your curiosity piqued.

"Didn't come prepared?" You repeated, folding your arms as you raised a brow. He looked down, a hint of a sheepish smile breaking his usual mask of smug confidence. "I should've brought something," he admitted, his gaze now fully fixed on you.

"After a performance like that, a gift would've been only fitting. I thought about roses... but somehow, they seemed too predictable for someone like you."

Your guarded expression softened, ever so slightly, at the unexpected vulnerability in his tone. "Roses?" You whispered, a trace of amusement slipping into your voice. "You really think a bouquet of roses would do the trick?" He tilted his head, his smirk returning with renewed intensity.

"No," he said quietly. "That's the problem. There's nothing conventional that suits you. You're... something else." Your heart skipped a beat, but you kept your composure, meeting his gaze with a playful spark in your eye.

"Well, if roses are too mundane for you, Mr. Ryoumen, what exactly would you bring next time?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "But l'd find something worthy. I'm not the type to make the same mistake twice." You smiled, lips curling in a mix of amusement and curiosity, feeling the faintest thrill run through you. "So, you plan on coming back, then?"

"Only if you want me to," he replied, his voice softer than you’d ever imagined it could be. His hand hovered just above yours on the vanity, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his skin, though he kept his distance, a quiet restraint in his touch. "If you'd let me, l'd love to see you again after another show. No expectations… just to enjoy the performance, and maybe... talk afterward."

You held his gaze, your mind whirling as you weighed his words, the faint, undeniable sincerity beneath his usual arrogance. He wasn't asking for anything in return, no games, no schemes. Just an honest offer, simple yet rare, and somehow exciting. Your heart raced, but you kept your expression steady, refusing to let him see the spark of intrigue he'd ignited.

The silence between y’all stretched, filled with unspoken tension, an electric pulse that neither could ignore. Finally, you let out a quiet, knowing laugh, as you studied him. "You know, you're not quite what I expected."

"Good," he murmured, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "I'd hate to be predictable."

You leaned back in your chair, eyes never leaving his. "Well, Mr. Ryoumen, I suppose you can come again. But don't think I'll let you off the hook next time," you said, voice carrying a playful, daring edge. "You'll need to bring something—something better than roses, something worth my time."

His smirk softened into something warmer, something that almost felt genuine. "I'll be sure to surprise you," he promised, his voice lingering in the air long after he turned to leave. As he reached the door, he paused, glancing back at you one last time.

"Until next time, y/n."

You watched him go, a faint smile tugging at your lips, mind already curious about what he might bring, and whether he'd be able to keep surprising you. And for the first time in a long time, you felt a spark of something new—a thrill of anticipation that had nothing to do with the stage, and everything to do with the mysterious man who'd just walked out of your dressing room.

[itsabouttimex2]

What do you think would make Odysseus a yandere?

I think it would happen right after he drops Scamandrius from the walls of Troy.

That little baby, already so loved that he had inspired a nickname from his father, his people- “Astyanax”, detailing what he; as the firstborn son of Troy’s heir apparent, was set to become- king, ruler, overlord.

And Odysseus kills him.

Not because he wants to, but because he is, at the end of the day, just a man. A selfish man who loves himself and his soldiers and his home, but not nearly as much as he loves his son and his wife.

The only thing that breaks him from the harrowing thought that a like-minded man might be doing the same thing to his own son miles away is a broken wail cutting through somber silence.

Odysseus turns, feet heavier than his heart, hesitant to see not what, but who he already knows is behind him.

Andromache running towards him. He sees her, wrapped in loose white robes, arms held close to her chest, tears running down her face, closer and closer to him- barefoot and broken.

And realizes that she’s not coming at him, not coming for revenge or catharsis or some measure of score-settling, but instead she’s headed for the rim of the stone wall that her son was dropped from, intending to plunge the same misty heights and fade into the swallowing vale below.

She leaps in a blitz of white silk, looking so much like an angel descending that Odysseus nearly misses his chance to reach for her in a sort of awe- though her enthralling beauty pales in comparison to his Penelope, it spurs him to try and catch the grieving wife, mother, queen.

The Itchacan king reaches for her hands and snags a bundle of white instead, accidentally tearing it from her grasp and leaving her to plummet without whatever had been so dear that she would take it to the grave held against her heart.

And after the shock has worn off, after his soldiers have moved from wide-eyed gasping and into solemnly shaking their heads at the waste of good life, after Polites calls for him to please come down and come back to the ship, Odysseus takes a moment to unwrap that little bundle with a heavy heart.

Another child, even younger than the first, blissfully asleep in spite of the carnage and ruin around them.

This time, there’s no god or soothsayer or prophet to chime in his ear an order or command, leaving Odysseus on the edge of a very welcoming ledge, contemplating his decisions as the soldiers below grow anxious at the grief in their captain’s eyes.

Polites coaxes him down again, this time even more gently, so the king wraps you back up and heads for the stairs.

His second-in-command waits for him at the beach, having paid last respects to both Andromache and her beloved son, both wrapped in a tattered sail and covered in rocks to keep all but the most determined of predators away- he and his brothers-in-arms did what they could, and even now spill wine in the sand around them.

It’s not much, but they did their best. That’s all any man can do in this situation.

Eurylochus doesn’t like the haunted look in his captain’s eyes, how his fingers twitch around the bundle of cloth, how he can’t bear to look at the impromptu grave of two innocent souls.

Nobody does.

But the deed is done, the blood is spilled, and dawn breaks soon. There’s no time for questions, no time for further delays. Home is waiting.

Six hundred families are waiting for six hundred tired soldiers, hoping to welcome them with open arms and settle for boring times.

So there’s no hesitating or comprehending or deciding. The bundle doesn’t protest, and neither do his men. No one questions the impromptu addition to the crew.

A living reminder of all the children they orphaned, even if indirectly. Bringing you along is a form of penance that none confess to wanting.

Odysseus holds the infant close as he returns to the ship, wood creaking under the boots of soldiers boarding in lockstep, heavy as his conscience and heart.

…he’ll need to think of a name for you.

[oweninadaydream]

𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐠𝐨 𝐩𝐭 𝟐 || 𝐅.𝐎𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐫

𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂 : Say Don't Go (Taylor's version) (From The Vault) or 4 times you say 'I love you' and Finnick says nothing back.

𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 : Finnick Odair x reader

𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽 : 2k

𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓼 : angst/fluffy ending i promise, TW: mentions of torture ,anxiety and kidnapping (first story).

𝓪/𝓷 : As promised, here's part 2 of say don't go pt 1 !!! I hope you enjoy the fic!!!

3. 𝓰𝓱𝓸𝓼𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾

You woke up in your bed, yet you could not recall how you got there. Your body felt sore and stiff but nothing could top the way your head was pounding. You were seated against the headboard and you noticed that something wasn’t right ; you couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but you knew deep inside that something was different. To help calm your distress, you tried to remember anything about the day before . You realized right and then that your memory was completely blank, leaving you even more worried than you were prior to that failed attempt. 

You had assumed you were all alone, but then you saw Finnick pass through your bedroom door. “Thank God he’s here” you thought, convincing yourself that everything would be alright now that he was there with you (even if you ignored the motivation behind his unexpected visit). He slowly made his way inside and stood in the middle of the room, keeping himself at arm’s length, something extremely unusual that confirmed your gut feeling. Once he had entered your bedroom, you couldn’t help but analyze him and his strange attitude.  His movements were robotic as if someone had a remote control that forced him to act like that. His eyes had never been a mystery to you , you could always tell what was going on inside him with a single stare . But this time it was different; he was staring at you with an impassive look that you couldn't quite read, making your whole body tremble in fear and distrust.

You felt intimidated and tried to figure out what was wrong with him “Finn dear, what’s going on?" you asked with a quivering smile. You tried to lift your hand to reach his but ,for some reason, you couldn't. It felt like you were strapped to the mattress and you started panicking, as you couldn't figure out what was happening. Seeking comfort, you pleaded with him in between sobs "I'm very scared Finnick please tell me something, anything. Or just hold me because this is very confusing. I- I feel like- I can't move out of bed, I- I need you" 

He simply continued to play his stoic role ; he didn't move one inch before your panic attack or your efforts to set free from the invisible restraints holding you down. "Help me" you whispered with an expression of pure pain on your damped face. Your foggy brain couldn't process the scene before your eyes ; the person who represented love, hope and comfort in your miserable life was being a passive witness to your spectacle of fear and it didn’t seem like he was going to jump into action anytime soon. 

You noticed a rapid change in his factions. His eyes burst into flames of hatred and his clenched jaw only accentuated the shift from indifference to hostility. Instead of hurrying to console and aid you like the Finnick you knew would, this empty shell of a man that resembled him broke the distance between you and wrapped his hands around your throat, beginning to strangle you purposefully. 

You had been living in survival mode ever since you were chosen as a tribute for District 4 all those years ago, you were no stranger to fighting or death, but never in a million years would you have imagined that the man who swore to shield you from any danger would be the one stealing your breath with his bare hands in an extremely violent manner . You were desperately gasping for air and coughing while he continued to focus on his mission. 

For a moment, he seemed to let his hold loose a bit and you took the chance to try and talk him into letting go "Finn, it's me. Why are you doing this?Is anyone making you do this? We take care of each other, remember? I love you more than anything." you told him with a soft but raspy voice as a consequence of his assault. You were tired and wanted to give up, but you continued to fight for him, for your Finn to come back. Apparently, hearing your desperate confession only aggravated the situation, because you felt the strength returning to his hands. 

Suddenly, in between your cries and the lack of air , you felt yourself fading away. But before that happened , you heard a very loud scream. In the blink of an eye, you were no longer in your house and Finnick was nowhere to be seen. A white sterile room welcomed you to reality as some doctors accompanied by two peacekeepers entered the room. 

Oh, you remember now. You were kidnapped by the Capitol, who had been subjecting you to all kinds of  twisted experiments and never-ending abuse for who knows how long. The loud cries and several swear words that made you snap out of that nightmare were Johanna's, whose room was at your right. Peeta was your other neighbor, allowing you to hear them both being tortured at any given time. You looked at your arms and legs and saw the ropes tying you down , justifying the oppressing feeling you had while hallucinating. 

The main theme of your punishments for not snitching was him, Finnick Odair. Snow was more than aware of the deep devotion you held for him and how dear you were to him so he figured the perfect torture would be messing with your memories and use several techniques to impose fear and pain in your heart whenever you thought  of him or saw his face. That way, you would finally be all alone in this world ,  scared of the only thing you've ever loved so greatly and he would have to witness you shy away from him in pure terror. To meet his goal, they would drug you and play videos and recordings of him saying the meanest and cruelest words that you knew he would never be able to pronounce, but as the days passed , the truth and the imposed thoughts started to blur in one big and confusing mass. 

You were resisting quite well to President Snow's diabolic plan, but you could only hold onto your actual memories for so long. One of the last things you remembered thinking about  before you let yourself fall into madness were his eyes, and how much you loved them.

If your suffering assured his survival, you'd tell the Capitol to put you through it a thousand more times , and you would gladly do it again. If only you could have held your sweet Finnick for one more minute before letting him go forever…

4. 𝓪𝓷 𝓸𝓭𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓘 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮

The setting sun turned the white-sanded coast of District 4 a soft but enchanting shade of orange. The waves crashing against the rocks accompanied perfectly the idyllic landscape and brought a sense of calmness to the people assembled there. The summer solstice is a day where usually people celebrate the arrival of a new season, but that was not the case this time.

The beach looked magnificent, Effie had been the chief in charge of making everything (and everyone) look ideal for the occasion that brought them all together on that day. The first rows of white chairs were occupied by Haymitch, Effie, Katniss, Peeta, Johanna, Annie and right next to her, there was Mags, the woman who had taken care of you both for so many years and had seen how you two where meant to be from the first time you and your fiancé (soon to be husband) exchanged looks.

Neither you nor Finnick had ever thought about marrying anyone ; under Snow's regime, you were mere pieces of a game with no actual power of decision. But that didn't matter anymore. You were walking towards Finnick, who was nervously fidgeting with the sleeve of his suit , waiting for you at the end of the isle. When you finally arrived at your destination, you couldn't help but to turn around and go back to hug Mags, who received you with open arms and a couple of shed tears over her face. After this emotional moment, you went back to Finnick's side "Hi" you whispered so that the conversation could remain secret from all the guests "You come here often?" he teased with a beaming smile on his face. You let out a breathy laugh to relieve some tension and then you both turned so that the ceremony could start.

"I want to keep this vows short because I would need another lifetime just to expose the million reasons why this is the best day of my life. We're free, my love. It's truly over. This is our reward after a whole life of suffering and holding back. I am so in love with you, it's hard to put it into words. You know? Mags once told me that the thing I needed the most had always been right in front of me and I didn't get what she meant by that in that moment. She just laughed at me and told me that I would understand, one of these days" Mags in the front row was a tearful mess "and now I do. I really do" he stated confidently while holding your hands on his.

"My soul craves intertwining itself with yours until there's no way to separate them. So, with this ring" he then proceeded to grab your left hand so cautiously as if you would break at the minimum touch, and slip the golden ring in your finger "I, Finnick Odair, swear to protect, satisfy and devote myself to you ; my friend, my savior and now my spouse. I can't wait to spend the rest of my days with my forever love, which happens to be you" He had always hated to see you cry, even if they were happy tears, so he had to insert a little joke to see you chuckle and be able to hear the most beautiful sound on Earth ; your laugh.

You could sense that your voice would betray you at the minimum attempt to speak, so you needed to rush through your vows before you would explode into tears "God Finnick, you always know how to leave me speechless." the guests all laughed, moved by the evident complicity between the two of you.

"I always knew you were my soulmate, the person I was meant to find. The love I carry for you in my heart used to feel too heavy, but now that I get to set it free, it's more like energy rushing though my whole body, healing all the broken parts. I have the privilege to experience how it feels being loved by you and I want to try and describe it for all our friends who are here today" you breathed in and out and kept talking "Being loved by you feels like being rocked by the sea, like waking up to the smell of freshly baked goods or like being tucked into a warm bed in wintertime. It's exiting, comforting, amusing and an insane amount of other things that I could say right now" you recited while staring at his piercing green eyes that were completely red and filled with tears . You caressed his cheek and tried to wipe them away. "I will always follow you wherever you go, until the end of time. That's what I've always wanted to do and I couldn't be more exited about spending the rest of my life with such a handsome and amazing man. I love you."

Before you could do or say anything else, Finnick held your face between his hand and kissed you like he had been wanting to do since the ceremony started. You said 'I love you' and he said nothing back, but it wasn't so bad this time.

TAGLIST : @bambikitten , @thefourrealms , @shooting-a-star-at-the-moon , @justtrying2getby .

[lipglossanon]

You Better Lie Down

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

stepbro!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader (one shot)

this was a scrapped idea but people have shown interest so I revised it a little to make more sense in places lol so the ending is kinda meh 🤷‍♀️

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, stepcest, incest kink, mean stepbro Leon, bratty reader, dirty talk, masturbation, unprotected sex, creampie, some nipple play

not proofread just looked over 😂

Title from Sister from She Wants Revenge

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

“Get the hell out, Leon!”

“No can do, princess. Looks like we’re roomies,” he smirks at you from the doorway, crossing his arms and leaning against the frame. 

You hate him. You hate his stupid hair and his stupid face and his stupid muscles and his stupidly big di—

A loud thud makes you jump and you turn to glare at Leon who tosses a duffel bag down on the floor. 

“Don’t get pissed off at me,” he shrugs easily, grin spreading over his face as he flops down on your bed jostling you, “dear old mom and dad have to renovate my room so I’m here.”

He bats his eyes at you, “Besides don’t act like you hate it, you’ll be crying on my cock tonight anyway.”

White hot arousal flares through your body, irritation quickly following on its heels to overtake it. 

You shove Leon as you stand up off the bed, “You’re such an asshole.”

You snags your arm and tugs you right back down on the bed, hands coming up to quickly pin your wrists together and hold them over your head as he cages you under his bulky body. 

“I don’t think I heard you correctly,” his eyes are dark and mean, as he grinds your wrists together making you wince, “what did you just say?”

“I said,” you over enunciate your words, “you are an asshole.”

You can see him gearing up to do something but lucky for you (at least) your mom is calling for you both to be downstairs pronto. 

“Guess this’ll just have to wait, princess,” Leon rears up with a sneer and leaves you laying on your bed. 

You raise up and blow out a breath. God he really is an infuriating asshole.

Later that night after the quick rundown from your mom of what’s going on, and then having to help move furniture, you’re wiped and ready to crash into bed after your shower. Just throwing on some thin sleep shorts and a ratty old tee shirt, you enter your room about to collapse against your mattress only to see Leon sprawled across your bedspread. 

Your mouth is open, ready to unleash a scathing remark but slowly closes as you frown at him. The jerk is completely passed out, ear buds in, and phone clasped loosely in his hand. Mentally, you’re seething with rage but outwardly you just blow out another heavy breath. Standing there for a moment you take in Leon’s tank top and baggy shorts. His eyelashes dust his cheeks and his face looks soft. Like this he looks… sweet. 

Frowning to yourself—get a grip—you shake your head. Softly you pad over to what you’re going to deem as his side of the bed for now. You take his phone and shut off the music and set it on the nightstand. Gently, you also slip out his ear buds and turn those off, setting them next to his phone. 

“Why am I even being nice?” you mutter to yourself, walking back over to your side. 

You shift Leon over as far as you comfortably can and slip under your sheets. It’s awkward as he’s still on top making it hard to even turn over but you just accept it—better than waking him up. Since you’re actually pretty tired, you fall asleep rather easily. 

Sometime in the night, you wake up. Your back is to Leon and so you lay there peering at your vanity wondering what even woke you up. The bed moves as Leon shifts around behind you. Rolling your eyes, you think that definitely must’ve been it and determine to go back to sleep. 

Your eyes slip shut but then there’s movement behind you again followed by a strangled sound. You tense, planning on rolling over, but you hear Leon groan and you realize the bed’s moving more rhythmically than you thought. 

Wide eyed, you realize he’s jerking off next to you. You freeze in place afraid to move or breathe differently in case he notices. 

“Fuck,” he whispers to himself followed by a wet noise that makes your thighs clench. 

Your eyes drift across your room and come back to your vanity where you can kinda see Leon and yourself at this angle. Mostly, you just see his arm move in time with the bed pretty much confirming what’s happening. You feel so hot now but you don’t want to push the blankets off. 

Your legs shift and he completely stops what he’s doing with a low hiss. Once he thinks you’re not going to move again, he picks right back up, stroking himself off with a grunt. 

Nipples hardening at the noises he’s making, you decide to roll over and feign being asleep so you can at least peek at what he’s doing. So, mind made up you shift sides making it seem as natural as you think it would look (you’re asleep how’re you really gonna know?). 

Leon stops again, breathing shaky, as you get comfortable on your side now facing him. 

“Hey,” he whispers, “you awake?”

You ignore him and keep your breathing steady. After another minute or so, Leon can’t help himself any longer. 

“Fuck me,” he moans, fist gripping his fat cock and jerking slowly, “you’re just so fucking pretty.”

Your clit throbs but you stay still, eyelids cracking open just a smidge to watch his cock weep precum all over his fist as he fucks up into it. 

“Wish I could fill up that tight little pussy,” his voice rumbles low in his chest, “god, can’t believe my little sister’s cunt is better than my girlfriend’s. Fuck.”

Arousal surges through your body so fast you feel lightheaded. Your toes curl under the covers as your pussy aches to be filled. 

“Got me so hard,” he whines to himself, “fucking hate that I fell asleep waiting on you. Was gonna eat that cute pussy til you cried.”

Your thighs clench trying to ease the tension in your core but doesn’t really do anything except make you wish for more. You watch as Leon’s hand pumps his cock slowly, teasing himself as he drips precum all over the place. You watch as his dick throbs in his fist as he teases the head with short strokes. 

“Haven’t stopped thinking about how much you liked it, liked me railing you into this bed,” he grinds his head back against the pillow, “fucking hell.”

You whimper, gaze looking up into Leon’s face as his hazy eyes look over at the noise. 

“You finally awake, princess?” he grins but it loses some of its edge when he moans as his cock kicks in his hand. 

You push up on your elbow and move over until you’re pressed all along Leon’s side. Eyes dragging from his face down to his cock drooling all over his fingers, makes you whine and press your chest hard into his body. 

“Leon,” you whisper, fingers slipping under the band of your panties to tease across your aching clit, “do you—“

“Yes,” he grits out, pulling his hand away from his cock to tug your hand from your panties. 

His eyes flutter when he slips your fingers into his mouth to taste your slick. 

With a growl, he’s shoving you onto your back and knocking your legs apart so he can kneel between them. 

“You don’t even know what I was gonna say?” you giggle up at him, high on arousal. 

His mouth ticks up into a mean smile, “Does it matter? We both need me in your pussy, don’t we, princess?”

With a whine, you nod helping him take your clothes off until you’re completely naked underneath him. He tugs on your nipples until you arch up with a whimper.  He takes off his shirt and slips his shorts and underwear completely off then cages you under his bulky body. 

Your hands go up to his shoulders as you cant your hips up, bumping your clit against the fat tip of his dick. 

“Want it, big brother,” you murmur, eyes lidded as you see his pupils dilate even more, “need you in my pussy so bad.”

“Yeah?” he grips his cock with one hand and slaps it across your swollen bud driving you to thrust up against him with a moan, “sounds like you do.”

He drags his tips through your slick folds and presses against your clenching hole. 

“Gotta relax,” he coos, “let big brother make you feel good.”

Your nails dig into his shoulders making him buck forward, cock slipping into your soaked hole. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, eyes shut, “take it, princess, since you need it so much.”

He pulls out until just the tip is spreading your cunt and fucks back in, bullying his cock into your pussy until he’s buried balls deep. 

Eyes rolling back, your nails scratch up Leon’s arms as a high and reedy whine slips from your throat. 

“Mmhmm,” he laughs at you, “this cute little pussy needed to be dicked down huh?” 

“Yes, yes, please,” you gasp out, pussy clamped down around Leon’s cock, “feels so good.”

“Fuck.”

He drops down to his elbows, pushing more of his weight onto you while you wrap your legs around his waist to keep him there. Your fluttering walls wring another low groan from him as he grinds against you. 

“More, more, please,” you whimper, tugging on his biceps, “pin me down please, want it so bad, Leon.”

He humps down into your pussy as he lets himself ease down on top of you. 

“You sure?” his hot breath caresses the shell of your ear, “you won’t be able to move, baby.”

“Don’t need to,” you mewl, “pin me down please, want to feel you.”

His chuckle vibrates deep in his chest, “Okay, gonna take care of my little sis, make sure you feel nice and full.”

Whining, your thighs close against his waist harder as you try to rock up into his thrusting cock. Try. Now that Leon has dropped most of his body weight on you to rut into your sopping wet cunt, you’re trapped underneath his broad frame making your clit throb. 

“S’good, so good big brother,” you can’t stop rambling, body feeling too overwhelmed in the best way, “m’pussy feels so good, it’s all stretched out.”

“Good,” he laughs against your ear, “sound cockdrunk already and we’ve barely started.”

“Can’t help it,” you whine, pressing a messy kiss to his jaw, “it’s so big.”

He growls and snaps his hips harder into your wet hole, bullying his cock over and over into your squelching pussy. You’re whining so loud but neither of you think to muffle the noise. Leon’s thrust are banging your headboard against the wall, pressing you down harder into the mattress. 

His fat tips keeps knocking into your cervix making you squeal and pant, pussy clamping down on his cock more and more as your g-spot is rubbed every time he pulls out. 

“Aww is my cute littler sister about to cum?” Leon mocks, “is her tiny pussy gonna cum from big brother’s fat cock splitting her open?”

Tears are slipping from your eyes as you nod quickly, arousal ramping up from his condescending tone, “Uh huh, Leon ‘m about to cum. Please, I wanna cum.”

“Then tell me who’s gonna make you cum, princess? I might rub that slippery little clit if you beg me just right,” his smile is mean as he laughs again. 

Panting you reply, “M-my big brother is gonna make me cum on his cock. On his stupidly fat cock.”

He groans, “Fuck, that’s what I like to hear. Get mean with me, baby.”

“I hate how good this feels,” you moan, “I hate how I love having your big dick in my pussy stretching me open. Feels so good.”

He grunts and slips a hand down between the tight space of your bodies and teasingly rubs your swollen clit. 

“Tell me more,” his voice is husky and low, sea dark eyes staring in yours, “tell me more, baby sis.”

“I like that I’m your little sister,” you finally choke out on a low moan, “fuck, love that you’re my big brother, and I especially love that you cum in my pussy.”

He growls and fucks his tongue into your parted mouth. You move your hands from his shoulders to his hair as you sloppily make out. His fingers pinch and rub against your clit in rough little circles until you’re screaming into his mouth, climax wiping out everything except that euphoric feeling overtaking your body. 

“Fuck you’re milking me so good,” he presses his face into your neck as his hips rabbit into your cunt, cock finally burying deep in your fluttering walls. 

You moan brokenly as hot spurts of cum fill your cunt, sticky rope after rope painting your walls white. Leon rocks himself against you as he lets your pussy milk his cock til he’s spent. 

He pulls out of your spasming hole and you whine to see his spent dick shiny with slick and cum. He collapses next to you on the bed. 

“I’m not gonna want to go back to my room when it’s ready,” he grumbles, dragging you into his arms so he can nose across your hairline, “pussy too good.”

“Leon,” you huff out, irritation flirting at your tone, “shut up.”

“Yes ma’am,” he snarks, pinching a nipple making you hiss. 

You try to push him away but he shifts down and sucks that same nipple into his mouth. Your hands wind in his hair but when he just keeps suckling at the hard bud, you only sigh and let him move over the other nipple. 

“Leon, what’re you doing?” you bite your lip as he squishes your breasts together to suck and lick across both nipples. 

“Shutting up,” he grins at you, nipping the underside of your breasts, “can’t talk if I’m sucking on your tits right?”

He doesn’t let you answer and goes back to lathing attention across your breasts until you’re wet and squirming, pressing them into his face. 

“Leon,” you whine, “touch me, please.”

He groans, sucking your nipple into his mouth as he spreads your legs to slide his hard cock between your thighs to rub against your pussy. 

“Can I?”

“Yes, yes, please.”

“Ohh, fucking hell, you’re so wet.”

“Big brother, please, play with my clit.”

“I’ve got you princess, fuck, y’keep squeezing that tight pussy on me and I’m gonna bust way too soon.”

“Leon, please—oh yes there, right there. Big brother please, oh god, yes.”

“How did you get even tighter? Mm that’s it’s take my cock baby sis, fucking—“

“I’m gonna cum so fast, my clit’s so sensitive now.”

“Fuck yes, cum on my cock again, squeeze out another load for that cute pussy. There we go, oh fuck, that’s it that’s it—“

“‘m cumming, oh Leon I’m—“

You kiss each other to stop the loud moans and whines from slipping out, both of you cumming one after the other. Leon presses himself as deep as he can into your pussy, hot cum flooding your sore fluttering walls as you milk him for every drop. 

“If we don’t stop now, we’ll never get any sleep,” Leon whispers against your lips, slowly slipping his cock from your hole. 

You whine to feel the mess of slick and cum drip all over your thighs. 

“I know,” you finally roll onto your back, jaw cracking with a yawn. 

He lays next to you, pressed against your side as he throws an arm over your waist. 

“Don’t wake me up before eight,” he mumbles into your shoulder. 

“Same goes to you,” you roll your eyes knowing he can’t see it. 

In no time at all, you’re lulled to sleep from Leon’s body heat and deep even breaths. 

[naviiq]

5#-> 💌: a letter has arrived from satoru gojo.

dear y/n.

heyy cutie.. i hope you like the gifts i got you. i know this isn’t the easiest way to communicate, but it's the only way right now. things have gotten.. complicated. i don't have much time to spare.

i’m writing this quickly and short, because things are moving fast, and i need to make sure you understand what’s going on. things are about to get messy, i know it, so i’m doing what i can to keep it all from falling apart.

the whole thing with the transport barrier and the crowd of civilians, none of that was going to be easy. but i didn’t.. fully expect this. i mean.. i did, but you know what i mean. i didn’t expect the king of cursed spirits to come together like this, or for the sheer fucking chaos that would unfold once sukuna was set loose.

and if anyone is going to deal with him, it’s got to be me. it always had to be me.

i’m doing this because it’s necessary, because i need to, and if anyone is going to deal with him, it’s got to be me. it’ll always be me. you’ll understand when the time comes. hopefully the students will explain.

i know you’ve always believed in me, hell, i’ve built my whole persona around being the unbeatable, invincible sorcerer. but i’ve learned something over the years: no matter how strong you are, no matter how much you try to control everything around you, there are things that will always get away from you. and i’ve come to terms with the fact that sukuna isn’t someone i can just 'neutralize' in the usual way. this time, it’s different. this fight’s different. and if i’m being honest, part of me knew that from the very beginning.

i’m sorry for the things i never told you. i’m sorry for the times i acted like everything was a joke, like i was invincible and nothing could hurt me. i didn’t want you to see how often i was just faking it, pretending like i had all the answers. the truth is, there were moments where i was terrified. terrified of the responsibility, terrified of what would happen if i ever failed. so i did what i always do, i covered it with jokes, with ridiculous stunts, and by being 'the strongest.' it was easier that way, wasn’t it? easier for me, easier for everyone else.

but i guess that’s where i was wrong. you deserved more than that. you deserved to see all the versions of me. so, for all the times i let you down, for all the times i acted like i wasn’t just as scared and confused as anyone else.. i’m sorry. really, i am.

the truth is, i’ve never really had a plan for how to handle all this. the higher-ups wanted me to handle everything, like i was some kind of god who could solve all their problems. but i’ve always known the world’s broken, y/n. it’s always been broken. and now, it’s my turn to do something about it. even if i don’t come back from this, at least i’ll know i gave it everything i had.

sukuna isn’t just some 'big bad guy' for me to beat. he’s the only thing standing in the way of everything. i can’t just let him continue. i can’t let him tear down what little everyone managed to hold down together. and if that means putting myself on the line.. then so be it. it’s what i have to do.

i don’t expect you to understand fully, but i need you to know this: if something happens, if i don’t make it back, just know that i’m okay with it. this was always the risk. i’ve always known that. but i want you to keep going. i want you to keep fighting. you’ve got the strength to carry on. i wouldn’t have left if I didn’t believe that, you already know that baby.

so, if something happens to me, if i don’t come back, please, don’t let it break you. keep going. keep fighting. and don’t forget that i did what i know was the best choice. i don’t have regrets about the choices i made. i just regret that it had to end this way.

i don’t know how to say goodbye, and i don’t want to. but whenever this is it, i need you to know that i love you more than i ever thought i could, i didn't really think i could love anyone after suguru. you were my greatest love. and i’m sorry i never got to say that to your face one last time.

anyways, i’m rambling now. just know this.. if i don’t make it back, i’m grateful for every second we had, for everything. you’ve meant more to me than you know.

from, your glorious blue eyed king.

p.s. take care of yourself. keep your head up. and don’t forget baby, i was the strongest. and i hope your heart will be the strongest to stomach all this.

[aziraphales-library]

Hi there!!! I was wondering if you happened to have any fics where Crowley calls Aziraphale ‘sweetheart’? Any other pet names are amazing (including angel of course) but I’m just very in love with the idea of Crowley calling Aziraphale sweetheart

Thank you so much for all you hard work!! This blog is a lifesaver <3

Hello! We have a #pet names tag you might enjoy, but here are some fics in which Crowley calls Aziraphale sweetheart...

Four times Crowley called Aziraphale "sweetheart" without noticing (and One time he did) by TheLadyZephyr (NR)

"Sweetheart" (1290) - A person who is very dear to another; one who is loved. From sweet (adj.) + heart (n.) Over the years, Crowley has called Aziraphale "sweetheart" on at least four different occasions. He just hasn't actually noticed himself saying it.

In love, I am, with everything you do by 2ambiace (G)

Following the phone call with Crowley during lockdown, Aziraphale contemplates the letter he wrote and whether he should've taken Crowley up on his offer to 'slither over' and watch him eat cake. Aziraphale finds the courage in his love for Crowley to invite the demon over and cake and love confessions and kisses are shared.

Let Our Epilogue Be Soft And Sweet by Tenoko1 (T)

Crowley hit his palm against the steering wheel. “Of course I’d get upset, angel! Those bastards have tried to kill you twice, Aziraphale! Twice! I spend every damn day worried they might try again! Now-- Now-- your conveniently found and rescued angel is on the loose,” the road forked, and they veered off to a smaller country road, flying past a sign Aziraphale didn’t need to see to recognize, though Crowley gestured wildly to it, “in a god-forsaken national park? Well outside of London where no one can hear you scream? This mystery angel that just so happens to be leaking grace and emoting a distress signal so loud you can still sense it?” Crowley dragged a hand down his face. “Angel, sweetheart. Wake up and smell the trap.”

Waking Up Married by Caedmon (E)

"So you’re telling me that my options are either to convince this man I just met and drunkenly married to stay married to me for six months or lose two thirds of a billion pounds?” “That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” Fergus said. “Fucking shit,” Crowley spat. He hung up the phone and stared at it for a moment before rubbing his eyes with his fists. Now his job would be twice as hard. He needed to talk Aziraphale into staying married for six months. Should he try begging or bribing? This was a huge ask, and Aziraphale would be well within his rights to tell Crowley to fuck off. But Crowley was prepared to offer him pretty much anything, up to half of the trust, if that’s what it took. He didn’t care. But that was only part of his concern. Even if he got insanely lucky and Aziraphale agreed to stay legally married to him for the next six months, how the hell was he going to talk Aziraphale into dating him during that time? And was it foolish to even try? One thing at a time, he decided. First, he needed to convince Aziraphale to stay legally married to him. Then he could set about wooing his husband. He hoped.

flightless by viperinz (T)

Crowley finds Aziraphale injured and without his wings long after he stops the Second Coming all on his own. He just didn't expect their reunion to be so morose, and so final.

Sugar And Spice by ladydragona, SylWritesStuff (E)

Queer technology giant Anthony J. Crowley is just about ready to throw in the towel after relationship after relationship has failed, but there's a new barista at the company coffee shop and he's cute and sweet and Crowley's never been able to resist blond hair and blue eyes. The tabloids will have a field day, they always do, but his assistant is getting married and a temp is needed. A temp who really isn't very good at making complicated coffees, has past experience in reception, and absolutely no idea that the latest complicated coffee order came from the owner himself. Aziraphale only knows that he's handsome, patient, and was the first person who told him he was doing well. How could he refuse the temp position? Or, he soon discovers, more.

- Mod D

[mannequinreligi0n]

Sins

priest!Vergil listens to your confession

pairing: priest!Vergil x nun!reader (mostly gn pronouns)

wc: 1380

warnings: mentions of religion

author’s note: priest vergil save me…..save me priest vergil…..might write a second part that’s actually spicy to this if there’s a demand for it. also i’m too lazy to proofread so you get what you get !

⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️

The seven o’clock mass had ended well over an hour ago, yet stray sinners still lined up to have their confessions heard. As the line dwindled, you wandered methodically around the church to dim the various lights and lanterns perched on pillars, leaving only the votive candles left to illuminate the grand hall. Every Sunday evening, your branch held an evening mass that was near identical to the morning service for those who couldn’t attend earlier in the day. Your fellow brothers and sisters of the church often rotated duties and you were fortunate enough to be left with attending the evening service, with hopes you could catch Father Vergil once confession had concluded.

There were two other nuns pacing about, helping escort leaving patrons out and collecting prayer books from pews, but they paid little mind to you. It was another twenty minutes before the final church-goer exited the confessional, signing himself with the cross as a nun came over to take his hand in prayer as they walked to the front door. The other nun followed loosely behind, closing stray doors, leaving only you in the echo chamber of the lord. You continue your duties of straightening the prayer candles when a loud creak of wood perks your ears. A series of expensive footsteps followed, a decibel louder with each step.

“Sister, you’re still here? The sun will set within the hour.”

You turn to acknowledge the voice: it’s Father Vergil, but you already knew that. You had practically studied the rhythm in his walk, the cadence of his voice, the soft aroma of myrrh and lavender that clouded him.

“Apologies, Father. I wished to do my work to the best degree, no matter the position of the sun. It is what our lord in heaven would wish.”

You bowed your head in atonement, not wanting to disrespect him in the slightest. It is only when you heard a hum of amusement from the priest that your head raised, greeted with stormy eyes and a smile of grace.

“God would forgive you for turning in early, sister,” Father Vergil mused, chuckling lightly. “Come, let me walk you out.”

You look down to see Father Vergil’s arm extended to you, an offering from above. If god knew of your sins, why was he indulging you with such a delight? Perhaps this was a test of faith. With hesitation, you take his arm, immediately reveling in the warmth of it. Shaking your head, you try to rid yourself of sinful thoughts, only to garner more attention from the priest. He stops you both from walking any further, you two standing in between the pews. Father Vergil turns to directly face you, clasping his hands over yours with concern and sincerity.

“You seem troubled, my child. Is there something you wish to share?”

Your eyeballs almost bulge out of your head from the accusation and touch of his hands. God has spoken to him of your impurities! Our benevolent lord has enlightened your dear priest with the knowledge of your thoughts. You immediately collapse before him to your knees, still grasping at his hands for a semblance of rapture.

“Oh, Father! I am not worthy to stand in the home of God beside you! I have betrayed my teachings, my very essence by entertaining these plaguing voices from the devil, himself!” you blubbered out, tears of shame cascading down your face.

Your hands shake as you grip his hands, fearing that he’ll turn his merciful eyes from you. The shake of your body is so persistent that your veil falls from your head, exposing your hair to the dimming light shining through the stained windows. Father Vergil stares at you with utter confusion, unsure where this fit arose from. His eyes flicker between your white knuckles and desperate eyes, not sure what “thoughts” you could be alluding to.

“Dear child, what has troubled you so?” Father Vergil questions softly, slowly bending down to speak more directly. “You are safe, and with God as my witness, I will not pass judgment on your sins. Please, share your burden with me.”

With tear-soaked cheeks, you swallow hard and bring your attention back up to him. “I wish to confess, Father,” you say meekly, “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. A terrible, crude sin.”

Father Vergil lowers himself to his knees to sit across from you, still holding your hands. He nods for you to continue.

“It has been weeks- no, months, that my mind has wandered a dark path. I pray to God every night to take these…these obscene a-and lewd thoughts from me, but I fear I have strayed too far from Him, as He remains silent to me,” you exclaim to him.

Intrigued, Vergil raises an eyebrow. “What thoughts exactly?” his voice careful.

“I….I am not sure if I have the heart to voice them, Father,” you say, a frown plastered on your face.

“I understand this is difficult, Sister, but to receive penance and be absolved, you must confess to God,” Father Vergil sighs, squeezing your hands, “Has no one condemned you?… Neither do I condemn you.”

“John 8:11,” you say promptly, recognizing the verse.

Father Vergil nods and smiles gently, nodding once more. “Confess, and you will be rid of such sin.”

You look down at your joined hands and breathe deep, saying a silent prayer to God before speaking.

“Father…..I have been riddled with…disgraceful thoughts of you. I hear you speak sweet nothings to me in the lonesome night; I feel your skin on mine in times of need. I fear that my devotion to God has transformed into the devotion of you.”

Vergil’s smile falls as you speak, a cold, unreadable expression glossing over. He untangles his hands from yours and grasps at the rosary draped over his chest.

“Sister,” he starts, eyeing you warily, “such thoughts have challenged even the strongest of God’s creatures. But to worship someone other than our lord…it is sacrilege.”

There’s a long pause as Father Vergil closes his eyes, deep in thought. You watch his nose scrunch in the dim candlelight, wrinkles forming on his marble-carved face.

“You must try to rid your pure mind of such fallacies, in order to receive penance. Let us pray,” Vergil orders, making the sign of the cross. You follow suit, ‘in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,’ and clasp your hands together to your chest, bowing your head to them. You listen intently as Father Vergil recites a prayer asking for your forgiveness, soaking in every word. Even now, you can’t help but feel a warmth in your body at the hushed, intimate tone of his voice. Pushing the desires down, you return your focus in time to end the prayer, echoing Vergil’s ‘amen’.

You open your eyes to see him standing, offering a hand to help you up. You take it and grab your fallen veil off the tile. Fixing it back in place, Vergil takes a few steps back from you and seems to be mumbling a small prayer to himself, twisting the cross on his rosary in his delicate fingers. You brush off the dust and wrinkles from your garb and clear your throat.

“Shall I continue my duties for the ni-“

“No,” Vergil promptly interrupts, “no, I think I can finish closing up myself. It would be best if you found your way home.”

There’s a pang in your chest, an arrow to your heart, at the stark dismissal. You wanted to say more to him, to apologize profusely, but you knew it would only make things worse. You bowed your head in obedience.

“Yes, Father.”

You crossed yourself one last time before turning on your heels to leave, the clicking of your shoes reverberating off the church walls. Father Vergil watched you as you scurried out, tail between your legs. Everything happened so quickly that he didn’t get a chance to voice that he, too, was struggling with his faith in your presence, and instead, projected his shame onto you. Vergil exhaled the breath he’d been holding and walked into the pew of the first row, kneeling down and clasping his sweating hands together.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

[minnaci]

MONSTER HOUSE

contents: geto suguru x gn!reader, consensual dubcon, dom/sub dynamics (feat. sub!bottom!reader), reader is called "little thing", predator/prey roleplay, fingering (reader receiving in unspecified hole), reader experiences orgasm from penetration, heavy fear play, dumbification, light mindbreak, a bit of silly!geto in the omake

NOTE: while not explicitly depicted, geto and reader practice risk-aware consensual kink. scene negotiation took place offscreen, and dialogue was loosely scripted with equal input from both reader and geto. reader's initial hesitance and fear is a planned part of their scene, but tagged dubcon since the planning is not shown on-screen. their safeword is "safeword".

there's something tantalizing about being a little scared. just a little, just for play. you know suguru would never hurt you. but god, he's hunting you, haunting you, and your body thrums with delicious anticipation at every stray thump or bump.

the floorboards creak as you approach a long, darkened hallway, burdened by the weight of gazes unseen. your breath quickens, but the shadows continue to lurk— watching, waiting. just the wind, it seems. something scatters across the floor. your heart jumps into your throat. you're stuck there in limbo, on the edge of some tall, tall cliff, and you're not ready to fall. perhaps you should make a tactical retreat.

you take one step back, then two, then—

you collide with something warm and solid, and every nerve in your body screams run! run! run! but you're frozen— a deer in headlights, feet glued to the floor. by the time you convince your feet to take a step, it’s too late— strong arms cage you against a firm chest. cold dread drips down your spine. had he really been so close to you, watching you, and you hadn't even noticed?

warm breath ghosts against the shell of your ear. "found you."

"please don't hurt me," you whimper, playing into your role for the night. arousal hits you like a truck, and a sudden gush of slick wets your thighs. despite yourself, you go pliant in their grasp. you can't help it— not when it's your hunter, your lover, your suguru. he chuffs a soft chuckle at your immediate submission, rewarding you with a soft kiss before slipping back into his persona.

"hurt you?" his hands roam over your body, pausing at the dampness between your legs. "oh, dear, is that what they've told you about me?"

"they say a monster lives here. and— and people have heard strange sounds coming from this place after dark.“

geto laughs out loud— a real one. it’s a break from character, but you guess you deserve it. the past three noise complaints you've received from the neighbors have all been your fault.

"mmm, is that so? yet, you still chose to come in. what a brave little thing i’ve found." he laves a hot, messy kiss over your throbbing pulse point. your knees turn to jelly. "surely you're not so naive to think that all ‘strange sounds‘ are only caused by pain?“

"what are you talking about—? wait, no, you don’t mean—"

"oh, but i do. i do hunt down pretty things who enter my domain, but i don't hurt them. that's too barbaric for my tastes." his hand sneaks beneath your waistband, teasing. his voice lowers, caressing your ears like crushed velvet. "no, what i like to do is play with my toys. overload them with pleasure. make them feel so good that they break."

geto flips you around, and you see his face for the first time tonight. something dark edges his expression— blood on a knife, poison in a cup— and it sets you ablaze. your poor, dripping hole clenches around nothing. "doesn't that sound... fun, little thing?"

"you’re scaring me," you whimper. a small part of you really means it. you always forget how good geto is at playing monster. his gaze is so dark, so predatory, that it nearly makes you forget that he’s only playing. a much larger part of you preens at the intensity of his attention. you spread your legs, giving him more access to your weakest, sweetest spots. fuck, you feel pathetic. you feel good. "i— i’m scared, i’m so scared—"

geto takes full advantage of your new position, immediately zoning in on the sensitive places that he knows will make your brain shut down. every move he makes is so perfectly terrifying, all sharp teeth waiting to devour you and thick fingers working to milk pleasure from your greedy body. he leans in close, watching with satisfaction as your eyes cross and your lips part. he plays with you, exploiting your weak spots and riling you up until you're practically convulsing with the need to cum before he finally, finally brushes his lips against yours.

"your fear tastes so good," he moans into your mouth, rich and smooth as chocolate. "you won't be scared for long, though. i've got you all figured out. in fact... yeah, there it is. you'll never have to be scared again. just relax, little thing. let me turn that brain right off…"

geto crooks his fingers, nudging against a rough, exquisitely sensitive spot, and sure enough, your mind turns to mush, leaving you soft and vulnerable. you melt against him, focus narrowing to the slick, filthy drag of his fingers inside of you. he’s got that smile slashed across his face— the vicious one he puts on when he knows he’s won.

he always wins, with you. and you love it. your body was made to lose to him.

“suguru, suguru, cumming—” the heat inside of you snaps all at once, and you’re flung headfirst into a sea of sensation. its waves batter your consciousness, tearing you apart and molding you to geto’s clever, unyielding fingers. your pleasure-addled mind scrambles at lucidity, but it slips through grasp like sand. all you can do is feel, and you drown in the addictive high.

“there we go,” he purrs, eyes glued to the way you cream around his fingers. he sends you soaring with pain and pleasure, makes you brainless with delicious overstimulation. he might be playing a monster, but the power he holds over you is nothing short of godly. but they’re the same, aren’t they? gods and monsters, two sides of the same coin. “let it all out. you’re going to give me more, aren’t you? you’ll give me everything.”

you nod, eyes wide and worshipful. he raises his slick-covered fingers to his lips, tasting your pleasure for himself. any lingering resistance dissolves into wretched, mindless desire, and you let yourself be devoured.

—

OMAKE

"baby, you know i love you, but your motive doesn't make any sense. why would you choose to explore this allegedly monster-infested house?" geto is a comforting weight at your back as you lounge in your bed, poring over the first draft of your scene's script.

"because you're sexy," you say without missing a beat.

"yeah, i am, but you wouldn't know that. not when you're in character."

you crane your neck to stare at him. he's being dead serious. suddenly, you feel a surge of affection for him so strong it makes you want to squeeze him until his head pops off. "i love you so much."

"i love you more," he says, leaning in to nuzzle his nose against your cheek. "but seriously. we need to figure out your character's motivation before we play. otherwise, i won't be able to make sense of the plot."

"the plot? why are we talking about plot all of a sudden? didn't we agree to make this like a scene from that hentai you like— wait a minute. does this mean— do you watch hentai for the plot?"

"..."

"suguru."

"no comment."

networks: @enchantedforest-network @angelshub

[liminalpebble]

Never Enough (A Loki Comfort Fic)

Summary: It's not a easy life in Asgard's palace as Frigga's witchling apprentice and a victim of relentless teasing thanks to Thor and his warrior posse. You feel like a failure and a misfit, until the patron god of failures and misfits decides to comfort you.

A/N: Angst, comfort, fluff fic (ultimately feel good). Wholesome. Pre-Thor 1 Loki. Loki x reader. Just a little something I wrote to cheer myself up after a week of feeling like I'm getting it all wrong and being stupid. I hope it makes you feel better too if you're going through the same thing.

----

You slammed through the double doors and took long angry strides down the hallway, anxious to get to the privacy of your quarters before tears released themselves from your eyes. None of them...NONE of them...had ever seen you cry, or scream or loose your temper, and you'd be damned if they saw it now.

You considered it some kind of dysfunctional personal record at this point. You saw inscrutability as a strength. If you had to feel alone, you figured, you could at least lean into it and make yourself strong enough to not need the people who would reject you anyway.

All they saw was the serious apprentice in the black velvet gown who stuck to the shadows in every way. Thor, however, saw this seriousness as an opportunity for jest between himself and his warrior friends on many occasions. One day, when the entire court dined together, he turned from his pile of food and gallon of ale to smile at you. Your heart and stomach dropped, knowing he was somehow about to make an ass of you despite your best efforts.

He bellowed your name. You closed your eyes and let out a long breath, gathering your patience for the great oaf.

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“Tell me, who do you favor in the races?”

“I know not of them, Prince, so I have no preference.”

“Yes, but for the hel of it. Pick one,” he goaded.

“I suppose Volstagg's steed, as it has the better record?”

The entire room erupted in raucous laughter. All except for one person. The younger prince of Asgard sat quietly with a dangerous look on his pale face.

Fandral shouted drunkenly, “My lady, Volstagg's steed couldn't jump over a single brick, much less a full set of hurdles. Are you entirely sure you're Asgardian, knowing so little about these things?”

Another ripple of laughter erupted around the room. This, you thought, was the final straw. You couldn't stop making small stupid errors lately in your magical training with Frigga. Although she was patient and kind, you could see the disapproval in your beloved mentor's eyes and that was worse than a tirade. And now this.

You took a breath, gathered yourself behind the inscrutable mask you were so accustomed to now, and politely excused yourself for the evening with some remark about the late hour.

-----

Now you raced against your feelings as you stepped quickly down the marble hall, nearly to the safety of your quarters, to privacy. I'm going to make it. You told yourself.

As you reached towards the door of your quarters, a blinding green light interrupted you and Loki's form materialized in your path.

You flinched a little, surprised that the younger prince stood before you with his hands calmly held behind his back.

Alright, just a little longer. Keep it together just a little longer. You ordered yourself.

“Your...Your Highness. What can I do for you?”

He took a measured breath and stepped closer, icy eyes looking down to meet yours, “Dear lady, I was actually wondering what I could do for you.”

You swallowed hard. You had always found the sly brilliant prince intimidating. You studied magic alongside him under Frigga's tutelage. He was spectacular, running circles around you every single lesson. In all these years, he never so much as said an entire sentence to you until now. He seemed barely aware of your presence, in fact, focused instead on larger schemes, ambition and glorious purpose.

You chuckled at the thought. Glorious purpose...meanwhile I have no purpose at all.

“What's so funny?” the prince asked, brows knitted in confusion.

To your horror, you found you had only begun to laugh harder and suddenly you couldn't stop, “Sorry...my liege...I just. Sometimes the arbitrary cruelty of my stupid life strikes me as, well, very tragic...and very funny.”

To your surprise, Loki smiled...not a small polite grin that you'd seen him give many times, but a full wide mischievous Cheshire cat smile, broadcasting an almost manic delight. It frightened you a bit, but gods, he looked even more shockingly handsome than before. You didn't think that was possible.

You flinched a little as he walked closer and his hand came to your face. His fingers felt cool against your hot skin as you realized he was wiping tears away; tears you didn't even realize you had begun to cry.

He nodded toward your door and placed a graceful hand on the small of your back, guiding you. With an understanding kindness in his eyes he whispered. “Come on, let's sit and talk.”

-----

As you sat facing each other on your couch, he conjured two warm cups of tea and a blanket around you. Surprised, you gripped both closer to you and the warm comfort began to seep through the cracks of your icy loneliness.

“Thank you,” you said with a small smile.

He inclined his head of beautiful black hair in a graceful nod. “My pleasure.”

“Forgive me for asking, Your Highness...”

“Loki...just Loki...please.”

“Loki,” you said slowly, cautiously. “Why...why are you doing this? Why are you being so kind.”

He sipped for a moment, taking time to gather his thoughts (a habit his brother apparently didn't share). “I know what it's like. I've been where you are. I've felt what you feel.”

His large lovely eyes never left you, bright and blue and full of sincerity. Not what you were expecting from the god of lies. “Forgive me, Si....Loki...but no, you don't. And no, you haven't.” You took a deep breath and looked to your hands, his intense gaze becoming too much. “You're perfect...at magic...at everything...a prince of the realm. Your place is solid and secure and important. You have a glorious purpose. I...I am simply not enough...not good enough...not smart enough...not enough like them.”

You began to sniff and squint and look away, horrified that the hot tears dared to fall in front of him, of all people. His long hand found yours and encompassed it. He scooted closer and said, “Darling, I assure you, I'm not perfect. I've also been the butt of Thor's stupid jokes and mockery for years on end, the mere spare prince to my kingdom. No one listens to me. I'm not like them. I never was, and I'm not sure why. Much like you, I say very little because I'm trying to be strong, trying to not give them any more fodder to ridicule me. I live in the shadows, just as you do.”

You met his piercing eyes this time, with your soft ones. Loki thought they looked so kind, that you looked so beautiful in this moment and he scolded himself for not reaching out to you sooner. He had always had so much affection for your, but he never dared come closer. You had built walls around yourself just as high and thick as his own, after all. Of course, It didn't fool him, and he always wanted to know what was behind them. “That's a shame,” you said, squeezing his hand. “How can they not see how incredible you are. How dare they treat such a beautiful person so badly?” You said in awe.

He peaked his eyebrows and smiled sweetly, his own eyes welling at your praise. Loki had always seemed dangerous and alluring to you, all angles and metal and leather and deep silky voice. You had never seen him so solicitous and vulnerable. You said carefully, “I...I realize, that this is a gift, you've given me. I don't take it for granted.”

“What do you mean?”

“Seeing you more...intimately. I'm grateful. It's good to not be alone for once.”

“You matter, darling. You are so much more than 'enough'. You are exquisite.” he said, kissing your forehead. “Now,” he said, conjuring a dagger with a dangerous glint in his eye, “Let have a bit of fun with Thor and his friends, shall we?”

@evelyn-rathmore @muddyorbs @icytrickster17 @unlucky-number-13 @lokischambermaid @lokisgoodgirl @peaches1958 @sweetsigyn @ladyofthestayingpower @loz-3 @alexakeyloveloki @coldnique @acidcasualties @marcotheflychair @gigglingtiggerv2 @smolvenger @loopsisloops @joyful-enchantress @lokihiddleston @peachyjinx @thedistractedagglomeration @thenerdyoldersister @sarahscribbles @sailorholly @littlespaceyelf @eleniblue @mochie85 @infinitystoner @tripleyeeet @goblingirlsarah @mischief2sarawr @mischiefmaker615 @itsybitchylittlewitchy @holdmytesseract @viv-annelore

[sugoi-writes]

Scream Machine - An Alastor x Reader fic

(Not sure if this will be a multipart yet or not, but hopeful for it to be! I hope you enjoy some brain rot with me! For reference of the song, look up Scream Machine by Maynard Ferguson on Youtube!)

Reader is a musician who started playing in their time in hell, and likes wearing heels/dresses. Alastor is brought to a "classy" speakeasy by Husk, and is perfectly content with watching your performance...

No warnings, past minor implications/pining and mentions of blood and darker intentions. Have fun! 🎙❤️

❤️🎙❤️

The hellish speakeasy was bellowing with lively chatter, instrumentalists setting up for a new set. As Husk adjusted his mouthpiece, Alastor gives him a beckoning wave, eyebrow twitching. Shit

Knowing his goose could be cooked, Husk trudges his way over, his tenor saxophone hanging lazily around his neck," What's the matter?"

Alastor, expression blunt, says" So I'm supposed to assume that this next chart... ugh, Scream Machine... is going to be... tasteful?" The Radio Demon looked forlorn, ears drooping slightly. He had been promised performances that were more his style. But all that he's observed and heard is BAD jazz. He had half a mind to think that his 'associate' had done this on purpose.

"I have to admit, Husker, while these pieces could certainly be called JAZZ... it's not quite to my tastes." Husk rolls his eyes, ears perking up when his name is called from the stage. Husk waves Alastor off dismissively, his saxophone being slung back to a playable position.

"Some new hot-shot features in it... 'figured you might give it a shot. You might just find a new 'pet' to listen to..." Alastor all but cackles, wiping a stray tear from his eye," Replacing you, dear Husker? Don't be absurd!" Alastor gives his henchman a cheeky wave of his fingers, making the anthropomorphic cat growl. God, Husk hated that fucker...

But, to Alastor's surprise, his eyes did befall a nearly angelic sight. Your shoes clicked loudly as you entered the stage, calling forth attention from the room. It quickly fell to silence as everyone waited for the performance to start.

Alastor's eyes narrowed as he watched you shake hands with the vile, modern jazz conductor... Your grip seemed firm, domineering almost. He was quick to note the flinch he gave you, that nervous smile of an intimidated man. What a curious creature you were; you oozed confidence and bravdo.

There you were, dressed in a long, elegant gown that drug along the floor. Alastor's posture straightens as the jazz conductor let you take your place, before counting the band off. The intro was quiet, featuring only a small handful of instruments. Alastor nearly leaned in as it grew, the trumpets coming in to the fray after a few measures. He realized then that you must be a trumpet player and the hot shot soloist that Husk mentioned. His interest in you grew as he eyed you from across the room.

Your hands were slender, though not quite as slim as his... and much smaller. But, they did seem very nimble. As you gracefully glided through different fingerings and positions, Alastor found himself distracted by your hands. He saw how you seemed to have a loose, almost nonchalant grip, while your soul gave the performance of your life. A perfect juxtaposition between your handshake and now; that fascinated him. He wondered if your bravado was your mask, or if that was the REAL you...

His hair nearly blew back from his face as the chorus kicked in, eyes wide in disbelief. Indeed, that's why it's called Scream Machine. All the right notes, the chords were perfectly struck...but there was still a zanny dissonance that had him gritting his teeth. How gauche...

But, when you began your solo, his ears couldn't help but flick and flex towards you, absolutely devouring your tone and clarity. You cut through the ensemble like a well sharpened knife, your style and timbre undeniable. It almost made the song forgivable, in his eyes. He rested his chin on his hand's plateau, eyes lidded. Despite the jazz being more bombastic and modern... he could get used to this if you were at the helm...

You sauntered towards the front of the ensemble as you blazed into another solo, your fingers and tongue articulating quickly. You were effortlessly setting the newfound tone. He was impressed, to say the least. Improv or not, the solo was quite a tricky one. One that even he would struggle with on a piano. As you walked across the stage, you struck a powerful pose, before the conductor grabbed the edge of your dress and tugged. Hard.

For a moment, a flash of anger crossed Alastor's forced smile, until he was hit with the "reveal".

In a quick flourish that matched the highest note of your solo, you stood in a now short, golden dress that hugged your figure. It seemed that Alastor didn't mind the show... in fact, he was nearly enslaved by your performance.

You shot the crimson and pitch demon a devious look, winking as your solo continued. Alastor felt his mouth salivating, swallowing harshly to get rid of the access fluids. It was strange enough to find himself this entertained... more so than his heightened curiosity.

The way your throat bellowed and constricted when you were playing... the way your cheeks puffed just a bit was you sustained insane, high notes... the way your eyes would flit about the room, but always land on him. Maybe he wasn't the only one caught staring...

The Radio Demon's mind landed on a simple notion: tasting the metallic tang of your lips, fresh from the kiss of your mouthpiece. Would it taste metallic and jarring like blood, he wondered? Would you be breathless from your performance, or just getting warmed up? Alastor shook his head with a start. What a strange thought to have... especially for him. He tried to dismiss it, foot tapping instinctively to the beat.

As the song continued, it suddenly grew quieter, the piano, drumkit, and string bass the only instruments playing. He watched as you blew slow, hot air in your horn, keeping it warm as you rested. Your lips were red, slightly puffy from your efforts. Even as a talented as you were, you had a crack in your mask: you were definitely a little winded.

As he kept watching you, Alastor couldn't help but focus on how your pulse beat in time with the music on stage... His devious mind cooked up the idea of sinking his teeth into your quivering heartbeat... Perhaps he would lure you out back, to a quiet place...

Again, he surprised himself. He had to clear his mind as he tried to focus anywhere but your neck, fingers and face.

Then suddenly, the main motif hit again, and he nearly fell backward in his chair. His own heart thumped madly, matching your own. Your eyes didn't meet his, but even so, he felt like you were playing just for him. He WANTED you to play just for him.

Alastor gripped the sides of his chair harshly, elongated talons splintering the wood. That settles it. Husker was right about one thing... you were a fascinating sight... one to behold, and maybe even held...

As the song wound towards its conclusion, you gave a wide twirl of your hips, before striking your final note. The accompaniment roared life, sustaining the final note before hitting it again, resolutely. Applause echoed throughout the room as Alastor felt the need to join. He was not keen on appearing rude or uncultured. His characteristic smile stretched his thin face as you beamed and bowed. Your eyes, wide with awe, glanced his way. Alastor noted the way your face heated, nodding and giving him a flattered smile.

Indeed that settles it; he would speak with you. Now. Alone... And from there, who knows what he'll do? Alastor slunk into the shadows, Husk unaware that his master was taking a quick detour...

Backstage, you were being fawned over and cheered for, the instrumentalists and crew happily contesting how talented you were. You would always smile and chuckle, doing your best to wave off the compliments. Truth be told, you did enjoy the hell out of them, but you didn't want it all to go to your head. Not yet, anyway~

Even now, you were humble, as a unfamiliar shadow formed behind you. Instinctively, you flinched and turned towards the figure, having to look up to meet the gaze.

It was none other than Alastor, the Radio Demon.

"I must say... that was quite the riveting performance, dear. Quite the act! I wanted to give you my gratitude for making something so loud and gauche bearable to listen to." Alastor offered a sweet, welcoming hand, outstretched for you to take. Come on, he thought... shake his hand like you had the conductor's.

You had sized him up, knowing fully well who was paying you the backhanded compliment, "Alastor, sir... 'pleasure to be meeting the Radio Demon in the flesh." Your hand met his, and just like he suspected; you nearly held him in a vice grip. The sinister smile on his face doubled, a chuckle and a quirked brow sent your way.

"My, do my ears deceive me? Am I in the presence of a fan~?" The tone of his microphone filter made his voice smooth as velvet. His voice forced you to suppress a shiver. You roll your eyes, before an uncharacteristically soft smile graces your face; one that didn't match your firm grip.

"You could assume that, I suppose... I've been an active listener to your broadcasts for a while now. 'Gotta keep up with who got got... and who has the best music on the air."

If Alastor smiled any wider, he would be entering his full-demonic form. But for now, he controlled himself.

"Well, isn't this a treat then..." Alastor leans down to your height, his face mere inches from yours," I dont intent to be forward or crass, but perhaps you could accompany me on a quick stroll?"

You swallowed the lump in your throat as you processed his words. Knowing that he was an overlord, his words were a demand, not a request. If you refuse, you may die. If you go with him... you may die just the same. Every fiber in your being demanded that you turn him down. Lie, and say you have one more set...

You puffed out your chest, a brave grin on your face," Sure... My chops are busted from that last set. Let's bounce."

Alastor offered you an arm, something you weren't expecting. You hesitated a beat longer than you should have before taking it. Alastor's grip now firm, you felt yourself bend and wane before solidifying just outside the joint you played in. Your head turned quickly towards the door, then him.

"So you can teleport other people too...," Good to know, you thought, as Alastor laughed.

"Dear, why fight the crowd? I figured it would be easier this way, don't you think?" You returned a nod to him, keeping your mask sharp as the two of you started your way down the block. You realized then you'd have to return tomorrow for your trumpet. But again, that wasn't the most worrying thing on your mind just yet...

You were weary of the entire encounter, but continued to follow the Radio Demon, who seemed a little too hellbent on getting you alone...

[sara-scribbles]

The Thing About Strings

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Idia Shroud/GN!Reader Word Count: 6,348 Notes: This is loosely based off the concept of red strings of fate Warnings: None

Idia isn’t sure what god he upset, but something he did must’ve pissed someone off because he’s currently being stared down by some very aggressive looking Savanaclaw students. Not in a million years would he ever leave the safety of his room to seek out someone from another dorm, especially one filled with muscle heads.

However, Ortho had asked him to help out a friend, and Idia couldn’t say no to his brother. The only downside was that his friend did not answer their phone, so he was forced to seek them out. It is somewhat of a comfort that his brother came with him, but he’s very much regretting his decision.

A wolf beastman finally comes forward. “Um, can I help ya?” He at least isn’t glaring daggers at him. Idia vaguely recognizes him as a freshman.

Ortho greets the beastman cheerily, “Hello, Jack Howl! We’re looking for (Y/N).”

His brows scrunch together as he speaks, “Oh… Think they went to the field to help Vargas. They left a bit ago, but they should still be there.”

“Thank you!” Turning to Idia, who’s sweating bullets while clutching his tablet for dear life, Ortho tugs on his sleeve. “Come on, let’s go to the field.”

He willingly follows, glad to be away from all that aggressive energy. They arrive at the field but don’t see anyone.

Ortho does a quick scan before pointing them in the right direction. “I detect a bio reading over there.”

Nearing the edge of the field that borders the forest, there’s a single person out there. Standing with hands on their hips, they’re busy studying a dead tree. There’s a handful of power tools nearby. They touch the trunk of the tree and seem to give it a push, but it doesn’t budge.

As the brothers near, you proceed to wrap your arms around the middle of the tree. With a deep breath and slight grunt, you rip the tree from the ground. Idia’s eyes nearly pop out of his skull as he stops dead in his tracks. Balancing the tree on your shoulder, you turn and nearly smack him.

“Woah!” Eyes widening, you manage to avoid giving the dorm leader a concussion. You set the tree down while still keeping it up from falling.

“Hello, (Y/N)!” Ortho greets, waving excitedly.

“Heya, Ortho.” You turn a concerned gaze to Idia. “Sorry, didn’t see you there!”

Idia’s mouth opens and closes without a sound. He just witnessed someone uproot a tree without much effort with their bare hands. And they’re acting as if it’s not a big deal! There’s a nudge from his brother that finally brings Idia’s scrambling thoughts to a halt.

He quickly types out something on his tablet. “Ortho said you had some computer trouble that even he couldn’t figure out.”

“Oh yeah!” You snap your fingers. “I recently got some kind of virus because someone idiot decided to download something illegal without checking to see if it didn’t have anything fishy.” You roll your eyes. “Last time I let anyone borrow my laptop,” you grumble to yourself.

Sounds fairly simple. “Do you have your laptop with you now?”

“No, it’s back in my room. Hold on, let me drop this off and we can head back.” Hefting the tree back onto your shoulders, you carry it off the field and to an area piled with similar dead trees.

“Did you take care of all these?” Ortho asks, he’s busy already scanning the material.

“Yeah. Vargas needed help, and said he’d give me some extra time off from class if I did this.” You drop the tree in the pile.

Your strength stats must be off the charts, Idia thinks while eying the uprooted trees.

“Alright, let’s head back to my dorm.”

Idia internally screams at the idea of going back to Savanaclaw. However, he follows behind without a word as you and Ortho chatter. It’s not odd for his brother to make friends, though you seem to be fairly close to him. Idia had heard about you a few times, but never gave much thought. As long as his brother’s happy, Idia let him live his school life unbothered.

Thankfully the crowd from before is nowhere to be seen. You let them into your room, which is very tidy. A small cactus sits on your desk bathing in the sunlight. You hand over your laptop once you unlock it.

“I hope my documents can be saved. Those are the most important things since I already have photos backed up,” you explain, taking a seat on your bed while Idia uses your desk.

Concentrating on the screen, Idia starts going through your systems. “Did you not have any AV software? Do you know where the virus was downloaded from?” he asks.

Rubbing your temples, you sigh, “I do, but it was turned off. Not by me! The idiot wouldn’t tell me what site it was from. I can only assume it was some shady site since all the history was deleted.”

“Don’t worry, (Y/N), Idia is the best at this,” Ortho reassures.

As he clicks through your files, he notes a very familiar one. “You play World of War and Cats?”

“Yeah, it’s something I play to unwind,” you chuckle, scratching the back of your head. “I know it’s an old game, but I think it’s still better than anything new that’s come out.”

“Totally! It doesn’t need to rely on loot boxes and RNG unlike the newer games! It’s noob friendly and they have so many login bonuses! Plus all the kitties are so cute!” Idia gushes, his eyes glowing.

A slow smile spreads on your face that quickly causes the words to die from his throat. “W-what’s with th-that look?!” he stammers out, suddenly finding interest in your desk.

“Just nice to hear from someone else who enjoys the game. Most of my friends have moved on to other things.” You shake your head. “Hey, do you wanna share handles? I’d love to do a raid if you’re up for it.”

Chewing the inside of his cheek, Idia glances at Ortho. His brother gives him two thumbs up. “S-sure… After I fix this.”

Turning back to the laptop, he pulls out a thumb drive. As he clacks away on the keyboard, you show Ortho a shelf filled with small succulents. “Jack gave these to me. I wanted something to brighten up my room. He said they’re easy to care for too.”

“Based on a few articles, succulents are very beginner friendly. They don’t need too much direct sunlight and just a little water.” Ortho inspects the plants. “These are very nice! It seems Jack made sure to give you the best ones.”

“Yeah, Jack’s a pretty sweet guy. I couldn’t ask for a better soulmate,” you say absentmindedly as you check the soil of one plant.

Ortho’s eyes widen. “Soulmate? You already found yours?”

You rotate the plants. “On his first day at NRC actually.” You glance down at your pinky. Though no one else can see it, a red string hangs from your pinky finger and trails along the ground before disappearing. “He was just as shocked as me,” you continue with a chuckle.

Idia’s nibbling at his lower lip as he listens to the conversation. Shoulders slumped, Idia thinks about the fact that he doesn’t have a soulmate. Of course someone like him wouldn’t have one, but hearing you gush to Ortho about your soulmate just reminds him of the sad truth. Sure not everyone has soulmates like him, but it feels like the world is doubling down on telling him he’s meant to be alone.

Not that he cares of course! He doesn’t need an RL relationship! Not one bit!

“...okay?” Your questions snaps him out of his thoughts.

“Huh?” He frantically looks between you and Ortho. You both stare back expectantly. “Uh… this should be fi-” He turns back to your computer but sees that his usual methods of taking care of a virus failed. “Eh? That’s not right…” He eans closer to the screen as he frantically types away.

“Everything okay, brother?” Ortho asks, concern seeping into his tone. He peaks over Idia’s shoulder, but the warnings don’t change.

“Impossible!” Idia bites down on his thumb as his program continues to fail at removing the virus. After a few more attempts, the third year sighs. Pushing away from the desk, he turns to Ortho. “We need to take a look at this virtus in more detail, Ortho.”

Shaking your head, you can only shrug. “Do what you have to. I mean if I can’t save anything, I guess a complete wipe is fine…”

“Don’t worry! We’ll get to the bottom of this,” Ortho assures as he takes your laptop.

Before Idia can leave, you hand him a piece of paper. “Here, my handle is on there if you wanna add me.” You smile at him warmly, but Idia can’t quite return the gesture.

“Ri-right…” He shoves the paper into his pocket before following Ortho.

---

Gloomurai has entered the chat

Anon123: hi!

*Anon123 waves*

Gloomurai: Hey. Is Muscle Red not on yet?

Anon123: He popped in a bit and said he couldnt make the raid tonight

Gloomurai: Oh k.

Gloomurai sent you a private message

Gloomurai: Is your computer doing okay still?

Anon123: yup! thanks to you, it seems to be working much faster!

Gloomurai: I got rid of bloatware. All those apps you dont use only slows down your processor lol

Anon123: i dont know much about computers, so im glad ortho recommended you! hes right that youre a genius

Gloomurai: hehehe well it wasn’t anything too difficult

Anon123: oh did you hear that theyre releasing a world of war and cats spinoff game!?

Gloomurai: OMG YES! I already preordered the deluxe pack! wheeheeheee!

Anon123: ooohhh lucky! my old system cant handle new stuff so probably have to wait :(

Gloomurai is typing…

Gloomurai is typing…

Gloomurai is typing…

Anon123: you okay idia?

Gloomurai: You could come play with me since its multiplayer. If you want! No pressure!

Anon123: really??? thank you so much!!! let me know when you want me to come over. ill bring snacks! :DDD

Anon123: whoops! Need to go. see ya later! :)

Anon123 has left the chat

---

Though Idia had invited you over to game, he’s a nervous wreck. Once Ortho learned that he had invited you over, he had been super excited. He knew his brother would be happy that he was getting along with you. Though you gave him your handle, it had taken Idia a week before he finally sent a friend request. After much prodding by Ortho, he bit the magic bullet and reached out.

You seemed fairly calm and relaxed despite being in Savanaclaw. It also helped that you didn’t glare at him or ask anything of him. Playing World of War and Cats, Idia found you were surprisingly good. Though it shouldn’t be much of a surprise since you did start playing at launch. So after a few raids you helped with, he invited you to raid with Muscle Red.

Thankfully everyone got along and synergized really well. Idia couldn’t ask for a better team to play. With his new team, he was able to clear a lot of raids in a short amount of time. Of course knowing you in RL sometimes made him feel a bit self conscious. Especially when he happens to see you around school.

Still Idia found it easy to converse with you through chat. You basically acted the same way when he met you. Though he came off a lot more confident in chat, you never made a comment. And even better, you never made it a thing to approach him in school. You did give him a smile whenever you saw him, but that was the extent of your acknowledgement.

“They’re here!” Ortho’s voice broke Idia from his internal panic.

Chewing on his thumb nail, Idia mutters, “Is it too late to say I’m sick and cancel?”

“Don’t be like that, brother! They’re really nice and have been super excited to play this game with you.” He gave his brother a supportive thumbs up.

“R-really? Did they say that?” Who on earth would be excited to spend time with him?

Ortho nods enthusiastically. “Yup! They mentioned it a few times when I saw them around the school.”

There’s a knock on the door. “Idia? Ortho?” your muffled voice sends his heart rate up and his palms begin to sweat.

“M-maybe this wa-was a bad idea…” However, Ortho decides to open the door. You’ve been standing in the hallway long enough.

You step inside the room with two bags in hand. “Hey! I stopped by Sam’s and bought a bunch of snacks. Ortho mentioned some of your favorites, so I bought a little of everything!”

Between Ortho’s enthusiasm and your excitement, Idia feels like he’s being attacked from both sides by the sun. It’s too bright!

“Where do you want these?” You hold up the two bags.

“You c-can put them on the b-bed. Or whatever…”

Though he would typically play on his computer, he didn’t have another chair for you. Instead he and Ortho had rigged up a holographic screen. His floor isn’t the most comfortable, but it provided room for both of you. Plus there’s enough room for him to put a good amount of space between you.

Ortho quickly leaves to do his rounds and Idia is left alone. You settle down on the floor no problem and open a bag of fruity gummies. Sitting down but making sure to leave a good amount of space, he boots up the new game. You grab a few more snacks and put them in the middle.

“I’ve been keeping myself away from spoilers, so I don’t actually know what the game is about,” you confess. The theme music starts playing.

“It’s similar to the original except we get to play as the cat companion and no raiding. I’ve already decided which one I want to be as well as my stats. Maxed for both efficiency and ultimate cuteness!” He grins widely as the character screen comes up.

“So many kitties!” you gush. “How am I supposed to pick one?”

“I know right?! I mean this calico is adorable but there’s something majestic about the Scottish fold.” Idia shakes his head in dismay. “Even though I know which one I’m going for, they made it really difficult.”

As you select your cat and start tweaking the stats, you sigh. “I wish I could have a cat. But I’m allergic. Just being in Trein’s class causes my eyes to water and itch.”

“Ugh, that sounds like a terrible bane.” He can’t imagine not being able to be near cats.

You finish with your character. “Guess pictures and games of cats is as far as I’ll ever get.”

“...”

---

“Morning, Idia,” you greet him in the hallway.

He’s dragging his feet to gym class. There’s no one else in the hall. “Uh, hey.” It’s the first time you’ve verbally greeted him.

You seem to notice his hesitation. “Sorry, I thought that since we’ve been gaming for a few weeks, I could greet you aloud. I didn’t think you’d mind since there’s no one around.”

He quickly shakes his head. “N-no problem! I mean, if you wanna say ‘hi’ I don’t really mind.” It’s not like many people outside his dorm greet him to begin with.

“Really? Great! You know I would like to be friends, outside of gaming that is. But you’re under no pressure to accept that!” Your earnest gaze is a lot for him.

“You want to b-be friends with m-me?” he asks, shocked and a little concerned.

Nodding, you smile brightly. “Of course! You’re pretty fun to be around. Plus, I enjoy our gaming sessions a lot.”

It’s true Idia has fun when you come over. You even moved on to other games to play together. There’s something comforting about your presence. You’re not demanding or overbearing. You seem to be keenly aware of Idia’s comfort levels and stay within the zone. You never pushed him to do more than he wanted to.

A hand waves in front of his face. “Earth to Idia. Come in, Idia.”

“Idon’tmindbeingRLfriends,” he mutters quickly.

It takes you a second to understand his mumbling. Once you do, you smile so brightly he feels like he needs sunglasses. “Alright!!!” you cheer, but quickly cover your mouth as your voice echoes down the hall. “Whoops…”

He surveys the area, but it doesn’t seem anyone heard you. Honestly, he can’t understand why you’re so excited. It’s not like he’s a S tier friend to unlock. If you became friends with someone like Vil, that would be something worth cheering about.

However, he can’t bring himself to say the words out loud. Not when your eyes glimmer with excitement and you smile like that. And maybe deep down, he’s a little flattered.

---

“Hey, can we stop by my room? I forgot to water the plants this morning,” you tell Idia.

He merely nods and follows your lead. Walking into the Savanaclaw dorm is still terrifying, but he’s gotten somewhat used to it. As long as he stays by your side, most of the dorm members don’t give him a single look.

You were headed to Idia’s place to study, but had to make a couple of stops. In your room, you grab the small watering can and fill it up in the bathroom sink. Idia stands by the doorway as you water the plants and give them a few encouraging words.

“Excuse me?” Someone coughs from behind Idia, causing the third year to jump out of his skin. Clutching his tablet to his chest, he stumbles further into your room.

“Uh, sorry…” the intruder apologizes while rubbing the back of his neck.

Looking up from the plants, you wave. “Hey, Jack. What’s up?”

“Just wanted to return your notes. They were really helpful. Thanks.” He hands over a worn black notebook.

“No problem! Runes can be tricky but once you have the basics down, it gets easier.” You place the notebook on your desk. “What do you think?” You gesture to the shelf of plants. “They look great!”

Jack presses a finger in the soil of one pot. “Yeah, you’re doing a good job. Just remember to rotate them every so often so that each side gets some sun.”

“Right, I remember you said that. What would I do without your green thumb? You’re a lifesaver, Jack!” Nudging his arm with your elbow, you give him a teasing grin.

The freshman coughs, looking away. “You’d figured it out eventually. You’re smart and resourceful on your own.”

Chuckling, you set the watering can back in its place. “Anyways, I’m going to head out. I’ll see you later, Jack.”

“Sure. See you tomorrow morning?”

“Bright and early!” As Jack leaves your room, you turn to Idia, who was watching the exchange silently. “Alright, I’m all set. Let’s get going.”

Leaving Savanaclaw, you walk through the halls of Ignihyde. “Whacha thinking about, Idia?”

“What are you doing early tomorrow?” he asks through his tablet.

“I sometimes join Jack for a morning run. I haven’t been keeping up as of late since I’m usually too tired from our gaming session. But Jack made me promise to go tomorrow,” you explain. “He said I’m losing my form, which we can’t have since my dorm participates in spelldrive

“He’s your soulmate, right?”

Arriving at his room, you drop your backpack on the floor near the bed. “Yeah. Jack’s very sweet despite his gruff exterior. I couldn’t have asked for a better one.”

“...”

As you pull out your materials to study, Idia silently watches. There’s something twisting his insides. Watching as you and Jack causally talked reminded Idia of where he stood in your relationship. For many, their soulmate would always be number one. Idia didn’t mind. At first.

The more time he spent with you, the more he wanted your time. And maybe he’s reading too much into it, but your interactions with Jack are playful, almost flirty. Usually he’d cringe at the normies having banter and then ignore them. With you, he can’t ignore it. There’s an obvious affection in the way you speak to each other.

“Can you go over summoning with me?” you inquire. “I just can’t get the symbols and positions right.”

Deciding not to dwell on whatever he’s feeling, Idia joins you on the floor. “First, that’s wrong. Noob mistake. You need to…”

---

“Meowww!” The robotic cat purrs as it rubs against your leg. With a sleek black and electric blue design, the robotic animal is rather cute.

“And it’s solar powered,” Idia explains, finishing up his little show and tell. Though it looks like a tornado hit his room, you’re too busy cooing at the cat to notice.

Picking up the creature in your arms, it curls into your hold. “This is the cutest kitty ever! You’re amazing Idia!”

Rubbing the back of his neck, he can’t quite meet your gaze. The edges of his hair are a light pink. “Eh, this is nothing. I could put this together while playing DDR.”

“If you can do both then you’re definitely a genius.” You chuckle as the robotic cat continues to purr. You hand the creature back to Idia, who doesn’t take it. Instead, he taps its nose, which turns off the cat.

“Keep it. It’s yours.”

Eyes widening, you look at the cat and then back at him. “Are you sure?”

“From one cat lover to another and all that.” He tries to come off as nonchalant and wonders if he succeeded.

“Thank you so much, Idia!” You hug the cat closer to you while beaming at him. Just having your bright smile directed at him sends his pulse into overdrive. You set the cat down. “Hey, can I give you a hug?” You always ask before touching him. Even when he declines, you don’t make a big deal about it.

He agrees with a quick nod.

You slowly and gently wrap your arms around him. “Just let me know if you’re uncomfortable,” you tell him.

Your hugs are full and warm. It almost feels like he’s being wrapped in a weighted blanket. It feels nice. He tentatively relaxes into your hold. In these moments he can almost forget that you don’t have a soulmate.

---

“W-what ar-are you do-doing?!”Idia screams. Despite his feeble movements, your hold on him doesn’t loosen. “I-I ca-can wal- ouch!”

“You can definitely not walk,” you say firmly. Carrying Idia bridal style to the nurse's office, you sigh as he proceeds to continue his whining. You ignore whatever he says.

“It’s not like I hurt myself that badly,” he grumbles.

Giving him a glare, you shake your head. “You fell down two flights of stairs and flat on your face. And you broke your tablet,” you pointed out. “Would you rather I bring you to Ortho?”

Idia shuts his mouth. Knowing his little brother, he’d react even worse. You arrive at the nurse’s office without much incident. While he’s being patched up, Idia is forced to lay on the cot.

You chuckle when you notice his miserable expression. “Don’t be like that. You’re acting like you just pulled on the wrong character banner.”

“This is worse.” His frown deepens. “...never mind that’s still worse.”

Shaking your head, you ask, “Hey, do you want to do a gaming session tonight? It’s the weekend~”

That seems to make him forget the current situation. “There’s a special raid where we can only get the limited five star dragon scale armor. Are you geared up?”

“Yup. I’ll bring snacks!” You glance at the clock. “I should get to class. I’ll let Ortho know you’re here. You give one last wave before heading to the exit.

You hear Idia complaining, “Just leave me like this…” as the door closes. He’ll be fine.

Later, you’re carrying a handful of bags filled with snacks from Sam’s. You easily navigate Ignihyde to Idia’s room. Knocking on the door, you let yourself in. “Hey, I may have gone overboard on the snacks, but we should have enough to stay up la-” Your words cut off once you take in Idia.

He’s laid out on his bed with his leg propped up on a pillow. The thing that made you stop is the sling his right arm is in. “Uh… didn’t you just sprain your ankle?” Ortho is fluffing up Idia’s pillow.

“Hello!” Ortho greets.. “Idia did sprain his ankle when you last saw him. However, he decided not to wait for me to pick him up. Because of this, he fell down some more stairs and sprained his arm,” he explains with a deep sigh and shake of the head.

“Oh… So I guess no gaming tonight?” You hold up the bag of snacks.

Idia pulls the cover up over his face. “Leave me in my misery. This is why I don’t leave my room.”

Setting the snacks down on his chair, you glance around before your eyes land on his bookshelf. “We could binge movies instead,” you suggest.

The covers lower enough that you can see his eyes. “...are you sure?”

“Yeah, why not. Why don’t we watch Creepy Hollow? You were raving about it a few weeks ago.” You pull the DVD from the bookshelf.

Perking up, he sits straighter. “You’ll love this! The Pumpkin Knight costume is peak design! And the twist is just so satisfying!” he babbles.

As you put the disk in the DVD player, Idia scoots closer to the wall to make space for you on the bed. Ortho settles down on the floor leaning against the bed once he makes sure Idia’s leg and arm is properly set. You grab the snack bags and lightly throw them at Idia.

“Acck!” One smacks him in the face.

“Whoops…” You bite your lip to keep from laughing. Idia gives you a dirty look as you make yourself comfortable. Pulling your legs up against your chest, you grab a random snack to open.

The night turns into a movie marathon. Before every new film, Idia has to talk about it and hear your thoughts. There are so many movies that you lose track of time. By the time 4 AM rolls around, you’ve both fallen asleep. Somehow you’ve managed to move from the foot of the bed to the head. You’re curled into Idia’s side. The flame haired third year sleeps on his back with his mouth slightly open. Despite his sprains, he’s dead to the world.

Ortho peers down at the two sleeping figures. He pulls the covers over them. Smiling to himself, he’s happy to see his brother being so comfortable around someone else. “Sweet dreams,” he whispers.

---

“Big brother, you can’t avoid them forever,” Ortho says.

Idia pulls his hood over his head. “Yes I can.” He leans forward as the screen of his computer flashes.

The younger Shroud hovers behind his chair. “Idia, just talk with them. It’s not good to bottle up your feelings.”

“I’d rather die,” he mutters.

Sure it had been a week since the movie incident where he woke up cuddling with you. Sure it’s been a week since he freaked out and shoved you unceremoniously out of the bed while also hurting his sprained wrist. Sure it’s been a week since he last spoke to you, doing everything possible to avoid you. But Idia feels it’s justified since he was caught cuddling with you like some love-sick normie.

You did text him an apology even though it wasn’t your fault. Your last text was from three days ago where you were checking in on him. Idia had left you on read. But you seemed to get the message that he needed time alone and stopped messaging him. A part of him was relieved, but another part felt bad for ignoring you.

Maybe you weren’t embarrassed to wake up cuddling him, but he was and is mortified. He wishes the earth had swallowed him at that moment. Idia will begrudgingly admit to himself that he likes you. But that’s something he planned to take to his grave. However, it seems Ortho’s figured it out. And though his little brother is happy, he seems to have forgotten the one big glaring reason why he can’t tell you.

You have a soulmate.

Idia may have looked into Jack a little more once he got to know you better. And he may have seen that the first year is pretty smart and likable. And he may be a little jealous that you two get along and seem close. There’s no mistake in his mind that you and Jack would make a good couple. Just standing next to each other, you both just look like you fit. You and him? Wouldn’t go at all!

“Idiaaaaa!” Ortho shakes his chair causing him to lose focus. “I won’t allow you to wallow in self-pity!” Crossing his arms, he gives the older Shroud a glare. “You don’t know if they don't like you. Just because someone has a soulmate doesn’t mean they’re bound to end up together. There’s a 47% chance they’re just friends.”

Setting aside the controller because he knows Ortho won’t leave him alone, Idia spins around in his chair. “What do you expect me to do, Ortho? This isn’t some shojo manga where the loser confesses to the popular student and they magically end up together!” He throws his hands up. “I’m an NPC while they’re the main lead. And Jack’s the love interest that’s been fated since birth!”

Shaking his head, Ortho sighs. “You have to at least try, big brother. Are you really okay with never letting them know how you feel?”

“Yes.”

“No!” Ortho makes a big X with his arms. “You’re supposed to get fired up after my rousing speech! If you can’t do this for yourself, do it for me!”

“Ortho…” Idia can’t ignore the pleading look of his brother. “Fine!” Throwing up his hands, Idia gives in.

“Yaaaay!!” Doing a little jump, Ortho pulls Idia to his feet. “Let’s go!”

“Now?!”

“Yes, before you change your mind!” Idia is unceremoniously dragged out of his room.

Outside on the field, Ortho gives Idia a reassuring pat. “You’ve got this, brother! Just pretend your on your way to the last level of a super difficult dunegon.”

“…right.”

“You’re super awesome!”

“…yeah…”

“Who can dual play two shooter games at once?”

“Me…!”

“No one has beat your DDR score in the last three years!”

“Yeah!”

“Go!”

---

Seeing you and Jack laughing together, Idia is reminded that you have a soulmate. A strong, buff, kind, hardworking, good looking soulmate. Compared to Jack, he’s trash. There’s no chance you’d ever look at someone like him when the universe literally made your perfect match.

Despite his initial bravado and confidence boost from Ortho, every fiber in his body screams for him to run. He should just slink back to his room and stay there. Forever. Just as he’s about to turn around, you spot him.

“Idia!” calling his name, you exchange a few words with Jack before jogging over to him. The smile you give him sends his heart into overdrive. He’s suddenly feeling sweaty and jittery. It would be so much easier talking to you through text or voice chat. Especially now that he’s caught these disgusting normie feelings!

“Idia! How have you been?” you ask, head tilting to the side.

How he wishes he brought his tablet! “I-I wa-wanted t-t-to talk…” The urge to melt into his hoodie is strong.

Glancing behind you, the other members of the team are idly chatting. “Sure. Do you wanna head to my room? I was about to go back.”

He nods mutely. As you lead the way, Idia can’t help but admire your form. His face heats up when he realizes he’s staring not too discreetly. If anyone were to see him, they’d probably think he’s some creep! Hands stuffed in his pockets, he nervously clenches and unclenches his fingers. Arriving at your room, it’s the same as always except for one little change. The small robotic cat he had made sits right on your desk.

“You kept it…” he mumbles in awe.

“You made it for me, so of course I’d treasure it,” you tell him matter-of-fact.

His heart does another weird flip-flop. Because of you, he’s having heart problems at a young age! “Uhhh…” Real smooth Idia! He mentally facepalms himself.

Sitting down on the edge of your bed, you gesture to the desk chair. “Do you wanna sit down?”

Usually you’d pat the spot next to you, but you’ve been keenly aware of Idia’s growing discomfort. Giving him some space would be for the best. He gratefully takes the seat.

“So what’s going on, Idia?” you ask, your tone gentle.

Whatever he had practiced flies out of his head. He stares at you blankly. You wait patiently as he tries to gather himself. Finally, you realize he’s not getting anywhere. The obvious signs of distress on his face intensifies. He’s visibly sweating.

Pulling out your phone, you stand up. Walking into your bathroom, you close the door. The sound of the lock clicking in place snaps Idia out of his stupor. Sitting in your room alone, he starts to freak out.

Did you leave because he’s being too awkward? He ruined everything by being a weirdo! What now?!

Before he can start spiraling, his phone rings. Answering without looking, he shakily takes a deep breath. “Ortho?”

“Try again!” you voice chirps through the earpiece. Bewildered, Idia pulls the phone away from his ear to look at the caller ID. Sure enough, it’s you. Calling from the bathroom.

“Idia?” He hurriedly puts the phone back to his ear when he hears you calling for him. “You still there?”

“Y-yes!”

He can hear you laugh. “I thought I lost you for a second. So, what’s going on with you?” Your casual tone causes his body to relax just a bit.

Palms still sweaty, his heart starts to slow to a more normal pace. “I-I was just thinking… Can we play a game tomorrow?”

“Sure!” you agree happily with no hesitation.

“And the day after?” He pushes past his nerves.

“Of course.” Again no hesitation.

Getting a little bolder, he confesses, “I want to game with you all the time.” He holds himself back from asking you to be his player two. That’s way too cringy even for him!

Your soft laughter fills his ear. His heart does a somersault. “I’d like to game with you all the time too, Idia. I’ve been wanting to for awhile now.”

Heart soaring, he quickly comes back to reality when he spies the shelf of plants. “...what about your soulmate?”

“Well, Jack’s a wonderful soulmate.” There’s a pause, then, “But I can only see him as a lifelong friend. And the feeling’s mutual.”

“Huh?? B-but he’s got everything! The entire package! He’s literally your custom made sim!” Oh how he’s screaming at himself to shut up!

“Just because Jack is my soulmate, doesn’t mean I have to have certain feelings for him. A soulmate doesn’t dictate your choices. At least not for me,” you explain.

Even though you’re not in front of him right now, Idia wants to hide so he can scream in peace. This is too much for his poor heart. It’s like a final scene from one of his dating games but much better because it’s real.

“Idia?”

Pulled out from his internal thoughts, he nervously swallows. “S-sorry! A-are you sure? About me?” One last chance to back out. He can pretend this conversation never happened. Sure he’ll hole himself up in his room for a long time. But he’ll get over it. Eventually. Hopefully.

“Are cats cute? Is Premo the best idol group?” The door to the bathroom opens. Stepping out, your radiant smile almost turns him into a puddle of goo.

He remains frozen in the chair as you close the space. Hovering over him, you end the call before setting your phone on the desk. “So, Idia, I have a question for you.”

“Y-yes?” he squeaks. The ends of his have turned a pale shade of pink.

“Would you like to be my player two?” you ask with a grin. It’s so cringe but when it comes out of your mouth, it’s the most romantic thing he’s heard. And he’s played a lot of dating sims!

“Yes!” Though he usually doesn’t like people crowding his personal space, he wants you closer.

Bending down, you press a soft kiss to his forehead. His hair explodes into full on pink. He can feel your laughter against his skin. He isn’t sure if he can handle another kiss before dying. But it wouldn’t be such a bad way to go, he decides.

Instead of doing anything more, you pull away. “We’ll have plenty of time for more,” you say with a wink.

A little disappointed, an alarm rings, breaking the mood. “Whoops, that’s me. Sorry!” You quickly shut the alarm off. “Do you want to do a raid now??”

“S-sure.” Once you’ve gathered your stuff, you lean over and kiss him on the cheek. He lets out an ‘eeep’ as his hair once again burns pink.

“Like I said, plenty of time for more~!”

“S-so embarrassing,” he mumbles as he follows you out.

As you walk side by side, he notes you act as if everything is normal. No mushyness except for that one kiss before leaving your room. He’s relieved there’s no PDA, but the more he glances at your hand, the more he wants to hold it. You move closer to him and hook your pinky with his. His heart beats rapidly.

There might not be a red string connecting you to him, but Idia decides that he doesn’t care. He’ll decide his own fate, red string or not.