#did this manage to be longer or shorter than expected?

[couldbebetterforsure]

#I feel like I've made it clear by now on my blog I'm a ryuseitai girl there are NO bad songs in ryuseitai's discography I'll fight on that!

girl i love these idol power rangers too but you can't mean that when growing starry days and seishun emergency exist😂

What did I say, Anon?! 😡😡😡😡😡😡

I kid, you’re free to feel that way, Anon! But I truly sincerely mean it when I say I don’t think there’s a single bad song in the Ryuseitai discography. So, why don’t we go through all of their songs and I talk about why I like them!

I’m only gonna list Ryuseitai specific songs, so ones that features them as a group in the song or their solos. I’m not listing the shuffle unit songs or their version of songs like Brand New Stars, since those aren’t specifically Ryuseitai songs.

Yumenosaki Ryuseitai Uta: Dakara FIGHTING! ✊ (FIGHTING!) FIGHTING! ✊ (FIGHTING!) From what I understand this is in universe Ryuseitai's first song, from before the current Ryuseitai was even formed. And what banger it is! It's a shame there's no MV for this one, I feel like it could get a good one. I love that everyone says their catchphrase during it (well...I mean Midori made an attempt...) A perfect song for introducing who Ryuseitai are and what they're about as a group.

The Unrivaled Meteor Ranger: Absolutely catchy classic! So much fun to play in the rhythm game, I get so into it (which means I keep breaking my combos). I just feel like I'm having fun listening to it, as if I'm watching the boys actually perform on the stage in front of me. They also sounds really good during the chorus for this one!

Goshiki no Shooting Star: Shooting Star! Shooting Star! Kagayake! Seigi koso...Shinjitsu to! Shinjiteru! Inochigake! Mamorinuke! Doro ni mamire nagara mo!!! *insert head bopping cat gif* I think this song does a fantastic job of showing how much of a kick Chiaki's voice gives the group's vocals. His voice is the deep and strong, and when he backs someone else's vocals it gives the lines an extra oomph that I adore!

Super Nova Revolu5tar: I love the build up to the opening lines! I think Ryuseitai may sound the best as a whole in this song. Their voices merge together so gorgeously in the chorus. I love the part that goes from violins to guitar as the boys talk it's beautiful! The whole last minute and a half of the song is gorgeous and I won't budge on that.

Ryuusei Hanabi: Practically everyone and their mother adores this song, and for good reason! It's an absolute bop from start to end. The use of traditional Japanese instruments, the chants, the beat of it. Another fun one to play in the rhythm game! Though I can't full combo the song on hard mode 😭 Fun fact, this is one of those few songs I already knew of from years back! I always find myself at the very least tapping along to the chanting.

Growing Starry Days: Hot take, Ryuseitai should get to sing more soft sounding songs. I know sentai-esque songs are their main thing, but damn it this song is too damn beautiful to be one of the VERY few soft songs they do! I heard this one isn't popular, to which I say FUCK THAT! Another song that really emphasizes how Chiaki's voice really brings the group's vocals together. I can't helpt smiling every time I listen to this song!

Unlimited Power: I just love that this is a song of thanks from Ryuseitai to all their fans, that's so damn sweet. The part where they all list the colors and their names is adorable (well except for Kanata 😂) Just as I can hear how well they get across their gratefulness in their voices throughout the song, I end up smiling and feeling just as thankful for them for making me smile so much with their music!

Meteor Scramble: Like I said last time I LOVE that they included their names in the lyrics! And in fun ways too, they play around with word placement and even Japanese pronunciation of English words for Tetora and Midori. Chiaki (ichi ichi akirametecha), Kanata (negau kanata e ikenai), Tetora (tachimukatte toraburu o), Midori (saa let me dream), Shinobu (manazashi no bun). I enjoy the high pace energy of the song, and I ESPECIALLY love the guitar solo section!

Suisei Halation: I fucking love this song, it feels like such a 80s-90s sounding anime opening in all the best ways! The beat once the chorus hits is so high pace, it's so much fun to listen to and just as much to play in the rhythm game. I can picture waking up to watch an anime with this opening on TV whenever I listen to it. My favorite part is when the boys all take one line each from the beginning of the chorus, it has a cool feel to it!

Heart Heat Beat: While not as soft as Growing Starry Days, this song does have a softer feel to it compared to other Ryuseitai songs. I love listening to it while I walk, though I always end up bouncing along because it has such pep in it! I feel like this song is a hidden gem of Ryuseitai's discography, I rarely hear anyone speak of it but it has such a fun and adorable feel to it. Also, I really love how powerful Midori's "ikou yo" is, it's not often he puts that much power in his solo lines.

Nekketsu Ryusei Ninpouchou: The old video game sounding opening to this song is such a nice touch. I loved how everyone's voices sounded throughout this song, they flowed together so well. Combine that with the energetic feel to it all and it makes for such a fun song. I love how it changed from slower pace to higher pace at several points and yet never loses that energy. Also, I think this song has some of Shinobu's strongest singing in it!

Colors Arise: Another song that sounds like an anime opening in all the best ways! The guitar sounds absolutely fantastic in this song and really gets me so pumped up. I think my favorite part is when the song suddenly sounds like a completely different song a little over two minutes in before swinging back to the main chorus. It's such a fun change that manages to not feel awkward.

Relax Paradise: RELAX~! ☺️ I'll be honest on first listen this song wasn't my thing, so that would've made this post super awkward, huh? But after listening to it a couple more times I really started to get into the bubbly energy of it all. Like "you know what? yeah I DO wanna go relax in the jungle!" I am super duper eager for the full version to drop, I wanna embrace the bubbly relaxing atmosphere.

Seishun Emergency: Wooo, get a chance! Woooo, make a chance! Don't give up! Don't give up! Be my girl! Yuzurenai battle!!! I heard this is another song that gets a ton of hate to which I say, why don't you people like having fun?! It's such a fun song with lyrics that are basically a shoujo romcom, what's not to like here?! There's such fun energy throughout this song and I really love how Ryuseitai and Knights combine their voices in this one! I can't sit still whenever the chorus starts up.

Hamutaro Tottoko Uta: People who hate on this song have never felt the joy the little things in life can bring. Cring is dead, let’s get you some fun and whimsy! It has a catchy marching-like beat and you can’t help but clap, move your foot, or bounce along to it with Ryuseitai and Ra*bits. Plus, c'mon guys, it's HAMTARO! Daiiiisuki na no waaaaaaaa~! Hiiiiimawari no taneeeeeee~!!!!

Always Hero: BURNING HEART!!! JUSTICE BLAZE!!! 🔥🔥🔥 It's a song that feels very Chiaki in energy and lyrics. Despite not being a cute song, I just come out of listening to it feeling like Chiaki is adorable!

Marine Blue Rendezvous: Puka puka~ Love the slow feel of this song, I feel like I can sleep to this song. Not in a bad way, I mean listening to it is so relaxing, I can't help but be lulled into a peacful nap 😊

Mahiru no Zanzou: No joke, Midori's best singing is on display in this song. His voice is already soft, so his solo really showcases that. But there are moments where there's a emotional power there that hits me in my little heart juuuuust right!

Iron Heart Tiger: Another hot take I have is that Tetora's singing voice doesn't get enough praise. I think this song, especially with its high pace energy really helps to get across how pleasing it is to listen to sing!

Shippuu Jinrai Shinobi Michi: Such a Shinobu song, so very fitting for him and enjoyable to listen to from start to finish! I love the bouncy feel it has while also being mixed with some softer moments, befitting a ninja!

Okay, that’s all of Ryuseitai’s songs and why I love them! If you noticed I missed a song, please kill me where I stand because that means I failed to defend the honor of Ryuseitai’s discography if I forgot one 😞 Hope you enjoyed hearing my thoughts!

[cosmicschmidt]

UNTIL I FOUND YOU

PART 2, PART 3

Coriolanus Snow x fem!Reader

Synopsis: When the 18 year old Coriolanus Snow recieves the news that he has to mentor a tribute in order to claim the Plinth Prize, he expected everything but not a shy girl from district 12 to claim his heart.

Word count: 2,4K

Warnings: Lucy Gray does not exsist in this (I´m sorry), some things might not fully add up to the movie plot ´cause I only saw it once and that was two days ago, use of Y/N, it´s implied that the reader is shorter than Coryo, small swearing, simple inhumane Hunger Games topics

Reblogs and requests are always welcomed <3 (just like pointing out grammatical mistakes :))

Coriolanus Snow did not mean for this to happen.

He did not intend to have this weird tingly feeling in his chest every time he caught a glimpse of her.

He did not mean to fall for his tribute from District 12.

As he patiently sat in his seat with his heart hammering in his chest due to not knowing if he´d receive the scholarship, adrenaline and excitement ran through his veins.

Yet, that was taken from him the moment Sejanus Plinth whispered to him that that certain day he looked forward to would not turn out as he hoped.

The Plinth Prize was won by the best mentor.

Each of them has to mentor a tribute and create the best version of them, create strategies and work on their behavior in the arena.

As all the tributes are presented, their names called alongside their mentors, Coriolanus´ hands start to sweat the longer he is not told who he has to work with.

The faces of his fellow students show different emotions, some cheer in happiness at their tributes state, others are laced with worry if their tribute even manages to walk straight.

"And last but not least, the girl from District 12, Coriolanus Snow."

His eyes shoot back to the small screen, his gaze falls to the name written underneath the short clip, Y/N L/N.

"I volunteer as tribute."

The screen shows a screaming girl, around the age of 11 as she trashes in the hold of someone else´s arms, desperately trying to escape their grasp to reach the other girl.

The other girl's face is slightly blurred due to the wide angle of the camera that is following her figure, but as the picture clears up, Coriolanus can´t help but suck in a breath.

A weird feeling boils in his chest that causes his heartbeat to pick up behind his ribcage, just as he thought it couldn´t get worse a few butterflies form in his stomach causing his white tunic to suddenly feel tighter. His hands go to the collar pulling a little on the fabric to calm his heartbeat.

The tribute from 12, stepped in for the younger girl and took her fate as her own. The girl, now known as Y/N doesn´t look back at the screaming girl, she takes small steps to the stage and steps on it the moment she reaches it.

Although her hands tremble beside her body, her eyes are stern and show no emotion, successfully keeping herself from spilling the dread that formed in her chest the moment her little sister's name was called.

"What a twist! Our first ever volunteer of 12, what an honor." the 12´s mayor speaks, yet no reaction falls from the crowd at his attempt to lighten the mood.

"I suppose that was your sister? Sweet little thing just turned 12, but luckily she has you as her big sister." Mayor Lipp tries to create small talk, but Y/N doesn´t seem to take interest in that, her eyes boring into the camera that is fixated on her face.

Everyone that surrounds Coriolanus watches intensely and waits for her next words.

Y/N´s jaw clenches a little as her gaze wanders over her district's citizens, some laugh at her situation, while others, alongside her family have tears in their eyes and hold a hand in front of their mouths to contain a sob from spilling past their lips.

Instead of words leaving her mouth, she does a mocking and overly dramatic bend forward with her arms stretched out on each side of her body.

Just as two Peacekeepers grab a hold of her arms and pull her off the stage she yells out,

"YOU CAN ALL SUCK I-" but her words muffle due to her being pulled away.

Meanwhile, everyone around Coriolanus starts to whisper.

Some voice behind him, "Who does she think she is?"

"Imagine having to work with that, guess who won´t win the Plinth Prize.." followed by laughing.

And more to his left, "The audacity, I´m telling you she´s the first to bleed out." followed by more remarks and chuckles.

Though Coriolanus can’t feel bothered by their remarks, as he watches her being dragged away from the stage with a stern look on her face.

The blonde watches with bewilderment yet with respect for her volunteering for someone else, a small smirk forming on his face as the side of his mouth pull up a little.

* ˚ ✦

Coriolanus´ gaze is fixated on the white rose in his palms, his eyes trail over each and every flaw he can spot.

Is it pretty enough?

Or is this gesture not normal in the relationship between a mentor and their tribute?

He wonders how you might react to this act of politeness, yet before he can keep up with his thoughts he´s pulled out of it when he hears the train near the train station.

There it is, it glides against the train racks before it comes to a harsh stop with a small screech, the blonde´s eyes trail over the different train carts, wondering where the certain girl from 12 is being kept.

At least a dozen armed Peacekeepers emerge from around the station, and the first cart´s handle is grabbed forcefully and shoved open, a small girl hesitantly jumps down to the ground, before she erupts into a few coughs as if she has to catch her breath from taking a run.

She´s followed by a tall boy who wears a expression he can´t read, although his brows are furrowed and a small line forms between them. The tall male´s eyes immediately find Coriolanus due to his bloody red outfit.

The male doesn´t seem to be the only one, almost everyone that already emerged from their part of the train has their eyes on him.

He fidgets with the rose again, a shiver running down his spine and all the way to his feet and then his toes.

As some tributes are escorted to the transporter outside, Coriolanus finally spots the male tribute from District 12, he remembers his name, Jessup. With a sigh of relief, he takes a few steps to him, and finally, his eyes spot the girl he so desperately tried to find the entire time.

Jessup´s hands are securely wrapped around her waist as he picks her up and helps her out of the train so she can steady herself. She smiles up at Jessup whispers a small ´thanks´ and pats him on his upper arm before she starts to take in all her surroundings.

Although their conversation is muffled, "Are you sure your neck is fine? The bite looks painful..."

Coriolanus´ breathing stops for a second, just now he notices that no camera ever will be able to take in all her beauty, his lips part a little and he can feel his mouth running dry.

Now that Y/N dusted her clothes off and had taken a look around the train station, her eyes move to her right and are met with piercing blue orbs. Although she acknowledged him, he couldn´t help but keep staring at her, the white rose in his left hand long forgotten as it rested next to his body. Confusion dawned on her face as she looked over to Jessup who offered the same expression.

The two of them share a look with a shrug before she turns her back to Coriolanus and starts to take a few steps away from him.

The blonde seems to snap out of it and with a small shake of his head and with two steps he keeps up with her smaller ones.

"Uhm- Welcome to the Capitol." he offers her a smile and holds the rose up for her to see.

Her mouth set in a hard line while her cheeks glowed a tad bit redder than before, "You don´t look like you should be here…?" she asked unsure, her eyes still trained up at his face before they fell on the flower in his hand - which slightly started to tremble -

"Uhm, I shouldn´t, my name is Coriolanus Snow, and I´m your mentor," he adds, the smile still coating his lips as he offers her the rose again.

"Mentor?" she laughs out in disbelief after she finally takes the flower out of his trembling hand and looks at it. Jessup is standing behind her, and his face still shows the same confusion it did earlier.

"Yeah, it´s my job to help you survive the arena," Coriolanus replies, the moment she took the rose out of his grasp his hand went limp and fell back to his side.

"And how exactly-" Y/N doesn´t get the opportunity to reply to his words before someone roughly pulls on her arm and drags her forcefully to the exit of the train station.

Peacekeepers decided to cut their conversation short, they pulled her with them like she weighed nothing, "I can walk by myself perfectly fine." she said loudly before she slapped the hand that was wrapped around her biceps off.

"Wait! I´m her Mentor!" Coriolanus speaks up, yet the distance between mentor and tribute is growing with each second, and the blonde picks up his steps in order to keep up with them.

A few shouts and orders are ringing through the air, the atmosphere filled with dread and an uncomfortable tension. Outside awaits a transporter for the tributes, and like pigs they are thrown and shoved into it, ready to be taken to the slaughterhouse.

The district 12 girl's eyes are trailing behind her trying to catch a glimpse of the red that coats her so-called ´mentor´, she can´t seem to see him but his shouts still reach her ringing ears.

A small hand wraps around her right hand startling the 17-year-old girl, but she quickly relaxes when she sees the small girl from District 8, Wovey. She seems scared by the loud noises, and Y/N offers her a small smile and squeeze of the hand in order to calm her down. Y/N spots a small seat at the back right corner and leads her over to it, there´s not enough space for the both of them, so she lets Wovey take it and stands beside her.

Coriolanus´ opportunity seems to flash in front of him for a split second as a tribute tries to make a run for it, the Peacekeepers running close behind, and with three steps the blonde leaps into the back of the transporter.

He runs all the way to the back of it, before he takes a few breaths trying to tame the adrenaline that shoots through his veins, his breathing calming down from the small thrill he felt.

He straightens down his clothes, and immediately spots Y/N, hand-in-hand with the little girl, her eyes holding awe, yet mostly confusion at why he just ran after her. "What are you doing here?" she whisper-yells, in order not to attract the Peacekeeper's attention.

He can´t help but draw his lower lip between his teeth, letting his actions sink in "Yeah who the hell are you?"

"Uhm-" he starts to speak up, as the other tributes´ eyes hold anger and confusion, most of them standing up and taking a few steps closer to him, cornering him a little. The red that radiates from his red clothes alerts the others.

"I suppose he´s my mentor." Y/N quickly speaks up, her voice cutting through the tension that started to build itself.

"What the hell is a mentor? And why did you get one but we didn´t?"

"Did she get one just because she was the first to volunteer?"

Y/N opens her mouth again to reply but Coriolanus beats her to it, "No, you all get a mentor, I promise the same chances are laid out for everyone." he says with a slightly raised voice so everyone hears his words.

A few unamused chuckles emerge from the ´crowd´ that formed around him, nevertheless a tall guy grabs him by the collar and slams Coriolanus back against the wall behind him pulling a gasp from his lips.

"Don´t shit talk us, what are you doing here?! Are you here to spy on us? What sick games did you plan?!" he yells in his face, although Coriolanus is taller than him, he raises his hands in surrender in order to calm the angry tribute.

Y/N sighs and softly drops Wolvey´s hand onto the girl's lap, she takes a step forward rests her hand on the tribute´s shoulder gently yet harshly, and pushes against him.

"You get your own mentor, now drop it," she says loudly, the tributes around them purse their lips and keep looking at Coriolanus like he´s some meal they can devour.

"A Capitol´s sweetheart could be helpful, why not kill him to send a fucking message." everyone around them agrees except for Y/N and a few in the back, them equally as terrified as Coriolanus.

Coriolanus laughs at their ´plan´ and breathes out a few pained breathes due to him being pressed against the wall, however, before anyone else gets the chance to speak up, the container they are kept in starts to shake a little and then does a jump that causes everyone to lose their balance. The tribute that held the blonde up against the wall let go of him, the everyone including Coriolanus hold onto the nearest thing they could find to steady themselves.

Y/N yelps at the sudden movement that throws her forward and grabs onto Coriolanus´ right arm, the boy in question sneaks his right arm around her waist to steady her and takes hold of a handle that sticks out of the metal wall.

With a rumble and another much harsher shake of the container, the doors suddenly swing open and the place they were kept in for the past 10 minutes moves upwards, changing the position from vertical to horizontal.

A few screams erupt from the group of tributes, and everyone starts to slide out like bags of flour. Y/N yelps again and tries to hold onto Coriolanus, he manages to hold both of their weights, but Y/N´s grip on him loosens when she wiggles in his grasp.

"Wait- Y/N hold on!" he hisses out, but Y/N moves in his grasp trying to get a hold of Wovey´s hand who´s close to sliding down as well.

"Grab my hand!" she yells, but Wovey slips away, and Y/N watches the little girl and Jessup move out of her view into the unknown.

Y/N removes herself from his grasp, just as Coriolanus can´t hold them up anymore due to the shaking wagon, and they all slide into whatever the Capitol planned for them.

I might consider writing a second part! I hope you enjoyed reading this <33

[rizzanon]

Ages and background info

m.list

Current timeline:

Bruce - 42

Dick - 25

Jason - 20

Cassandra - 20

Tim - 17

regressed!reader - 16

Damian - 11

Alfred - 64

Barbara - 28

Stephanie - 18

Duke - 15

sadly Duke won’t be making an appearance anytime soon because I think he only comes around in the timeline when reader is like 17/18¿? 😔

Background info (Alfred, Bruce, Dick, Barbara, Jason centered)

You don’t know who your mother is. You were left at the doorstep of Wayne Manor the moment you were born. (don’t ask how she managed to get through Wayne Manor’s cutting edge and state-of-the-art security system..) Bruce took you in and became your parent after getting a paternity test that proved that he is your father. At this time, it was Dick’s first year of being Robin.

You’d be initially taken care of by Alfred during your early years. When Bruce was busy fighting crime or with board meetings at Wayne Enterprises, it was Alfred who rocked you to sleep, tended to your needs, taught you how to read and draw. His soft and steady preference was reader’s anchor in that big, lonely manor.

Growing up, you constantly heard about your father’s brilliance—Bruce Wayne, the untouchable billionaire philanthropist, praised for his endless contributions to Gotham. The public’s expectations for you, his daughter, were impossibly high, and your every achievement was either dismissed as trivial or compared to his legendary feats.

You worked tirelessly to prove yourself worthy of the Wayne name, pouring everything into becoming the perfect daughter. But no matter how hard you tried, there were always people who’d be better than you in certain aspects, you can’t always win, can’t always get the top place. And that was the only thing the public focused on.

It hurt, but you buried the pain, telling yourself to try harder. Because that’s what it meant to be a Wayne—always striving, even when it felt like no one cared. You hoped till the very end that one day, your achievements would actually mean something to your family. To your father.

And mind you, this was before you found out your father was the Batman. And when you did, that’s when you changed trajectories and tried becoming a vigilante just like your father, like your siblings. You took up the mantle of Batgirl at 13, you trained hard, trying to hone your skills. But you weren’t meant for this life of crimefighting. You were always sidelined, and at every moment, it felt like your family was waiting for you to fail badly, so that they’d have a reason to prevent you from picking up the mask ever again. You could never be good enough, strong enough like your family. But you still pushed through, tried to prove yourself, and that was ultimately the cause of your demise.

When Dick was still in his pre-teens, I would think that he liked the idea of having a baby sister. Whenever he wasn’t off at school or out being Robin, he’d always come and play with you. But as he grew older, his teenage years, Dick would spent less and less time around the manor, and more time with his friends and the Teen Titans. He’d be consumed more and more by his missions and bonds with his teammates.

At first, you didn’t mind of course. He was your big brother. He always promised to make it up to you, he’d always promise to come back. But as the days stretched into weeks, and then months, his time spent with her became shorter, and his attention became more divided. He still loved you of course—he always tried making that clear—but his life was no longer centered around the manor, around Gotham. And by extension, that meant you too.

But that changes when you find out about your family being vigilantes. You’d feel betrayed at first upon finding out, especially because they hid this from you for so long, and if you hadn’t found out when you did, you doubt they’d even tell you.

And that makes you want to prove yourself to the family, and that’s what makes you pick up the mask and become a vigilante as well. Dick was definitely against this, and that’s what initially causes your relationship to strain with him. After all, this was when Jason had just died not too long ago. But you were adamant. With that, he did try to train you for a bit, but he ultimately ended up focusing more on Tim, who was the next Robin, and Bludhaven. He “left” you to figure out the ropes of this yourself. He was sure that Bruce or Barbara would train you.

This widens the gap between you and Dick, and at first, you ruled it off as him gaining control of his life and trying to figure out what he plans to do with his responsibilities. But then as the years go by, you notice the blatant distinction between the way he acts around you versus your other siblings.

He kept his distance from you, his interactions were friendly, but always brief. He didn’t exactly linger to check on you or talk to you after patrols. At first, you thought it was Jason’s death that was making him distant, that he was just coping in his own way. But as time went on, it felt like he didn’t see you as worth the effort. Or maybe he just thought you were fine. When he did make plans with you, most of the time, it’d get postponed, or it would slip his mind. He never really thought it was a big deal, and what made things worse was that you never pointed it out as well.

You didn’t want to confront him about this. Maybe you were just afraid to break that loose strands that was holding your relationship with him. Your bond with him. Or maybe you did not want to admit that the bond was basically non-existent.

Whereas Dick remained blissfully unaware of the way he’s treating you. Did he notice that he doesn’t spend as much time with you as he does with the others? Maybe. But did he choose to do anything about that? Not really.

Maybe one day he’ll come to realise the consequences of his actions. That maybe, he wasn’t the best big brother he could be for everyone. Dick Grayson was a man who cared about many things, a man who wore his heart on his sleeve. He was fiercely loyal, protective, and deeply committed to the people he loved—whether it was his adoptive family, his friends, or the people of Gotham. But that didn’t include you.

Dick’s commitment to his own life and responsibilities, both as Nightwing and as a person, pulled him further away from you. He was no longer the older brother who would spend hours with you, teaching you how to be better, how to be a hero. Instead, he was often wrapped up in his own struggles—focusing on Bludhaven, or dealing with the aftermath of Jason’s death. Even when he did offer advice or training, it always felt half-hearted, like he was only doing it because he had to, not because he wanted to.

There were times when you did try to approach him, to bridge the gap that had grown between you two. You wanted to confide in him, to seek his guidance and maybe find the comfort you desperately needed. But every time you tried, it was like talking to a wall. He was distant, distracted, and no matter how much you tried to show him how much you were struggling, he never seemed to truly see you.

The bitterness began to grow, and with it, resentment. Why didn’t he care about you like he used to? Why was it so easy for him to focus on everyone else while you fell to the wayside? It hurt more than you wanted to admit, especially because you still looked up to him, still wanted to be close to him the way you had when you were younger. But now, as the years went on, you realized that maybe the bond you once had was slipping away for good.

He was still the person you wanted to be, but in a way, he had moved on from you. And as much as you hated to admit it, it was easier to hide behind the mask and do things on your own. Because at least then, you wouldn’t have to face the painful truth: Dick Grayson, the brother you looked up to so much, no longer had time for you.

As for Bruce, I don’t want to make it seem like he didn’t care about you. Bruce loves his children, and I don’t want to take that trait away from him. But at the same time, you have to admit that he’s quite emotionally unavailable. From the moment you were brought into his life, Bruce is terrified. He doesn’t know if he can be a good father to raise you, especially with his line of work. And it’s not like you were like Dick. Dick was a growing boy, you were just a baby. Completely dependent on him. You were so and fragile in his arms, and he thinks you’d break if he held you any tighter.

Bruce wanted to love you the way a father should, but love didn’t come easily to him—not in the way most people understood it. His life was a constant battle, filled with shadows and danger, and the idea of bringing a child into that world felt wrong. He couldn’t protect you the way he wanted, not with Gotham always demanding more of him.

So, instead of letting himself get too close, Bruce focused on what he could control: providing for you. He made sure you had the best of everything—your education, your safety, and most importantly, Alfred.

In truth, Alfred did most of the parenting. Bruce rationalized that it was for your own good. Alfred was patient, kind, and steady in ways Bruce felt he could never be. Alfred would shield you from the darkness of the world Bruce inhabited. But deep down, Bruce knew the truth: he was keeping himself at arm’s length because he was terrified of failing you.

But with him keeping you at an arm’s length all the time, Bruce is unaware of the repercussions of his actions. That in a way, he was in fact failing you. Just, not in the way he thinks. He doesn’t necessarily realise how much of your life he’s missing. Sure, he knows he misses out on some of your events, but he tries to make up for it by gifting you more toys and clothes.

Though, that could only work for so long. By the time you were in your pre-teens, you needed more than just trivial gifts.

You needed your father.

But Bruce couldn’t see that. He never did. He only just checked in on your well-being through Alfred. And everytime Alfred tries to tell him about how you needed him in your life more, Bruce always ends up brushing it aside, claiming that you only just need Alfred.

And then comes Jason’s death. That puts a huge hole in Bruce’s heart. The death of his son is something that will haunt him forever. He vows to never fail like that again, not with anyone else he cared about. This was the whole reason why he kept his vigilante life in the dark from you. But you found out anyways. And when you did, you wanted to follow in his footsteps.

That was the last thing he wanted you to do. He tried to dissuade you from this path, but you were determined. Stubbornness was the one trait you did share with him. And eventually, he relented.

He always assigned you cases that he thought was “safe”. Cases that he knew you could handle. But everytime, you demanded more, and each time, Bruce always said no. You were his daughter, he couldn’t risk putting you in dangerous situations. He knew what you can or can’t handle. And unfortunately, that did not change over the years. He was fixated on the very fact that you weren’t cut out for this life of crime-fighting. And you never will be.

Which is why he only watches from afar, the gap between you and your father growing too far apart for any of you to try and bridge it. He only gets updates about you from Alfred, and even that was rarely asked about. And eventually, you just fade into the background, into the shadows of the family.

As for Jason, I believe there would be two parts for him. Before his death, when he was first brought into the family by Bruce, he was this small, energetic boy who had a certain sass to him. He was only 4 years older than you, and that allowed you to build a fairly close bond with him. That is, before he suddenly becomes “busy” with other stuff. Though he spent lesser time with you, he always did try and check in with you when he could. You two always read together in the library, he’d tell you all sorts of stories about Crime Alley.

But that all changed when he died. Jason’s death left a void in everyone, including you. You didn’t understand why he died, what caused his death, and you were literally heartbroken. You saw how his death destroyed your family, and you tried desperately to fix it. But nothing ever worked. Which is why you shifted your grief towards your studies, trying to make sure that you could be the perfect daughter that could fill the emptiness Jason left behind. But nothing worked. You wanted to heal, wanted to help your family move forward, but without their support, it felt impossible.

When you take up the mantle of Batgirl, part of the reason is because you wanted to honour what Jason did. His time as Robin. You thought that maybe he’d be proud of you, for stepping up and doing this. And maybe, just maybe, you’d be able to become half the hero he was.

But no, Jason was far from proud. And you only know that once he is revealed to be Red Hood years later. Jason is furious. His fury cuts deeper than you expected, not just at the fact that you’ve taken up the mantle of Batgirl, but because of the underlying betrayal he feels.

He looks at you, his younger sister, the one who was supposed to be protected, and sees someone who is willingly stepping into the very nightmare he couldn’t escape. The life that broke him, the endless cycle of violence and pain, and the years of grief and rage that had consumed him. He sees you and wonders: Why? Why would you choose this path, knowing what it did to him?

His anger isn’t just about the mantle—it’s about the idea that you’re following in his footsteps, as if you’re willing to become just like him. Worse, you’re doing it without understanding what it costs. He doesn’t want you to end up like him, as someone who can’t find redemption, who is trapped in a life of revenge. He’s already lost so much—first to the Joker, then to Bruce—and now it feels like he’s losing you too. The only family he has left.

But for you, the choice to take up the mantle was about honoring Jason. You didn’t want to replace him. You didn’t want to erase the pain he went through. But as much as you wanted to fight for the family, you couldn’t help but feel like you needed to prove yourself in a way he never had to. Your family was broken, and you thought that maybe, by stepping up, you could fix it. Maybe you could become the hero Jason never got the chance to be.

But that’s not how Jason sees it. He’s angry, and hurt, and feels betrayed—because he knows what you don’t fully understand yet. This life doesn’t fix anything. It destroys. And if you keep going down this path, you’ll end up like him—scarred, alone, and full of rage that will consume you, just like it did him.

The tension between you two becomes unbearable. The sibling bond you once shared is strained beyond repair, and Jason makes it clear that he’ll never accept you as Batgirl. He’s no longer the brother you knew—the one who once taught you how to laugh, how to stand up for yourself. Now, he’s just a stranger, a man whose hatred for the life he was brought into has twisted him into something unrecognizable. And you? You’re just another casualty of it.

No matter how much you try to explain, no matter how much you try to reach him, the gap between you two widens. He’s Red Hood, and you’re Batgirl. The two identities, both born from tragedy, will never be able to coexist peacefully. Every time you suit up, every time you fight to prove yourself, you feel the divide grow stronger. You’ve both chosen your paths, and with that choice, you’ve irreparably lost each other.

For a while, you only ever saw Barbara as the GCPD commissioner’s daughter, Dick’s friend. She had always been around, and was a frequent family friend. You never really understood why she was so deeply tied with your family until you found out the truth.

When you found out that she’d been the first Batgirl, you were amazed, and frankly, you wanted to be just like her. She, who has done so much and fought alongside your family in many battles, who has done so much to protect Gotham. Maybe this was the way for you to get close with your father and older brother. You had to prove yourself through this. That’s what you thought.

Which is why when you approached Barbara one day with the idea of being Batgirl, you expected support, encouragement, maybe even a bit of excitement. After all, she had once worn the cape and fought crime in Gotham’s shadows. But no, apparently you were getting in over your head.

Barbara’s face hardened the moment you mentioned the mantle. Her mantle. She immediately refused, telling you that it was dangerous. At first, you thought she was being protective. Jason had died not too long ago doing this, so maybe that’s why. Which is why you relented. But as she continued, you saw the weight of her words—the deep, painful truth that came from experience.

She recounted her time as Batgirl, her fight against the criminals of Gotham, and how the Joker had shattered her body and soul in a way that no physical injury could ever heal. She spoke of the night she was shot, of how she had lost everything—her mobility, her sense of security, and even a part of her identity. It wasn’t just the pain of what happened to her body—it was the mental toll of knowing that every choice she made brought her closer to losing herself.

You were taken aback, shocked by how strongly she felt. Was she really trying to stop you from becoming Batgirl? After everything she had endured, you couldn’t fathom why she wouldn’t want you to follow in her footsteps. But Barbara wasn’t just speaking from a place of worry; she was speaking from experience. She had seen firsthand how dangerous this life was, how it consumed you piece by piece, and how it left scars that would never fade.

But even as you understood her perspective, the desire to prove yourself still burned fiercely inside of you. You wanted to be more than Bruce Wayne’s daughter, more than someone who had to hide in the shadows. You wanted to stand beside your family, to help Gotham in the only way you knew how. You wanted to honour Jason for what he did for Gotham, and continue it for him. Which is why you relented, and eventually, just like everyone else, Barbara gave in. Because she knew couldn’t change your mind no matter what. Which is why she takes you on and helps with your training.

However, just like Bruce, she too only assigned you cases thst she knew you could handle. Even though Barbara had reluctantly agreed to help you become Batgirl, it was clear from the start that she wasn’t going to make it easy on you. She trained you relentlessly, teaching you the ins and outs of combat, tactics, and the stealthy finesse that Gotham’s criminals required. But even in her guidance, you could feel her hesitation. She never pushed you too far, always stopping just short of testing your limits, as though she was holding something back.

She would assign you cases, but they were always ones she knew you could handle—petty thefts, low-level gangs, the type of cases that wouldn’t put you in direct danger, that wouldn’t challenge you too much, and that she could step in and call someone else to take over if things ever went south.

At first, you didn’t mind. You were just glad to be training, to be doing something. But as time went on, the restrictions started to chafe at you. You could see how Barbara’s protective nature was keeping you in a bubble—one that was too small, one that didn’t prepare you for what Gotham truly was. You didn’t want to be stuck fighting the small-time criminals; you wanted to face the real threats, the ones that could change Gotham for the better after being dealt with.

The frustration mounted. Every time she handed you a case, every time she stopped you from pursuing something more dangerous, you felt your desire to prove yourself slipping further and further away. You knew you couldn’t keep doing this forever. Gotham was too big, the stakes too high, and you were capable of so much more. You had to break free from Barbara’s shadow, from her protective grip, and finally prove that you were ready for the challenges that came with being Batgirl—not just in name, but in action. Which is why you started doing more. Did more than you needed to, took one too many unnecessary risks.

But everything shifted when Barbara took in Cassandra Cain and Stephanie Brown, both taking up the mantle of Batgirl at some point. It stung. The sense of being sidelined was undeniable, and it hurt more than you had expected. Were you really that replaceable? Did you being Batgirl mean nothing?

Barbara’s training shifted with the new additions. She wasn’t the same mentor to you as she had been when you first started. She had become consumed with building Cassandra and Stephanie up, preparing them for the same Gotham streets that had torn her apart. Except, it was obvious that Barbara saw then as more capable, more stronger to take on the streets. More prepared than you’ll ever be. You were no longer her first priority. In fact, you were hardly a priority at all.

The worst part was how Barbara handled it. Instead of talking to you, explaining her choices, she just… distanced herself. There were no more long training sessions, no more subtle encouragement. Your bond, the one that had felt so strong when she first took you in, weakened and thinned, becoming strained and distant. It was as though she had replaced you with them. Maybe she had.

It wasn’t just the feeling of being replaced by two new recruits; it was the complete lack of acknowledgment of everything you had sacrificed, everything you had worked for. You had pushed through every painful night, every bruise, every tear, just to earn your place. But now, it seemed like all that hard work meant nothing. You were left alone in the shadows once again, watching as the people you cared about, the people who had once been your mentors and family, moved on without you.

The rift between you and Barbara widened with each passing day. You tried to hold on to the hope that things would change, that things would go back to how they were before. But deep down, you knew they never would. Barbara had chosen her new proteges—her Batgirls—and you were left to try to make your own way in a family that no longer felt like your own.

And as the years went by, you still held onto that mantle, and Barbara grew more distant. She checked in on you doing patrols and missions as Oracle, but that was that.

Part 2 (Tim, Cassandra, Stephanie, Damian, Duke centered)

lmk your thoughts on this because this has been on my mind for so long <33

taglist (open): @tricksters-maze @dusk-muse @quethekillerqueen @silverklaus @isupportorbitalbombardment @nxdxsworld @vanessa-boo @coffeeaddictxd @moonsbluekingdom @yuya-bubbly @percythebitchwitch @anonymousdisco @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @redsakura101 @what-0-life @idkwhattoputhete @secretyouthcomputer @witch-waycult @allycat4458 | ask to be added <3

(idk why i can’t tag some of y’all, must be your settings i think 😓)

[thriftedtchotchkes]

waiting to spill

pairing: mike schmidt x f!reader

summary: mike never thought your week-long trip home would lead to the discovery of a costly new craving

warnings: 18+ MDNI, established relationship, breeding kink, smut, desperate!mike, unprotected piv, creampie, riding, fingering, blue balls, mentions of pregnancy, cum play

word count: 3.9k

(based on this request)

Mike's praying the call goes through this time because if it doesn't, he might just lose his mind. You were supposed to land 20 minutes ago, but it's already half past 4 and your phone's still off.

Will it show how many missed calls you have? God, he hopes not. He's been redialing for the better part of an hour, hoping you landed early, but luck clearly isn't on his side. Every time it goes to voicemail, your voice taunts him. Just another reminder that you're not here—unreachable and untouchable.

Shitty fucking airline. He knew you should've taken an earlier flight, but he didn't want to be that guy. The one who tells you what to do and when, and makes decisions for his own benefit. He's a better guy than that, a better boyfriend than that, it's just—fuck, what is taking so long? 

One more time. He'll try you one more time, and if it doesn't connect, he'll go sit on the couch and distract himself until you call him. He's already waited this long. He can suck it up a little longer. Probably.

He hits redial for the umpteenth time, his forehead thunking against the wall next to the landline, and then something miraculous happens. It rings.

Once, twice, and then you pick up. He doesn't wait for you to answer. Any patience he had left flew out the window hours ago and he doesn't care if you know it.

"Babe?"

You laugh softly on the other end, and it tugs at his heart...and his dick. Seatbelts click open in the background, and sounds of movement and chatter filter through the speaker.

"Hey, you. I actually just landed. I'll call you back once I get through customs, okay?" you reply, bright as ever. 

It sets him off worse than he expected. You're so much more potent in real-time than on voicemail, and it's fucking with his sense of urgency. He doesn't want to rush you, but he needs you. So badly.

"W-wait. Can you come over? After you're done with the airport stuff, I mean," he manages to get out, interjecting cautiously before you can hang up.

"I was gonna stop home to drop off my bags and take a quick shower, but I can come over after that," you reply distractedly, likely dealing with overhead bins and other passengers trying to deplane. 

He shakes his head, gripping the phone a little too tightly as he bites back a frustrated whine. That'll take too long. The airport's about an hour's ride from your apartment, and by the time you're done showering—no. No, just come to him. It's a shorter ride to his house, anyway.

"Just—you can do all of that here. Stay over and I'll drive you back to your place in the morning. Please?" he asks, desperation beginning to bleed into his voice. 

It pulls your attention back to him almost immediately, and he hates how good that feels.

"Is everything okay? Did something happen?" you counter, misreading his plea as an emergency. 

Your phone keeps shifting like it's tucked against your shoulder, and now it sounds like you're moving faster, hurrying like he wants you to, but for the wrong reasons. 

"Everything's fine, I just need to see you," he says, willing you to understand. "Babe, I really need to see you."

He's too ashamed to spell it out. What would he even say? If he doesn't cum inside you soon, he thinks he might die? He's horny, not pathetic.

"Mike, that doesn't sound fine...," you sigh on the other end, your quickening footsteps audible through the receiver. 

"Please."

You pause for a second, and his heart leaps into his throat. Don't say no. Please, don't say no.

"Gimme an hour, okay? I'll catch a cab to your place as soon as I can," you finally agree.

He breathes out a heavy sigh of relief, but it's louder than he realizes and you clock it on the spot.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, all good. I'm just glad you're back. Feels like it's been forever," he mumbles, somehow sated and yet anticipating your arrival more than ever. 

He shifts anxiously from one foot to the other, wincing at the unexpected friction against the growing problem between his legs. The atmosphere around you changes and your responding laugh blends into the bustle of casual conversations and overhead announcements in your terminal. 

"Can't survive one week without me, huh? I guess I'm bringing you and Abby along next time I visit my parents," you joke, but it's getting harder to make out what you're saying. "Look, I'm almost at customs. I'll see you soon, I promise."

The call ends, and he's left with the loneliness of a dial tone and an empty house. He hangs up and plops down on the couch, clutching the TV remote like a lifeline while he desperately tries to ignore the painful tent in his boxers.

An hour. He can handle one more hour.

He can't handle one more hour. It's been 45 minutes and he feels like he's about to burst. The worst part? It's his own damn fault. 

He's the asshole who made the conscious decision not to jerk off the entire time you were gone, but he can't bring himself to regret it. He had his reasons. In about 15 minutes, it'll all be worth it.

Maybe less. 

There's a knock at the door, and he's up and off the couch so fast, he's surprised he doesn't have whiplash. He wrenches it open to find you on the other side, a little stunned by the abrupt greeting, but worth every second of blue balls he put himself through.

"Hey," he breathes out, winded by his mad dash and the relief of you finally being here. 

"Hey, yourself," you smile wryly. Your eyes drop to where he's not even remotely trying to hide his raging boner. "Ah-ha, so that's—"

But that's all you manage to say before he drags you into the house and slams your back against the door, shutting out your luggage and the cab driver still idling in the driveway. His lips crash into yours and you taste so good, it's dizzying. 

Remnants of Sprite and spearmint gum linger on your tongue as it meets his, and he groans, wondering how he went an entire week without this. All that time, deprived of your addictive touch and perfect tits while he tortured himself, waiting for you to come back to him.

He can't decide where to put his hands first, roaming and squeezing from your waist, up your shirt—which he's just realizing is his—to splay across your ribcage. Pressing you harder into the door, he separates from your lips to mouth at the underside of your jaw, mumbling his appreciation between each harsh bruise he sucks into your skin.

"Fuck, I missed you," he pants, shamelessly grinding into your hip for relief. He wants you to feel how hard you're making him, so you'll understand all those missed calls.

"Yeah? I can tell," you laugh breathily, running your hands up his chest, pushing his shirt up as you go. 

Your thumbs brush against his bare skin, sending a heady jolt straight to his cock, and suddenly none of this is moving fast enough. His hands drop to your ass, roughly tugging your hips into his, and you gasp in unison at the friction. Together, you fall into a frantic rhythm, rutting into each other like a pair of horny teenagers.

"Shit, Mike...," you moan his name, and he feels like he's dreaming. He has to be because nothing else in his waking world has ever felt this good.

Contrary to the rest of his body, he kisses you again slowly, savoring every noise he's coaxing from you and devouring them like a man starved. Your fingers thread through his hair, pulling him closer, and he swears he's never letting you leave this house again. 

If by some miracle he does, he's going to make sure you're pumped so full of him, you'll be leaking him the entire time you're gone, unable to think about anything else. And when you come back, he'll do it all over again.

Damnit, he needs you in his bed, now.

He backs away from the door with you still in his arms, leading you further into the house down a path you know by heart. Briefly, he separates from your lips to lift your shirt up and over your head, then discards his own before tugging down the cups of your bra to latch onto a nipple.

You hiss at the contact, trembling as he teases it with his teeth, and immediately reach behind you to unclasp the offending piece of fabric. It drops soundlessly to the floor along with your jeans, underwear, and finally his boxers. Nipping sharply at the sensitive skin one last time, he pulls away to admire you, trailing his fingers down your arms until your hands are in his.

You're fucking beautiful. Your lips are kiss-swollen and glossy, begging to be kissed again, and your thighs are...wet, fucking hell. Fuck, he missed you. His mouth starts to water at the thought of licking into you, fucking you with his tongue while your thighs quake on either side of his head, but the painful throbbing between his legs is starting to overwhelm him.

He's positive, now, that if he's not inside you soon, he'll actually die. He's not just horny, anymore. It's so far beyond that.

Four more agonizing steps backward and he's finally passing the threshold into his room, so close to being on his back with you bouncing on top of him—except he doesn't make it that far. 

The door shuts behind you, and then you're on your knees, wrapping those perfect fingers around his dick and guiding him between your lips. He panics. There's no way he's going to last if you try to blow him right now.

Tenderly, you lick a stray bead of precum off the tip, and his balls immediately draw up so tight, he has to slide your hand down to the base and squeeze to keep from cumming on the spot. He shakes his head, his eyebrows furrowing as he inhales sharply through his nose.

"Babe, I can't...," he grits out, struggling to find the words to explain himself. "I'll cum too fast, you can't."

You grin, leaning forward to press your lips against his white-knuckled fist.

"That's sort of the whole point, isn't it?" you tease, trailing back to his cock, seconds away from giving him the most intense orgasm of his life.

"I need to fuck you," he blurts out. It's short and to the point, but there's no use in pretending he doesn't. At this point, he'll be lucky if he doesn't explode the second he's inside you. "I need to fuck you so bad right now, I feel like I'm going crazy."

You pause to look up at him, your eyes roving over his face, lingering on his angrily ticking jaw. You get it, now.

"Hey, it's okay—you're okay," you murmur, leaning forward to kiss away another drop of precum. He chokes back a groan and reflexively jerks away, and you take the hint to release your grip. "Okay, fuck me. Show me how much you missed me."

But you don't have any idea what you're asking for, do you? He missed you so much. There's so much catching up to do, and he has so little patience left.

He doesn't waste any more time. With every ounce of self-control he's got left, he drags you to your feet and towards the bed, trying his best not to manhandle you up the mattress and onto his lap. He fails epically. The second he's flat on his back with you grinding down on him, his patience becomes a thing of the past.

"You ready for me? Because I'm not gonna be able to stop, and I need you to feel good," he's starting to babble, but he has a feeling nothing he says from now on will make any sense, and he needs you to want it as much as he does.

His hands slide up your thighs to your waist, and when he tugs you closer to notch at your entrance, he can feel you clenching wetly around him.

"Shit—," he breathes out, his biceps tensing as he lifts you and lines himself up. He pushes in just enough for you to stretch around the tip, and you steady yourself on his chest, your palms searingly hot on his skin as you squeeze him a little harder.

"Let me make you feel good," he says again, even though you're already letting him, already yielding to his steady push and pull. Every inch he gives you feels like taking a shot of tequila, and it's making his head spin. If he could hear himself anymore, he'd realize he sounds wasted.

"Let me fill you up, please," he begs, rolling his hips up to lengthen his thrusts. They’re so much easier now that you’re dribbling down him—so much wetter—but you're so damn tight, he has to force himself to look away from where you're joined and gripping the hell out of him. "You know, I-I waited for you—waited to cum, I didn't cum at all."

"Mike...fuck. That's good. That's so good, baby," you tell him shakily. "Give it to me. Nice and deep, you deserve it."

He keens at the praise—he couldn't have stopped himself if he'd tried—and your nails bite into his skin in response, nose scrunching adorably as you gush around him. He knew you'd like that. He knew you'd want it. 

Look at his girl, so pretty on top of him, just waiting for him to bust inside you. Fleetingly, he wonders if you're still on birth control. Possessively, he doesn't care. Rationally, he knows he can't afford to knock you up, but shit—right now, he really fucking wants to. He imagines you in the same position you're in, horny and round with his baby, and suddenly he's never wanted anything so badly in his life.

He doesn't stop to think about whether or not he should. He doesn't stop at all, just like he warned you, not even when he's buried to the hilt and you're both struggling to adjust. 

He just buries himself in you again and again and again until the sound of your skin colliding with his becomes a wet thock-thock-thock that bounces off the walls of his bedroom. The springs beneath him squeak dangerously as he pushes his bedframe to its absolute limits, but he can’t hear any of that, either.

His senses are in overdrive, and all he can focus on is how you feel around him. And he’s not nearly as deep as he needs to be. Rougher than he means to, he grabs your ass with both hands and starts to force you up and down his cock, gripping hard enough to bruise. He’ll hate how much he likes the idea of that later. 

"S-so fucking pretty...gonna make me cum so hard. So much. Need you to take all of it," he pants with the exertion of lifting and dropping your full weight onto himself.

He can feel himself slamming into your cervix and desperately tries to think about anything else but emptying right into it, but the sight of you taking him like you were made for it makes it ten times worse.

Just looking at you makes him want to cum—your tits bouncing as you ride him, your pussy creaming down his cock and balls, and seeping into his sheets. Those pouty lips of yours moaning around pleas of harder and right there and don't stop, I'm cumming.

"Baby...babe—," your shattered voice cuts through the fog, and then he feels it. "M'cumming. I'm...Mike, keep going there, there. Don't stop, please don't stop."

Fucking hell, you're really cumming. Tight and wet, and clamping down on him like a vice. Somehow, he always forgets it's like this with you. That you cum this hard for him, that he's able to make you cum this hard for him. For a second, he feels overwhelmingly grateful. Then, he's planting his feet on the bed and fucking you so hard, you stop moaning and start screaming.

It's there. It's right there, so close he can feel it building everywhere. Sweat trickles down his temples, matting his curls to his forehead, and you brush them away, one hand braced on the mattress next to his head and the other buried in his hair as you ride out your high.  

His balls draw up so tight, it's painful, and he thinks he might start yelling too, but he's too focused on the chase. He's too busy watching, dumbfounded by the perfect body coming apart on top of him. 

The girl he waited for. 

He tries to tell you. He tries to open his mouth and tell you that you’re everything he thought he’d never have, and that he wants to keep you forever. That he wants to be part of you, that being inside you is one of the rare places he’s ever felt wanted. But that’s not what comes out. 

He’s too far gone now, and all he can manage is an incomprehensible stream of moans and sighs as he forces you flush against his pelvis, grinding into you as deep as he can reach. His eyes struggle not to close, nearly crossing as that familiar heat permeates his limbs and pools at the base of his cock. But it’s so much more intense than he can ever remember it being.

He lifts his gaze to your lips to find them moving, repeatedly forming a single word he can barely make out. But by the time he figures it out, he’s already giving you what you asked for. 

Please. You’re saying please. He repeats it back, begging you to take it, thanking you for letting him have this.

His orgasm rocks him. As it peaks, he feels numb like he’s suspended in time, and then it slams into him so hard, he folds in on himself. He buries his face in your tits, his breath hitching sharply in time with the visible throbbing of his cock, and he’s immediately flooded with relief. But it won’t fucking stop. It lasts so much longer than either of you expect it to, pulse after endless pulse, and he holds you in place through it all.

When it finally subsides and sensitivity sets in, your nails scratching lightly across his back are what bring him back to the present. He lifts his head from where it's still pillowed on your tits, and you lean down to kiss his forehead.

Maybe he’s imagining it, or maybe he’s just been dreaming this entire time, but he swears you’re glowing. The final rays of late summer sun illuminate your dewy skin and soft curves, and as you move lower to kiss his lips, he unconsciously rests a hand over your stomach. It feels right—but only briefly. His head starts to clear the longer he licks into your mouth, and when you part, reality finally hits.

"Shit, I think I just got you pregnant," he breathes out, sliding his hand off your stomach to your waist before collapsing onto the mattress. "Shit."

He looks up at you in concern, his mind racing a mile a minute. What did he just do? He can’t—you can't get pregnant. Not with Abby, and your jobs, and his shitty finances. It just isn't an option. 

And yet you’re still perched on top of him, snug around his softening dick, and he can’t bring himself to pull out. You don’t even seem remotely worried.

You're actually smiling. No, you're laughing, and he's still panicking and confused as hell. It gets infinitely worse when you accidentally push him out and his gut reaction is to plug you back up with his fingers, keeping his release from leaking out. This is so fucked up. He’s so fucked up.

"I mean—were you trying to?" you ask, raising an eyebrow. "Kinda seems like it."

Your eyes drop between your legs to where his hand is cupping your heat, irrefutable proof that you’re not wrong. So, why doesn’t that bother you? 

"Babe, breathe," you smile softly, brushing a few stray hairs from his face. "I'm like, 98.8 percent positive you can't knock me up. Give or take, but we can check the box if it'll make you feel better."

It actually might, but the last thing he's going to do is admit it. He can't believe he didn't double-check something like that—but then again, he feels like he's been in a fugue state for hours, if not the entire week you were gone.

"You're still on birth control?" he asks cautiously, almost afraid to get his hopes up. He takes a deep breath like you told him to and it helps ease some of his lingering panic. Not all of it, but at least he's starting to think rationally and not with his dick.

"Mike. There isn't a single condom in this entire house. Yes, I'm on birth control," you laugh again, and even just the sound of it is soothing. It helps, too.

"And it definitely works? Because that was...a lot," he mumbles. He already knows he sounds like a total idiot, but he has to be sure. There's still a week's worth of his release plugged up inside you, and as much as it turns him on, he needs to know if he has to run out to the pharmacy or if he's free to do it again. And again.

"Have you ever fucked me with a condom on?" you counter. He scoffs at the question, and you clench around his fingers in retaliation.

"Of course, I have. Maybe not in a while, but early on, for sure," he replies confidently, even though he's not confident in his answer at all. Sure, he can't give you a specific example, but that doesn't mean it never happened.

"You literally came inside me the day we met," you deadpan. 

His cock stirs at the memory, hardening distractingly against your inner thigh. That, he definitely remembers. He's pretty sure that's the night he fell in love with you, but he's hard-pressed to admit that, either.

"There's no way."

"And every time since then," you continue, looking way too amused at his misfortune. Can't get anything past you, can he?

Okay, so maybe it wasn't just your trip that triggered what happened tonight. Maybe it's always been a thing. His thing. You just look so goddamn good—filled with it, covered in it. Shit, he really shouldn't be hard already.

"Babe, come on. I do...it other places, too,” he reasons, sliding his hand up to tweak a nipple. But it becomes a moot point the second your breath hitches. So much for rational thinking. “I just—"

"You just really like cumming inside me," you finish for him, taking his cock in your hand and stroking him until he's as desperate as he was earlier.

He pulls his fingers free from your pussy and tries not to lament the immediate rush of cum that leaks out. It's okay. He's got plenty more to give you.

"Yeah, I really do."

thanks for reading!

(and so much love to @joelsgreys, @tinycozycomfort & @psychedelic-ink for your help & support, and for listening to me go on and on about this man <3)

[caitified]

OMG YAY ! i don’t see much content for azzi here it’s kind of sad💔 it’s my first time requesting but maybe azzi and reader used to date but broke up because reader went abroad for some time. so azzi starts dating paige after a while but reader comes back and azzi gets confused/conflicted🙏🙏

confused

azzi fudd x reader

warnings:none, but i didn’t read abroad when i first saw your request so sorry about that!

the last night of high school had a bittersweet magic, like the twilight of a long, perfect day. azzi leaned against your car, her eyes a warm blend of laughter and anticipation as she looked at you under the stars.

“we did it,” she said softly, her hand reaching for yours. “after all these years, we’re finally here.”

you squeezed her hand, the familiar warmth of her skin sending a rush through you. azzi had been your everything since middle school, the kind of love people wrote about. and even though she was going to uconn and you’d soon be on the other side of the country at stanford, there was something fierce and hopeful in both of you. you’d make this work—long distance, time zones, anything. you both promised.

but in the weeks that followed, distance crept in slowly, like shadows at dusk. phone calls turned shorter, text messages went unanswered longer, and instagram kept you updated more on her life than she did herself. it was paige who started appearing in those updates the most. paige, laughing with her. paige, meeting her after practices. paige, cheering her on from the stands. paige, who understood her world of basketball in a way you couldn’t.

months passed. your heart grew accustomed to the ache, hoping it would be worth it. until, finally, you’d had enough.

it was a late saturday night when you texted azzi, a small hope sparking that she’d call back. an hour went by. then two. you waited until her online status disappeared into nothing. the silence pressed against you, suffocating.

the breakup was long overdue, yet when it happened, it still felt sudden. you sent a simple message: i think we both deserve better than this. i love you, azzi, but i can’t keep pretending that i’m okay. maybe it’s time we let go.

she responded with a long, agonizing pause. and then, one final text: i understand. i’m so sorry.

for a long time after, it felt like your world had shrunk. but you focused on school, throwing yourself into new friendships and routines. azzi stayed in the background of your life, just out of sight. you saw the news when she and paige became official, saw their faces together across sports feeds, but by then, you were already halfway to moving on.

three years later, standing in the crowded arena in san francisco, you didn’t expect to see her. the golden state valkyries had just announced azzi’s draft, and the crowd buzzed with excitement as she jogged out, looking as stunning and determined as ever. seeing her was like a shot of adrenaline straight to your heart.

as she moved through the crowd after the event, signing autographs and hugging teammates, your eyes met hers. time seemed to freeze. she looked at you as though she was seeing a ghost, her face a mix of shock, wonder, and something else.

“hey,” you managed, stepping forward. “congratulations, azzi. you… you made it.”

azzi blinked, regaining her composure. “hey yourself,” she said, her voice soft. “i didn’t think i’d see you here.”

“i live here now,” you replied, forcing a casual tone. “life happened.”

a soft chuckle escaped her lips. “yeah, i guess it does.” she glanced over her shoulder, where the crowd still buzzed, and then back at you. “do you have time to catch up? maybe coffee?”

a moment’s hesitation flickered within you. but then you nodded. “sure. coffee sounds good.”

the cafe was quiet, a small place nestled into the heart of the city, far enough from the hustle of the arena that it almost felt hidden. azzi had chosen a table in the corner, a place where the dim lighting and soft music blurred the line between memory and reality.

you sat across from her, stirring your coffee absentmindedly, catching glimpses of her across the table. time had changed her. she was leaner, sharper somehow, the softness of high school replaced by something refined. but there were hints of the girl you once knew—the curve of her smile, the way she fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve. little things that made your heart clench.

“so… stanford, huh?” she broke the silence, her voice careful, like she was stepping over broken glass.

“yeah. decided to go all in with the academics,” you replied, trying to keep things light. “and you… uconn and now golden state? i knew you’d make it big.”

she laughed, the sound warm and familiar. “it’s been a wild ride. sometimes i still don’t believe it.”

a silence settled between you two, one that felt almost comfortable. it was strange, sitting there with someone who once knew you better than anyone else, and yet now felt like a stranger.

“i saw you with paige,” you said, finally breaking the silence. you kept your tone steady, not accusing, just… curious.

she looked down, her hands wrapped around her cup. “yeah. we… got together after you and i broke up. she was there for me when i was struggling, you know? uconn was intense, and i didn’t know anyone. she made it feel like home.”

there was no bitterness in her voice, just honesty, and somehow that made it hurt less. you had seen it coming; even back in high school, there was something between azzi and paige that was easy and natural, something that used to make you feel like you were on the outside.

“i’m glad,” you said quietly. and you meant it, even if part of you wondered what might have happened if things had been different.

you talked about everything that night—your time at stanford, her life at uconn, the struggles, the triumphs. it was as if the years between you faded with each word, each laugh. and as the hours stretched on, that familiar warmth started creeping back in, like a flame rekindling.

when it was finally time to go, azzi walked you to your car. there was a soft breeze, and the night felt impossibly still.

“it was really good seeing you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. there was something in her eyes, something that made your heart race, but you pushed it down, reminding yourself that she had someone waiting for her.

“you too,” you replied, giving her a small smile. “congrats again, azzi. you’re really… amazing.”

she looked like she wanted to say something more, but she just nodded, stepping back as you got into your car. you watched her in the rearview mirror as you pulled away, her figure growing smaller until she disappeared from sight.

days turned into weeks, and despite your best efforts, azzi slipped back into your life. she’d text you every now and then, little messages that felt casual on the surface but carried weight in every word. saw something that reminded me of you, she’d write, or remember that time we got caught in the rain? each message was like a breadcrumb, pulling you back toward her.

one evening, you got a text from her. hey, got an extra ticket to the game tonight. want to come?

you hesitated, knowing it could open old wounds, but in the end, curiosity won. you arrived at the arena, slipping into your seat as the lights dimmed. the game was intense, and azzi was incredible—fast, focused, completely in her element. watching her, you felt that old pride swell up, a pride that only grew when she scored the game-winning shot.

afterward, she found you outside, her face still flushed from the game. “thanks for coming,” she said, her smile shy, almost like she was back in high school again.

“i wouldn’t have missed it,” you replied, feeling your heart race as she held your gaze a little too long.

that night, she drove you home. you could feel the tension in the car, thick and electric, the air filled with words unspoken. as she parked outside your place, you hesitated, hand on the door, before you turned back to her.

“this… this feels like old times, doesn’t it?” you asked softly.

she looked down, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. “yeah,” she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. “i didn’t realize how much i missed it. missed… you.”

your heart hammered in your chest, but you knew there was someone else, someone who had been there for her when you hadn’t. “azzi… what about paige?”

she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. “i know. it’s just… i don’t know what to do. paige has been amazing. she’s my best friend, and she’s… she’s everything i thought i wanted. but being around you… it’s different. it’s like i’m back where i belong.”

you reached out, gently taking her hand. “i don’t want to be the reason you hurt someone. but… i also can’t pretend that i don’t feel the same way.”

for a long time, she didn’t respond, her hand warm in yours, her gaze fixed on the street outside. when she finally looked at you, there was a hint of tears in her eyes. “i just need time,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

“okay,” you replied softly. “take all the time you need.”

the weeks that followed were torturous. azzi would text, call, ask to meet up, and each time felt like a step closer and a step further away all at once. you knew she was struggling, caught between two lives, two loves, each one pulling her in a different direction. and as much as you wanted her, you didn’t want her to feel forced, didn’t want her to carry the guilt of hurting someone she cared about.

one evening, she showed up at your door unannounced, her face pale, her eyes rimmed with exhaustion. without a word, you stepped aside, letting her in.

“i ended things with paige,” she said, her voice hollow. “i told her the truth. that my heart wasn’t all hers. that part of me… was still with you.”

the words hung in the air, heavy and fragile. you took a step closer, reaching for her hand. “are you okay?” you asked, even though you knew the answer.

she shook her head, her shoulders trembling. “no. but i know this is right. i can’t keep pretending. you… you’re my past, but you’re also my future. and i need to be honest with myself.”

you pulled her into your arms, holding her as she clung to you, her body shaking with the weight of her decision. you knew she would need time to heal, that her heart would need to piece itself back together. but for now, you were here, together, ready to face whatever came next.

[writerfromshikahr]

Another piece that is about my Rook, a Dwarf named Aloisia de Riva. She's shorter than Lace Harding and struggles to reach things. As I usually say, for the most part I write non-specifically on who and what Rook is (apart from being female), but sometimes I just need to write about this little lady that stole Lucanis's heart.

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Practically Romantic - Lucanis X Rook

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Lucanis knocked on Davrin's opened door, peeking in to see if his friend was there. Assan bounded up to greet him, the griffon tackling his boots playfully as he entered the room. Davrin was seated at his desk sharpening a blade, he glanced up smiling before gesturing toward a nearby chair.

“Come in, Crow. Sit, stay awhile.”

Lucanis sighed inwardly as he sat, already bracing himself for the ridicule that was bound to follow. He had a question, and Davrin, unfortunately, was the best person for the task.

He and Rook had officially started something—a relationship. And while Lucanis wasn’t the sort for grand romantic gestures, he was a man of practicality. Rook often struggled to reach the top shelves in the kitchen when helping him prepare meals. More than once, he’d caught her climbing the cupboards and while he found it endearing (and slightly terrifying), he thought a small wooden stool might make her life a little easier.

Simple. Useful. Thoughtful.

Hopefully thoughtful.

Davrin set the blade down with a clink, his expression curious and expectant. “So, Lucanis, what can I do for you this fine evening? Need a whetstone, or did Spite whisper something about buying a griffon-sized saddle for Assan again?”

“I need you to make something for me,” he said hesitantly.

Davrin’s grin widened, eyes already sparkling with mischief. “Oh, this sounds promising. What do you need? Don’t be shy now.”

“A stool,” Lucanis replied. “For Rook.”

“A stool,” Davrin echoed, blinking slowly. “Like… a wooden stool?”

“Yes, it’s for the kitchen.” He replied, trying to sound casual. “She can’t reach the top shelves, and I don’t know how much longer the counter can withstand her climbing it.”

There was silence—right before Davrin barked out a loud laugh, his head thrown back. “A stool? That’s your big romantic gesture? Not flowers? Not jewelry? A stool?”

“It’s practical. She needs it.”

“Practical,” Davrin repeated slowly, savoring the word like a fine wine. “Maker’s breath, you really are Antivan. Romance just pours out of you. You could get her a broom—sweep her off her feet, yeah?”

“Very clever.” Lucanis shot him a flat look. “Do you want to make it or not?”

“Hey, I’m just admiring the thought process here. Nothing says ‘I adore you’ quite like, ‘Here, I noticed you’re short.’”

“Meirda, it would have been easier to throw gold at someone in Treviso.”

Davrin wiped at his eyes, still chuckling, but he held up his hands in surrender. “All right, all right—calm down. I’ll do it. A furniture maker, I am not, but I think I can manage a simple stool for your lady.”

Lucanis exhaled, relieved. “Thank you.”

Davrin leaned forward, his grin returning. “Can I at least put a heart on it? Or a crow? Something so she doesn’t think you’re preparing her for lifelong domestic servitude?”

Lucanis paused. “Can you decorate it?”

Davrin grinned, nodding. “Sure. I’ll even make it collapsible so she can pack it for out in the field. I can see her now, setting it up in Arlathan to better loom over you.”

Lucanis shot him a flat look but couldn’t suppress the faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Just get it done, Davrin.”

“Oh, it’ll be done,” Davrin said with a wink, already turning back to his tools. “The Antivan Crow romance continues, this weeks chapter, 'Love and the gifting of practical wooden furniture. What every woman needs and desires'.”

Lucanis exhaled sharply, leaning back in the chair. “You mock, but she’ll smile when she sees it, and that’s what matters.”

Davrin barked out a laugh, nearly dropping the tool he’d picked up. “You’ve got it bad Dellamorte.”

“Just make sure it’s sturdy.”

“Sturdy, collapsible, and Rook-approved! The most romantic stool in Thedas, coming right up!”

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A week later, Lucanis found himself standing in Davrin’s room, the faint scent of sawdust and oil lingering in the air. Assan warbled from the windowsill, bobbing his head as if to approve of the atmosphere. Davrin stood over his workbench, grinning proudly, a cloth draped over whatever he was about to unveil.

“Well, Dellamorte,” he said, wiping his hands on a rag. “Prepare to witness the pinnacle of Grey Warden carpentry. I’ll warn you now—it may bring a tear to your eye.”

Lucanis shot him a skeptical look but felt the faintest tug of curiosity. “I doubt it will be that impressive.”

Davrin smirked, clearly undeterred by the Crow's stoicism. With a theatrical flourish, he whipped the cloth off the stool.

Lucanis blinked.

The stool was small, sturdy, and clearly crafted with care. What caught him off guard, however, was the detail Davrin had carved into it. Little crows decorated the legs and edges, scattered playfully among delicate roses that intertwined in an almost whimsical design. The wood wasn’t perfectly smoothed in some places—there were faint grooves where the tools had slipped—but the imperfections only added to its charm. It was thoughtful, earnest, and far beyond what Lucanis had imagined.

He ran a hand over the carvings, tracing the patterns. “This is…” His voice trailed off, surprised. He looked up at his friend, genuinely touched. “This is beautiful.”

Davrin shrugged, trying (and failing) to appear nonchalant. “It’s just a stool.”

“It’s more than just a stool,” Lucanis said, his tone soft as his fingers lingered on one of the roses.

The Warden leaned against the workbench, watching him with an easy grin. “Yeah, well, I figured if you’re going to give her something practical, it should be something she’d want to look at. You’ve got that brooding assassin thing going on, sure, but the rest of us need to pick up the slack for your romantic game.”

Lucanis glanced up at him, shaking his head but smiling faintly. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

Davrin waved him off. “Can’t have you giving your girl some plain, boring plank and calling it a day.”

Lucanis chuckled, a rare warmth in his voice. “I’m sure she’ll love it.”

“Of course she will—it came from you. Now go give it to her. Make her smile. Oh, and Lucanis, maybe don’t give a speech about practicality when you hand it over. Women love gestures—big or small. Just let her know it’s about her, not her inability to reach the top shelf.”

💖 She really is twee 💖

[sleepymirko]

. .•°•. . Unspoken comfort . .•°•. .

..•°•..•°•..•°•..•°•..•°•..•°•..•°•..•°•..•°•..•°•..

Oliver Aiku shows up at your apartment unannounced, noticing he hasn’t seen you around much lately. What he didn’t expect to hear was that your boyfriend cheated on you...

Word count: 1,4k

Oliver Aiku x fem! Reader

Fluff, slight angst, comfort, friends to ??, Aiku is a player but we're not surprised

Enjoy! (and let me know if there's some errors! English isn't my first language!

..•°•..•°•..•°•..•°•..•°•..•°•..•°•..•°•..•°•..•°•..

It was an uneventful day in the middle of fall, and the landscape was dressed in warm colors. However, Oliver could barely admire it as his view was quickly obstructed by the red locks of his friend, Sendou, who sat next to him in the karaoke room, killing time with some friends.

He looked back at his phone, scrolling on his chats when he came across yours. It was nearly three weeks ago the last time you guys talked, Oliver knew that sometimes you don't answer right away for various reasons but.. why he felt like it was a bit strange? Maybe because you were close friends? Maybe he should text you something?

-Did you join some top-secret hibernation society or something? I swear I haven’t seen you in weeks.-

A girl boldly sat on his lap, looking for his attention as he was too busy to notice her at first. "Who are you writing to?" The girl asked, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "A friend. She's been a bit too evanescent lately."

"Does it matter though? It's not like you have time right now." She said with a sultry smile, gaining the soccer player's attention. "Uh? Really?" He teased as she smirks in response. His phone buzzed and the girl frowned but she was stubborn enough to stay.

-yeah I just don't feel like going out. But I'm doing good-

-you don't feel like it? Sweets I'm pretty sure you barely leave the house-

-..are you bored? Because I'm pretty sure that you remembered me because you were probably scrolling your chats.-

Ouch, that hurt. But now he was sure that something was up.

-ok my bad. I'll be a better friend but you have to remember answering too. This time it was your fault👀-

-I'll be more careful then 🙄-

The interaction was brief enough to make him smile but he thought it was time to check on her. He didn't had to ask the girl to get up that she was already out of sight.

It was definitely time to check if you were going good like you claimed to be. "Already leaving, Oliver?" the girl said, smiling subtly. This girl is resilient, he thought. "Something urgent came up. Really a pity not to have fun with such a pretty thing," he said, smirking as she blushed. "And here I thought I could give you a taste of heaven…" she said, looking at him with her lips slightly pouty.

Oh, what a sweet temptation women are.. he thought.

Somehow, they always managed to make him do what they wanted, but when they were no longer fun, the magic just disappeared. Sometimes, he almost felt bad about it, but the high was too sweet to abandon.

"I'm afraid we have to save this conversation for another day" the soccer player said as he opened the door, leaving a pretty frustrated girl behind. "To me, she seems more than a friend" the girl spat, unable to mask her jealousy any longer. His head turned, but the door was already closed. More than a friend? It wasn't the first time he had heard such words. His previous girlfriends would surely agree—they had said the same thing when he messed up.

But you were a different kind of story. You two were friends because your parents were on good terms, and one thing led to another. You got close pretty easily, maybe thanks to his sisters, who always asked about you. He even taught you how to ride a bike and even how to dye his hair. Strolling through the streets, he glanced back at his phone, rereading the latest messages and chuckling. The walk had been unexpectedly shorter than intended, and he now found himself in front of her door. He knocked and waited for her to open it, confident she would look slightly surprised.

When Y/N opened the door, she was completely taken by surprise. Oliver stood there, unmoving, a signature smirk playing on his perfect features. She noticed he was wearing his soccer jersey, guessing he’d had practice earlier in the day.

“Oliver...?” she half questioned, surprise lacing her voice.

“Who else?” he joked, cracking a smile as she involuntarily mirrored it. She wouldn’t say it out loud, but she loved how effortlessly he made her smile—sometimes it felt like he had a spell over her.

“I’m here to check on you, and I must say, you exceeded my expectations. Can I come in?” he asked, stepping slightly closer to her door. Instinctively, she moved to the side, allowing him in.

“Sure... come in,” she said, closing the door behind him.

They walked into the kitchen, and she offered him something to drink. “Why the sudden visit? I’m perfectly fine,” she said, attempting a casual tone.

“That doesn’t look like ‘perfectly fine’ to me,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m just feeling a bit down, but it happens sometimes. I’ll get over it eventually,” she replied.

“I don’t know if I believe you,” Oliver said, staring at his glass of water, idly turning it in his hands.

“Why is that...?” y/n asked, confused by his skepticism.

“Because you’re not looking at me. And if I need to be more precise, you’re avoiding eye contact,” he said, setting the glass down on the table and scanning her with concern. She felt exposed as his eyes took in the way she glanced everywhere but at him.

C'mon, look at me.. he thought. Just a peek, if you're doing fine, you shouldn't struggle to make eye contact.. right?

There was something about her avoidant mannerisms that he found unnerving, how her hands were buried in the sleeves of her oversized hoodie.

He was craving her gaze, a surging need for her to finally let go of what was holding her hostage.

And then, as if she had been holding her breath for a long time, she finally spoke.

She looked down, her expression carefully masking her emotional state. Her tone was low, every fiber of her being tired and helpless:

"He cheated on me."

How ironic. Of all the people who could have heard her story, it had to be him.

Sure, they were friends, but she knew better than to accept her growing affection for the soccer player. They never talked about love, and she was painfully aware that his lifestyle could easily upset her.

After all, the guy was a cheater too, wasn’t he?

Oliver, on the other hand, was shocked. He should have suspected something, especially with how closed off she had seemed. Now, it felt like an invisible wall had risen between them, and seeing her so miserable stirred an unexpected emotion within him.

He felt an intense urge to punch the guy in the guts for the audacity of pulling such a stunt, but his brain quickly worked against him.

Why are you so mad about this?

You should be the last person to talk.

It's not like you're any different.

He was furious—at himself and at her ex. It was hypocritical, sure, but it made him wonder: would he have done the same?

"Shit, I shouldn't have pressed you. Now I feel like an asshole," he said, running his hand through his hair in frustration.

"It's okay. We broke up two weeks ago. I feel better now," she said, looking at him, not expecting such a reaction from the soccer player.

Was he... upset?

"So you're telling me that you're okay? When you opened the door, I immediately noticed that something was off. You don't have to play tough. Not with me," he said, his tone stern but carrying a hint of concern.

It was enough to make her tears fall, her castle crumbling down. Oliver didn’t waste time, pulling her into a tight hug.

Strangely enough, she felt like she could finally let it all out—the anger, the sadness, the overwhelming sense of betrayal.

After some time, as they sat on the couch with her still in his arms, she finally relaxed, exhaustion overtaking her.

"Oli, I'm really tired right now... I don't know why. I mean, I slept more than enough last night," she said softly, her voice slow and faint.

He chuckled, the sound deep and warm, and she felt her cheeks flush slightly.

"Then sleep, sweets. When you wake up, I'll still be here. For you."

She looked up at him, only to regret it when his gaze held hers, an unspoken feeling swirling in his eyes that she couldn't identify.

Lowering her head slowly, she let her eyes close, giving rest to both her mind and her racing heart.

Please let me know if something doesn't feel right! Thank you for reading!

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

Ooooh here we go again

With that dumb parrot story

I did a art and made a banner

I'm too tired to do more words, so have a chapter

Flight Risk

Young!Mihawk x AFAB!Marine!Reader

Ch. 6 of something there's gonna be at least two more chapters

Brief summary of The Story So Far: Your mission, as a Marine and Zoan type devil fruit user (gray parrot), is to gather intel on Dracule Mihawk, a pirate on the Grand Line who has become a thorn in the Marines' side over a relatively short period of time. You have managed to gain the trust of the swordsman in a shorter period of time than you expected, but at what cost...?

Previous Chapter, First Chapter

Next chapter

No Trigger Warnings in this chapter. Possible future Trigger Warnings for imprisonment, mild torture (definitely psychological, maybe physical)

Tags: Enemies to lovers, eventually NSFW, idk maybe more later

Word Count: 4,408

Taglist: @i-am-vita, @browneyedhufflepuff, @h0n3y-l3m0n05, @littleleelee, @nerium-lil, @schanwow, @dragon-bubs , @animefreak818 holySHIT guys I didn't realize there were so many of you I'm not used to this thank you so much??

The longer that no word came of your status, the more Bogard found himself growing increasingly concerned for your well-being. Little as he enjoyed it the fact, he had grown somewhat fond of your during your brief stint of training at Marineford, having been the one forced to oversee the vast majority of it.

“You know a group of parrots is referred to as a pandemonium?”

You had certainly made an impression on Garp, if nothing else. Bogard rolled his eyes toward the vice admiral, who took no notice of his wry expression—he was too busy flipping through a book you had left behind on exotic birds, leaned back behind his desk with a cigar clutched between his thumb and index finger.

“I can hardly begin to imagine why,” said Bogard dryly, leaning his shoulder into the wall next to the desk and crossing his arms. “Considering a change in career, vice admiral?”

Garp gave a snort of laughter, taking a couple puffs from the cigar. “Gotta retire eventually, don’t I?”

Bogard let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head. For the last week he had been stuck with the man in a small office with no purpose except to process new reports on Dracule “Hawk-Eye” Mihawk. World’s Strongest Swordsman. Marine Slayer. The elusive pirate’s epithets were growing nearly as innumerable as reports on his activity weren’t, and it grew more tiresome with every passing day. It almost felt as if they were being punished for suggesting this absurd operation in the first place.

“Huh. Lifespan of over a hundred years in captivity. Maybe not the best retirement option, then…”

“Are you capable of taking anything seriously?” said Bogard wearily as Garp shut the book and dropped it heavily on his desk. Garp shrugged a shoulder, clamping the cigar between his teeth and reclining further back in his chair.

“Just enjoying the downtime while we still have it,” he said, tucking his hands behind his neck and propping his boots up on the desk. “Reports should start coming in any day now.”

“So you’ve been saying for the past seven days,” said Bogard, shoving away from the wall. Garp just shrugged a shoulder again, watching Bogard pace across the office in front of the desk. “Not the least bit worried that we’ve sent somewhat promising cadet off to die for no reason.”

“Nope.” Bogard stopped at the corner of the desk, looking back at him and raising an eyebrow. Garp shifted in his chair, settling back more comfortably, his untroubled sigh sending another stab of irritation straight through Bogard’s skull. “She’ll be fine.”

Same as always—Garp rarely took anything seriously, and his faith in the abilities of anyone he took on as a protege remained ever unshakable. He had spent the past week with an air as if he were practically on vacation, and right now was no different. Bogard finally took a seat in the chair across from his, falling into it heavily and strumming his fingers on the armrest, watching in increasing frustration as Garp began snoring. He rolled his eyes and picked up the discarded book from the desk, flipping through it idly.

The vice admiral’s snoring grew steadily louder in the confines of the tiny office, and as Bogard was considering chucking the book directly at his head, the unthinkable happened.

The den den mushi that had been sitting silently on the desk for the past week began to tone dully.

Garp cracked an eye open in an instant, and both men simply stared at it for a long moment—then Garp gave an amused snort, stretching and rubbing at his eyes.

“You do the honors,” he said, nodding at it. “Since you’re so concerned about the kid.”

Bogard shot a glare in his direction, but didn’t waste any more time in picking up the receiver, reclining slowly back into the chair as he pulled it to his ear.

“Rear Admiral Bogard, speaking.”

“Sir. This—this is the office taking reports on—”

“Dracule Mihawk, yes,” he said in a clipped tone. “Your report.”

“He was sighted recently in the port city of Acacia.” Bogard gave brief hum in acknowledgment. “In Dressrosa—”

“I’m quite aware of where Acacia is located,” he said. “Are there any further details worth mentioning?”

“It appears he made port to gather supplies. No casualties, he was gone by the time the reports reached us. And, uh...well…” Bogard gave an impatient sigh at the hesitation of the Marine at the other end of the line. “It’s...well, he wasn’t exactly alone? Our reports say he had a gray bird sitting on his hat.”

He slowly lifted an eyebrow, glancing at Garp. “A gray bird on his hat,” said Bogard, and rolled his eyes at Garp’s bark of laughter. “Is that all?”

“Well, he didn’t really cause any problems. Gave a pet store owner a pretty good fright, but she insists he paid for everything.”

A—pet store—” He shoved his hand over the receiver to shush Garp as the vice admiral burst into hearty laughter, to absolutely no avail. He lowered his hand again, shaking his head. “Keep her on your radar. Myself and Vice Admiral Garp will be en route soon to take her statement.”

“Yes, sir—”

He dropped the receiver back onto the snail on the desk, hanging up the call, strumming his fingers against his knee as he waited for Garp to get a hold of himself.

“Straight to a pet store,” he chuckled, wiping at the corners of his eyes. “I’d say the girl’s already outdone herself.”

“So it would seem,” said Bogard stiffly. He leaned into the arm of his chair, rubbing at the bridge of his nose as Garp stood, picking up his coat from the back of his own chair.

“On your feet, man. Looks like we’re bound for Dressrosa.”

“Indeed it does,” agreed Bogard, pulling himself to his feet. It was a marked relief to know that the operation seemed to be going according to plan, of course—even if it meant he would have to endure Garp’s gloating for the foreseeable future.

###

Amid your brief outing to gather supplies, you had learned three things about Dracule Mihawk—none of which, unfortunately, would help further your mission.

The first was that he did his best to avoid direct confrontation with Marines in most circumstances, as they did him. The moment he had been sighted by a pair of cadets on patrol near the docks of Acacia, they had gone white and fled immediately in the direction of their base. He had done little more than roll his eyes at the sight, and assure you as you perched on the brim of his hat that there should be no concern of a fight. You had already learned during your training that most of his hostility toward Marines had been a result of him being attacked, so it was no surprise. The information might be important—it would, if nothing else, mean he might be more likely to accept the offer of Warlord status, should that come to pass.

Secondly, you had learned that he was quite the charmer. The owner of the small pet store he had entered with you had almost immediately gone into a panic at the mere sight of him, but the swordsman had easily assuaged her worries that was merely there as a customer in need of advice on how to handle caring for a bird. Within less than ten minutes, she had been happy to recommend him a couple books on the subject, and even close the shop long enough to walk to the docks as a willing hostage to ensure the Marines wouldn’t interfere with his departure.

Third, you had discovered he had all but completely trained the strange race of intelligent primates that resided on Kuraigana Island to do his bidding—well enough that they actually listened when he commanded them to carry the supplies he had returned with back to the castle. You couldn’t be sure whether he had trained them to handle weapons himself; but you were certain from the way they listened to his commands, and from the very manner in which they looked at him, tat they viewed him with equal parts fear and respect.

That, perhaps, was the best information you had gained. The beasts, which he referred to as humandrills, would attack anyone but him on sight, and they were formidable enough in strength and intelligence that their presence alone made the island an impenetrable fortress. That explained well enough why almost no one that had entered Kuraigana Island had lived to tell their tale.

You shifted your post to his shoulder in one of the larger studies in the sprawling castle, when he removed his hat and reclined back onto a daybed built into the window, flipping through a book he had bought from the shop in Acacia.

“‘Over one hundred years in captivity,’” he read aloud, sighing to himself. “Our friend at the shop said you didn’t seem much older than twenty. I suppose I’ll be stuck with you a while, won’t I?” You tilted your head when he glanced over at you, and he gave a small scoff, rolling his eyes back over to the book propped open against his knee. “Talking to a damned bird…” he mumbled to himself as he flipped a page. “Perhaps I am as mad as the rumors claim.”

There were a few other bits of information you had gleaned about Mihawk in the week you had spent posing as his feathery companion. You knew he spent the vast majority of his days either training, maintaining his sword, reading, or sleeping.

You knew that he enjoyed his solitude—and despite that, he didn’t seem to consider your presence as any imposition upon it.

You knew, whether he realized it or not, that he had a soft spot for animals. His attitude toward the humandrills was evidence enough of that, given he could have easily wiped them off of Kuraigana Island had he wanted to. He had instead chosen to live in peace with them. While it was clear they feared him, that he had definitely established his dominance among them at some point, he still spoke to them with a sort of respect that they seemed to emulate. In the same way, he had a tendency to talk to you as if you were able to understand him, despite his belief that you were just a parrot.

And you knew, having grown up on a reservation for exotic birds, that people who were kind to animals tended to be inherently good.

You had learned, little as you wanted to admit it, that he was kind.

He could be impatient, he could be downright terrifying and deadly if he wanted or needed to be—but the vast majority of the time, he desired nothing more than the peace and quiet to do as he pleased. It made perfect sense why he had decided to set up base on this gloomy little island. It was a place where no one could bother him, where he could spend his time sipping wine and deciding his next course of action without any interruption.

You found yourself growing just as comfortable with the silence and solitude as the days dragged on. As your two month period of observation drew closer and closer to its end, you honestly found yourself dreading it. While you had managed to successfully embed yourself into Mihawk’s daily routine, you had failed to find anything at all that the Marines might consider an actual weakness on his part.

Sure, he seemed to respect the humandrills, but you doubted he would be too concerned at anyone attempting taking them hostage—they could handle themselves

Yes, he valued his solitude, but there wasn’t much that could impede upon that.

There was only one thing you could honestly think of that he might consider a weakness, and you were loathe to admit to it yourself.

As you perched at the footboard of his bed, tucking your beak down into your feathers and pretending to drift off to sleep, you knew that you might be his only weakness.

You knew that every night for nearly two months, he had gone to sleep with you perching mere inches away from him, nonethewiser that he had an enemy in his midst, that you were tracking and noting his every move, that his only loyal companion was spying on him.

You lifted your head from your wing, watching him sleep soundly with a hand tucked behind his neck, knowing that within a few days you would have to leave.

Knowing yourself how much it hurt to lose a beloved pet.

How much it might hurt him—

No. No, you couldn’t think about that. Couldn’t consider it. You were a marine, you had a mission to follow through on, one that you were nearly finished with.

You had to figure out what to do. If you kept overthinking it you were bound to jeopardize everything. The thought of lying to Garp and Bogard made your stomach twist, but...so did the alternative. To tell them that you may have inadvertently become the only potential weakness of the pirate you were supposed to be gathering intelligence on sounded laughable even in your own head, even if it was the truth. The stress had made it nearly impossible to sleep for days, almost impossible to eat.

You knew you were only supposed to make outside contact if your life was in immediate danger, but if you continued on your current path you were bound to lose focus and slip up, and then your life would be in danger. The only den den mushi that you knew to be in the expansive castle was situated in the large study one floor down in the tower from the bedroom, far enough away that you wouldn’t disturb the sleeping swordsman as long as you kept your voice down….

You had to. You had to make the call now. Keeping your eyes glued to Mihawk, stretched across the bed with a hand tucked behind his neck, the covers twisted and only half draped across his midsection and legs, breathing deeply, you fluttered your wings a few times.

Gave a small whistle.

He didn’t so much as twitch in his sleep.

Drawing up your resolve, you hopped down from the ornate footboard of the bed, spreading your wings out to glide across to the open door of the bedroom, landing softly on the stone floor just outside. You crept slowly, silently along the edge of the wall, your heart racing as you made your way down the spiraling stairs.

As you edged the cracked door a bit further open with your beak, just enough that you could slip through but not enough to make the old hinges creak.

Shifting out of your devil fruit form after so long felt strange. The study was still enormous, practically a small library, but it seemed a great deal smaller to you as you glanced around at it now. The effect was almost dizzying as you lifted the receiver from the den den mushi and quickly turned the dial on the device before you could change your mind and return to the safety of the bedroom.

You nearly jumped when your call was answered in less than a single ring.

“Rear Admiral Bogard. This had best be important.”

You swallowed, glancing toward the grandfather clock in the corner of the darkened room, illuminated only by the silvery light of the half-moon that drifted through the window behind the desk. It was nearly four in the morning, and he sounded equal parts tired and irate.

“I—I...ah…”

Silence met you as you struggled to form a sentence, to articulate even in your own addled mind exactly why you were doing this.

Bogard saved you the trouble of finishing your thought.

“Are you compromised?” His voice became curt in an instant, far more awake and aware than his initial greeting.

“N...not exactly. Not yet. I…” You swallowed, closing your eyes, and forced yourself to speak quickly, quietly. “He has no weaknesses. The only chance of reducing the threat he poses to the Marines is by offering him Warlord status.”

Several seconds of silence again, followed by a heavy sigh as you clutched the receiver in a death grip, your eyes glued to the door of the study.

“Garp’s going to be thrilled to hear that,” he grumbled, and you gave a quiet hum of agreement to his sarcasm. “You have four days left, are you certain—”

“There’s no point continuing,” you said. “There aren’t any—”

“None,” he said. “None at all?”

“No, there aren’t,” you insisted. “I either have to make the offer or I leave empty-handed. That’s all there is to it.”

“You have your orders, cadet. Four more days, then you make your way to the nearest evacuation point. After—”

“I have to make the offer first. He’ll be suspicious if I disappear and return,” you said. You swallowed as he grew silent again. “He doesn’t let me out of his sight. I made sure he was sleeping before I left to make this call. If any ships show up here he’ll just cut them in half. If anyone makes it onto the island they’ll have to get through the humandrills—”

“Humandrills?”

“The—apes, they sort of act as a natural security system, it’s…” You sighed yourself, running a hand back through your hair. “This was always going to be one potential outcome. I was well aware my life could be danger when I accepted the mission. At the very least I can get the offer across before being killed and potentially avoid the need for anyone else to die.”

Silence.

The silence was worse than being told no, than being scolded for going against orders.

The silence made the pounding of your heart even more deafening in your ears than it already was.

“I’ll inform Garp immediately,” he said finally. “Find some way to make the offer that will allow you to escape quickly should the need arise, and do so within the next four days. If you don’t make contact again before then, or if you aren’t at the evacuation point by the end of the designated day, we are prepared to employ a Buster Call—”

“That—won’t be necessary,” you said immediately, your stomach clenching harder than ever. The thought of an entire armada of Marine ships surrounding the island, blasting everything upon it into oblivion, wasn’t a welcome thought at all. The grizzly scar on your right arm served as a reminder of how dangerous the humandrills could be, how violent the beasts were by nature, but you couldn’t stand the thought of being the reason for an entire species being wiped out. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“I suppose we’ll have to trust your judgment on the matter for now,” Bogard said wearily. “You’ve had more contact with Dracule Mihawk over the two months than anyone in our ranks has had over the last decade.” You swallowed, your throat gone dry as you waited for him to continue. “Four days. Make the offer.” Another labored sigh. “And stay safe, cadet.”

“Yes, sir.”

You swallowed again as you quietly hung up the receiver, not willing to clear your throat for the potential of the sound echoing down the hall and rousing Mihawk from his sleep.

You hadn’t necessarily lied. The idea that you could be a weakness was only an idea, not a concrete fact. It was honestly laughable. He had been seen with you in public, after all. He was more than intelligent enough to know that the Marines were likely well aware of his new feathery companion. If he considered you a liability he wouldn’t have kept you around to begin with.

You kept telling yourself this as you shifted back into your devil fruit form and crept silently back into the bedroom on the next floor up, as you climbed the woodwork at the foot of the bed and perched there again.

He had rolled onto his side in his sleep, but otherwise showed no signs of having stirred in your brief absence. You did the only thing you could—you tucked your head back beneath your wing and shut your eyes, trying to slow your heart and still your mind enough to sink into an uneasy sleep.

You had evidently fallen asleep at some point, for when you lifted your head again and fluttered your wings, you found yourself squinting against the sunlight pouring in through the windows in the bedroom, the bed empty and neatly made. The source of the rustling that had stirred you awake became evident when you turned your head to see Mihawk adjusting a loose, ruffled white shirt over his shoulders and pushing the wardrobe shut.

He jolted a bit when you mimed a loud yawn, looking back over his shoulder as you stretched your wings out and ruffled your feathers.

“Wind in your sails,” you squawked out in greeting. He huffed out a sigh, already holding out his arm as you flew the short distance between him and the foot of the bed, your talons wrapping around his forearm.

“Yes, good morning,” he said dryly. He had been up for at least a bit longer than you, you noted as he lifted a mug of coffee from the end table next to the bedroom door and took a sip from it. He shook his arm a bit, a silent indication for you to move to his shoulder, and you quickly obliged the silent request. “You slept in,” he commented. “It’s nearly noon. Lazy creature.”

And yet he was the one who yawned. He gave a small scoff when you imitated the sound as he headed out of the bedroom and down the spiraling stairs of the tower at the eastern side of the castle.

It wasn’t uncommon for him to talk to you over the course of the day as if you understood him, for him to roll his eyes or chuckle at your repetitive responses. You had frankly grown accustomed to the mindless banter, so used to playing your role that it came naturally. It was for this exact reason that when he left the castle and headed in the direction of the forest without saying a single word to you that you piped out a curious, “Whatcha doooin?”

“I thought we’d go for a little stroll this morning.”

That was unusual.

He usually spent his morning flipping through the newspaper, sipping coffee and making dry comments about the state of current affairs.

He glanced at you when you tilted your head.

“There’s a bit of business at the shore I need to see to,” he went on in explanation, reaching over to scratch at the feathers between your neck and the edge of your wing. “Nothing to get your feathers ruffled over, pretty bird.”

“Pretty bird,” you repeated, leaning your head into the light touch—though your stomach did a somersault at his words. Business at the shore. You doubted Bogard would have gone against his word, but there was every possibility that Garp might have made a different decision. You still kept your composure, kept up your act, crooning out as you nuzzled toward his hand, “Pretty, pretty girl.”

“Yes, yes, pretty girl,” he agreed, rolling his eyes, and the small hint of a smile curving his lips as he patted your head set you a bit more at ease.

You were being paranoid, that was all. There was bound to be a morning here or there that didn’t adhere perfectly to his normal routine. It had nothing to do with you, with your business there.

You spent the brief stroll down the path carved through the dense forest whistling to yourself, occasionally mimicking the sounds of other birds throughout the woods, watching for signs of the humandrills moving through the edge of the trees to track Mihawk’s movements as they so often did when he passed through.

Relief flooded through you as you emerged onto the sandy coastline and saw no sign of even a single ship between the shore and the horizon. Yes, paranoid, you were simply being paranoid, there was nothing at all to worry about—

Nothing to worry about, surely, as he stopped at the edge of the water.

As he reached his and across and abruptly wrapped his hand around your neck, pinning your wings down, and pulled you away from his shoulder.

“You’ll have to forgive me, pretty girl, for being overcautious.”

His sharp yellow eyes narrowed as he held you out in front of him, and slowly resumed walking out toward the water.

You weren’t just being paranoid.

“If I’m wrong, I will feel awful about this.”

Your eyes flitted between his and the water below, the gentle tide washing around the ankles of his boots as he crouched down in the shallows.

“But if I’m right…”

You were frozen in terror as he lowered you, his hand tight around your wings to ensure you hand no chance of escaping, toward the water.

As his mouth curled into a small, self-assured smirk, and he plunged you into the shallow depths.

Every ounce of strength left you the moment you touched the foamy brine rolling in over the sand, your body shifting out of your devil fruit form as you lay limp and defenseless and drenched, the waves washing around your head and your shoulders as he tilted his head, lifting his eyebrows as you stared up at him in mounting terror.

In case of something like this.

He shifted, pinning your legs down against the wet sand with one of his knees, giving a small chuckle. His eyes raked over you, your drenched tank top and cargo pants you had worn to ensure there was no sign of your Marine affiliations in case of emergency.

“I suppose we have a lot to discuss.”

You flinched as his hand tightened around your neck and he pulled you up harshly, gritting your teeth as he brought his face mere inches away from yours, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath brush across your lips.

“Don’t we, pretty girl?”

Next chapter link again, for your convenience

[il-miele-che-scrive]

Sebastian vettle being a totalbsf to love to lovers type of situation with the reader who's a driver for another team

This took me shorter time than expected and I enjoyed writing it so much. In my head it takes places around the time where Sebastian was driving for Red bull, the fic is about 2k words long

The deafening roar of the crowd echoed in the air as Y/n crossed the finish line, her heart pounding in her ears. She couldn't believe it, she won. It was not only her first win, but also she managed to do it in her rookie year. When she stepped out of the car, her team rushed towards her, their faces expressing happiness and pride.

That was the moment Y/n had dreamed of ever since she stepped a foot on the track for the first time. Hell, it was something she had dreamt of ever since she was a little kid. People told her she would never make it that far. Well, these people could go to hell now. Y/n was so proud of herself, that day she proved something.

Sebastian watched Y/n's team celebrate her victory. Even if she was on a rival team, she was still a friend of his. That was something nobody knew. It was their mutual decision to keep the friendship to themselves, just in case someone decided to accuse Y/n of making a career in motorsport thanks to her friendship with Sebastian. She deserved that win, she fought hard for it. In the past Y/n had to make choices, had to sacrifice a few things, a few friendships, one relationship with a guy who, according to Sebastian, didn't deserve her. But it all led her to where she was now - the first place on the podium. And Sebastian has been with her through all of this, they sticked together, quietly supporting each other, carefully staying out of cameras' sight. Of course people would accuse them of dating if they ever discovered their friendship.

He was so proud of her. He couldn't take eyes off her. Once she took her helmet off and Sebastian could see her face lit up with pure joy, she looked even more beautiful than ever. Their eyes met across the busy pitlane. Gosh, she was gorgeous. Maybe it was the way she smiled at him, but Sebastian felt his face turn red. Was she always that beautiful?

Just minutes later Y/n found herself running towards Sebastian. They didn't have much time right before the podium ceremony and between interviews.

"I did it, I did it!" Y/n exclaimed, almost causing her friend to fall over when she crashed her body into his, closing him in a tight hug. "Seb, I won the race!"

"That's great, Y/n. I'm so proud!" He managed to say despite being quite shocked. What happened to keeping the friendship a secret?

Not going to lie, it didn't feel real. It certainly made Sebastian's heart skip a bit. Of course, he didn't let his confusion ruin Y/n's mood. He reciprocated the embrace, putting one of his hands on Y/n's back and the other on the back of her head. Damn it, her hair was so soft, even after spending so much time in that car with her hair trapped under the helmet, it didn't lose the softness.

What the hell was he even thinking about? Why was he thinking about it? And again - what happened to their agreement? They were probably already caught by some camera and Y/n didn't seem to care even a tiny bit.

"Y/n..."

"Yes, Seb?"

"We... weren't supposed to display our friendship."

Y/n slightly pulled back out of the hug. Her smile was a little smaller now, after Sebastian pointed that out.

"I just..." She tried to explain, her voice soft with uncertainity. "Do you think it matters now?"

"Well, you started that. You didn't want people to know about our friendship for the sake of your career and I agreed. Because I... care about you."

Y/n's breath got stuck in her throat, she stayed silent for a longer moment. He cared about her. Of course he did, they were friends, he cared about her the same way she cared about him. That's what friends do. They care about each other. But... the tone of his voice. There was something in the way he said these words. Almost as if they had a secret meaning.

"I know. I never doubted that." She said eventually, ignoring her thoughts. "Thank you for being here for me. Sorry you didn't make it to the podium today."

"That's okay," Sebastian smiled, "now go, they're waiting for you. We can talk about the privacy of our friendship later."

Y/n nodded and headed towards the podium. She smiled, waving at people. Somehow, Sebastian's words hung in her mind. He cared about her. His words carried an emotional depth. Y/n knew there was a second meaning, but she had to yet figure out what it was.

The cameras did catch them that day. The whole world saw Y/n running towards Sebastian. Hugging him. And him hugging her back. But that was alright. They decided that from now on their friendship wasn't going to be a secret anymore. They kept supporting each other through ups and downs, to victories and defeats, and it was way easier when people were aware of their friendship.

Friendship. Whoever was close to them could easily tell that word didn't describe the bond between them well. It evolved into something more than that. It was subtle at first, hidden in fleeting glances or lingering touches that sparked a warmth in their hearts. It were the little things. The way Sebastian's gaze lingered a second too long, the way Y/n's heart raced whenever he was near. That spoke volumes. As days turned into weeks and weeks into months, the truth began to reveal itself.

Y/n and Sebastian were falling for each other, slowly and inevitably, without even realizing it themselves. The love grew between them slowly all along, but the both of them brushed off any evidence the other one could feel something more. Maybe they unconsciously sabotaged what could happen if they confessed their feelings. So many things could go wrong. Their conversations were filled with banter and jokes, trying to mask the tension. It was as if they were dancing on the edge of a cliff. One wrong move and everything goes down, including them.

At some point, it became frustrating. It wasn't even like tiptoeing around their emotions. It was like walking on eggshells. Their friendship became suddenly so fragile. They were heading towards something they were trying to avoid so desperately.

Sebastian decided to put an end to this. He had enough, he didn't want to continue tiptoeing around their feelings, pretending that everything was normal when it clearly wasn't. They needed to have a conversation about this.

It was evening. Another race weekend had passed and on the next day they were heading out of the hotel. Just as Y/n changed to pajamas, ready to sleep, she heard knocking on her door.

She sighed to herself, nor expecting any guests. Being the nice person she is, she decided to see who might have had a need to see her. She didn't necessarily expect to see her best friend.

"Sebastian? It's a bit late."

"I know," he walked inside the room, not waiting for an invitation, "but I'm sick of it. I can't keep going like that."

"What are you talking about?"

The girl knew what he meant, but she tried to avoid the topic like she had been avoiding it for the past few months.

"You know what I'm talking about," Sebastian ran his hands through his hair, "we can't keep pretending. We need to talk about us, Y/n."

Y/n felt her heart speed up. It was about to start pounding as fast and hard as it did the day she won her first race a few months ago.

"Seb, no." She refused, knowing that this conversation had been a long time coming, but that didn't make it any easier to face.

She knew him. She knew Sebastian was the kind of person who always had to get what they wanted. And now he wanted to talk. He wanted to have a serious conversation with her and he was going to have it.

But despite her reluctance, Y/n knew that she couldn't keep avoiding the inevitable. They needed to address the tension between them, to lay everything out on the table and finally confront their feelings.

"Alright, Sebastian," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "Let's talk."

Sebastian took a deep breath. He had never been one to shy away from speaking his mind, to assertively pursue what he wanted. So why did he feel so vulnerable in this moment?

"Okay, fuck it." He said that rather ti himself. "Y/n, I think I am in love with you."

The words hung heavy in the air, filling the hotel room with tension. With desire. The silence was deadly.

Y/n felt the same, of course she did. She didn't know how or when it happened, but she was in love with her best friend. She had no idea why no words left her mouth that time. It felt as if something was stuck in her throat, nit allowing Y/n to make a sound.

It was just so overwhelming for her to have Sebastian admit his feelings just like that. He laid his feelings in front of her and now the choice was hers, the next move depended on her.

She wanted to tell Sebastian that she felt the same, that she had been longing for this moment as much as he had.

"I..." Y/n paused, god knows what for, "Seb, we can't. We can't be together. You're my best friend."

Her heart ached at the weight of the words she spoke. For a moment she wished she hadn't said that. But she did and she couldn't take that back.

"The healthiest relationships start with friendships. Y/n, I am in love with you and don't even try to tell me you don't feel the same." His eyes bore into her. He wasn't the man to give up easily and he certainly wasn't going to give up on a chance with the woman he loved. And he knew she loved him too, even if she was scared to admit it. But he needed her to say it.

It was obvious. He felt it. In the way she spoke, in the way her behavior changed around him. The both of them felt something more than friendship and it was evident.

As Y/n met his gaze, she realized that he was right. Even if she was running away from that thought, even if she was hiding this from herself, he was right. She was in love with him.

In that moment, Y/n knew that she couldn't deny the truth any longer. She was in love with Sebastian, just as he was in love with her. And no matter how hard they tried to resist it, their hearts were bound together, beating in the same rhythm.

"I don't know what to say." She admitted.

"The truth." He said softly. "Or don't say anything. That's okay too." His voice was filled with some kind of warmth, so familiar to Y/n.

"I don't wanna lose you, Seb."

"You won't. Our friendship is the foundation, we'll never lose that. I'll make sure of that. You mean everything to me." His gaze never left her. He appreciated how vulnerable she was being right now.

Y/n knew in that moment that she could trust him with her heart, that he would always be there for her no matter what.

"You mean everything to me too. I... I love you too." As she spoke these words, it felt like a huge weight had been lifted off her chest. A sense of peace washed over her body.

Y/n closed her eyes, feeling the tears approaching the surface, and she felt her best friend closing her in an embrace. Surrounded by the warmth of Sebastian's such close presence, Y/n knew that their love was stronger than any fear or uncertainty.

Together, they would defeat any storm that came their way, bound together by a love that was undeniable and strong. And now they weren't going to hide it. Not anymore. They were proud of their feelings and they were going to let everyone know, celebrating victories together with romantic gestures on the podium, everybody was going to know Y/n and Sebastian were together. The whole world could be against them, but it didn't matter as long as they had each other.

[physalian]

What No One Tells You About Writing #5

Part 4

Part 3

Part 2

Shorter list this time, but longer points. I expect this one to be more divisive, but it is what it is, and this is what ‘no one tells you’ about writing, after all. This one’s all about feedback and how to take it, and give it.

1. Not everyone will like your book, no matter how good it is

I’ve said this before, granted, but sometimes you can have very arbitrary reasons for not liking an otherwise great story. For example: I refuse to watch Hamilton. Why? Because everyone I knew and their dog was trying to cram it down my throat when it came out and I still don’t really like musicals, and didn’t appreciate the bombardment of insisting I’ll like it simply because everyone else does. I’m sure it’s great! I’m just not watching it until I want to watch it.

It can be other reasons, too. I won’t read fanfic that’s written in first person, doesn’t matter how good it is. Someone might not watch a TV show because the primary cast is white or not-white. Someone might not watch a movie because an actor they despise is in it, even if the role is fantastic. Someone might not watch or read a story that’s too heavy on the romance, or not enough, or too explicit. I went looking for beta readers and came across one who wouldn’t touch a book where the romance came secondary in a sci-fi or fantasy novel. Kept on scrolling.

Someone can just think your side character is unfunny and doesn’t hear the same music as everyone else. Someone can just not like your writing style with either too much or not enough fluff, or too much personality in the main narrator. Or they have triggers that prevent them from enjoying it the way you intend.

How someone expresses that refusal is not your job to manage. You cannot force someone to like your work and pushing too hard will just make it worse. Some people just won’t like it, end of story.

2. Criticism takes a very long time to take well

Some people are just naturally better at taking constructive criticism, some have a thick skin, some just have a natural confidence that beats back whatever jabs the average reader or professional editor can give. If you’re like me, you might’ve physically struggled at first to actually read the feedback and insisted that your beta readers color-coded the positive from the negative.

It can be a very steep climb up the mountain until you reach a point where you know you’re good enough, and fully appreciate that it is actually “constructive” and anything that isn’t, isn’t worth your time.

The biggest hurdle I had to climb was this: A criticism of my work is not a criticism of me as a person.

Yes, my characters are built with pieces of my personality and worldview and dreams and ideals, but the people giving you feedback should be people who either already know you as a person and are just trying to help, or are people you pay to be unbiased and only focus on what’s on the page.

Some decisions, like a concerning moral of your story, is inadvertently a criticism of your own beliefs—like when I left feedback that anxiety can’t just be loved away and believing so is a flawed philosophy. I did that with intent to help, not because I thought the writer incompetent or that they wrote it in bad faith.

I’m sure it wasn’t a fun experience reading what I had to say, either. It’s not fun when I get told a character I love and lost sleep over getting right isn’t getting the same reception with my betas. But they’re all doing it (or at least they all should be doing it) from a place of just wanting to help, not to insult your writing ability. Even if your writing objectively sucks, you’re still doing a lot more just by putting words on paper than so many people who can’t bring themselves to even try.

As with all mediums subjects to critique, one need not be an author to still give valuable feedback. I’m not a screenwriter, but from an audience’s standpoint, I can tell you what I think works. Non-authors giving you pointers on the writing process? You can probably ignore that. Non-authors giving you pointers on how your character lands? Then, yeah, they might have an opinion worth considering.

3. Parsing out the “constructive” from the criticism isn’t easy

This goes for people giving it as well. Saying things like “this book sucks” is an obviously useless one. Saying “I didn’t like this story because it was confusing and uncompelling” is better. “I think this story was confusing and uncompelling because of X, and I have some suggestions here that I think can make it better.”

Now we’re talking.

Everyone’s writing style is different. Some writers like a lot of fluff and poetic prose to immerse you in the details and the setting, well beyond what you need to understand the scene or the plot. Their goal is to make this world come alive and help you picture the scene exactly the way they see it in their minds.

There’s writers who are very light on the sensory fluff and poetry, trying to give you the impression of what the scene should look and feel like and letting you fill in the missing pieces with your own vision.

Or there’s stories that take a long time to get anywhere, spending many pages on the small otherwise insignificant slice-of-life details as opposed to laser-precision on the plot, and those who trim off all the fat for a fast-paced rollercoaster.

None of these are inherently bad or wrong, but audiences do have their preferences.

The keyword in “constructive criticism” is “construct”. As in, your advice is useless if you can’t explain why you think an element needs work. “It’s just bad” isn’t helpful to anyone.

When trying to decide if feedback has merit, try to look at whatever the critic gives you and explain what they said to yourself in your own words. If you think changing the piece in question will enhance your story or better convey what you’re trying to say, it’s probably solid advice.

Sometimes you just have to throw the whole character out, or the whole scene, whole plot line and side quest. Figuring out what you can salvage just takes time, and practice.

4. Just when you think you’re done, there’s more

There’s a quote out there that may or may not belong to Da Vinci that goes “art is never finished, only abandoned.” Even when you think your book is as good as it can be, you can still sleep on it and second-guess yourself and wonder if something about it could have been done better or differently.

There is such a thing as too much editing.

But it also takes a long time to get there. Only 10-15% of writing is actually penning the story. The rest is editing, agonizing over editing, re-editing, and staring at the same few lines of dialogue that just aren't working to the point that you dream about your characters.

It can get demoralizing fast when you think you’ve fixed a scene, get the stamp of approval from one reader, only for the next one to come back with valid feedback neither of you considered before. So you fix it again. And then there’s another problem you didn’t consider. And then you’re juggling all these scene bits and moments you thought were perfect, only for it to keep collapsing.

It will get there. You will have a manuscript you’re proud of, even if it’s not the one you thought you were going to write. My newest book isn’t what I set out to write, but if I stuck to that original idea, I never would have let it become the work that it is.

5. “[Writing advice] is more like guidelines than actual rules.”

Personally, I think there’s very few universal, blanket pieces of writing advice that fit every book, no exceptions, no conditions, no questions asked. Aside from: Don’t sacrifice a clear story for what you think is cool, but horribly confusing.

For example, I’m American, but I like watching foreign films from time to time. The pacing and story structure of European films can break so many American rules it’s astonishing. Pacing? What pacing? It’s ~fancy~. It wants to hang on a shot of a random wall for fifteen seconds with no music and no point because it’s ~artsy~. Or there is no actual plot, or arc, it’s just following these characters around for 90 minutes while they do a thing. The entire movie is basically filler. Or the ending is deeply unsatisfying because the hoity-toity filmmaker believes in suffering for art or… something.

That doesn’t fly with mainstream American audiences. We live, breathe, and die on the Hero’s Journey and expect a three-act-structure with few novel exceptions.

That does not mean your totally unique or subversive plot structure is wrong. So much writing advice I’ve found is solid advice, sure, but it doesn’t often help me with the story I’m writing. I don’t write romance like the typical romance you’d expect (especially when it comes to monster allegories). There’s some character archetypes I just can’t write and refuse to include–like the sad, abusive, angsty, 8-pack abs love interest, or the comedic relief.

Beyond making sure your audience can actually understand what you’re trying to say, both because you want your message to be received, and you don’t want your readers to quit reading, there is an audience for everything, and exceptions to nearly every rule, even when it comes to writing foundations like grammar and syntax.

You don’t even have to put dialogue in quotes. (Be advised, though, that the more ~unique~ your story is, the more likely you are to only find success in a niche audience).

Lots of writing advice is useful. Lots of it is contradictory. Lots of it is outdated because audience expectations are changing constantly. There is a balance between what you *should* do as said by other writers, and what you think is right for your story, regardless of what anyone else says.

Just don’t make it confusing.

—

I just dropped my cover art and summary for my debut novel. Go check it out and let me know what you think!

[domm1etae]

sent to tempt me - chapter two

chapter two: unsettled

chapter summary: Expecting someone quiet and bookish, Yunho is shocked by Mingi’s effortless confidence, tattoos, and the way he fills the room. As the day unfolds, Yunho can’t stop thinking about Mingi and the pull he feels. But the real shock comes later, when Yunho overhears something that completely upends his expectations..

pairing: yunho x mingi

genre: smut (not yet but there will be eventually), angst, fluff, romance, m/m, non!idol!ateez, sub!yunho, dom!mingi, drama, coming of age, collage, religion

rating: 18+ (for the whole series bc there will be smut eventually) | mdni

word count: 2.6k

warnings under

collage, roommates, sub!yunho, dom!mingi, bad boy mingi and religious church good boy yunho same-sex attraction, m/m, teasing, dark themes, homophobia, self discovery, pet names, strangers to lovers, religion and religious topics, aaaand more will be added soon hehehe

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author's note: guys i am SO lazy to read the chapters i write after myself god damn. also do you like these shorter chapters or do you want longer ones?

The voice carried a playful undertone, but there was something deeper in it that made Yunho’s heart skip a beat, something both light and dangerous. He turned sharply toward the door.

Mingi stood in the doorway, one hand resting casually on the frame, the other holding a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He was tall—easily taller than Yunho—and his presence filled the room without him even trying. He had this air about him, effortless and confident, like he belonged here in a way Yunho wasn’t sure he did.

His dark hair was slightly messy, falling into his eyes in a way that looked more intentional than accidental. A single earring glinted against his jawline, and the faintest trace of tattoos peeked out from under the sleeve of his black t-shirt. His whole look screamed rebellion, freedom—something Yunho hadn’t quite been able to wrap his mind around.

Yunho swallowed hard.

“Oh, uh… I didn’t mean to touch it,” he stammered, quickly stepping back. His face felt hot, and he prayed Mingi wouldn’t notice.

Mingi shrugged, a lazy smirk playing on his lips as he dropped his bag onto the couch. He barely looked at Yunho as he plopped down, his posture relaxed and nonchalant, as though he owned the place. One arm rested on the back of the couch, the other draped over his knee, and he settled in like he’d been here for years.

Yunho stood frozen for a moment, unsure of what to do or say. This wasn’t what he expected. Not at all.

His roommate—this was his roommate? The guy with tattoos, an earring, and the kind of smirk that could make anyone feel like they were the punchline of a joke?

“Nice to meet you, by the way,” Mingi said, his grin widening when he noticed Yunho’s unease.

Yunho felt his stomach twist into knots. His mind raced. This guy—Mingi—wasn’t anything like what he had imagined. In his head, Yunho had pictured someone quiet, reserved, maybe a little nerdy—someone like him, someone who’d want to spend hours reading and discussing novels. But this Mingi, with his relaxed attitude and the aura of danger hanging around him, made Yunho feel small.

“Uh, yeah. Nice to meet you too,” he managed, his voice strained. He hated how it sounded, as though he wasn’t sure of himself. Wasn’t sure of this whole situation.

Mingi raised an eyebrow, his gaze lingering on Yunho for a moment longer than necessary. “You’re Yunho, right? Literature major?”

“Yeah,” Yunho said, gripping the strap of his backpack tightly. His knuckles turned white from the pressure. “And you’re…?”

“Mingi,” he replied simply, leaning back into the couch as if he had all the time in the world. “Also literature. Guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

Yunho tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace. His thoughts were scattered—Why was someone like Mingi studying literature? And why did it feel like the room had gotten ten degrees warmer since Mingi walked in?

Mingi didn’t seem to notice Yunho’s discomfort. His eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, sharp and unreadable, before he stood up and stretched his arms over his head with a yawn.

“Well, I’m gonna unpack,” he said casually, grabbing his duffel bag. “See you around, roomie.”

And with that, he disappeared into the other bedroom, leaving Yunho standing in the middle of the room, his heart still racing. He felt more off-balance than he ever had in his life.

Who the hell is this guy?

Yunho sank onto the edge of the couch, hands clasped in his lap. Mingi’s presence lingered even though he was gone—an invisible weight that pressed against Yunho’s chest. He tried to piece it all together, to make sense of why his roommate felt so… overwhelming.

No. Stop it. You’re just overthinking. Yunho gave his head a quick shake. It didn’t matter who Mingi was or how he carried himself. What mattered was that Yunho was here to study, to focus on literature, and to stay on track.

But something about Mingi—his smirk, his tattoos, the way he filled the room like he belonged in every corner of it—pulled Yunho in. A magnetic, almost irritating draw he couldn’t shake.

No. He cannot think like this. Yunho stood abruptly, forcing himself to unpack. If he kept busy, maybe he could stop thinking about the roommate who had just upended his expectations.

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

The shrill beeping of an alarm jolted Yunho awake. For a moment, he forgot where he was, his eyes darting around the unfamiliar room. The sunlight streaming through the blinds reminded him: college. Dorm. Roommate.

He rolled out of bed, rubbing his face as he tried to shake off the grogginess. Through the thin walls, he heard movement from the other room—Mingi, probably getting ready. Yunho’s stomach twisted at the thought of seeing him again.

When Yunho stepped into the living room, already dressed, he found Mingi lounging on the couch, scrolling through his phone. His dark hair was still damp from a shower, and he wore a simple white t-shirt and black jeans. Yunho’s eyes caught on his hands—rings glinting on nearly every finger, his nails painted a glossy black.

Something about the contrast between the rings and the dark polish made Yunho’s chest tighten. It was such a small detail, yet it added to the effortless edge that Mingi seemed to carry, making him even more…

Yunho stopped himself. No. Absolutely not. Stop thinking like that.

“Mornin',” Mingi said, not looking up.

“Morning,” Yunho replied stiffly, keeping his eyes on the floor, he turned abruptly toward the kitchenette, focusing on pouring cereal as if it were the most important task in the world, avoiding the way Mingi seemed so… relaxed, like he had already claimed the space as his own.

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

The campus was alive with the kind of chaotic energy Yunho hated. Crowds of students swarmed every pathway, some looking just as confused as him, while others seemed to move with an easy confidence that made him feel even more out of place. It was overwhelming—the laughter, the shouts, the hum of a thousand conversations happening at once.

Yunho gripped his schedule tightly, his knuckles turning white as he tried to focus on where he was supposed to go, his other hand ghosting over the rosary he grabed last minute today and put it in his pocket, just to make sure. Intro to Literary Theory. Room 203. Easy enough to find, right?

He weaved through the crowd, dodging groups of friends chatting in the middle of the walkway, and barely managed to avoid tripping over someone’s abandoned skateboard. By the time he found the building, he was already exhausted.

Inside, the lecture hall was massive, rows of seats climbing higher and higher toward the back. Yunho hesitated, scanning the room for a seat that felt… safe. Not too far in the back, where he’d look like a slacker, but not too close to the front either. Eventually, he settled in the middle, pulling out his notebook and pen like it was some kind of armor.

The professor started talking, her voice droning on about the syllabus and expectations, but Yunho couldn’t concentrate. His mind kept circling back to Mingi.

Mingi, who had greeted him so casually that morning, like they’d known each other for years. Mingi, with his damp hair, painted nails, and those stupid silver rings that Yunho couldn’t stop noticing. He’d been sitting on their couch like he owned the place, scrolling through his phone without a care in the world.

It wasn’t fair how someone could seem so effortless. Yunho had barely managed to keep his voice steady when he said “morning,” and even then, it had come out stiff and awkward.

Mingi didn’t have that problem. He moved through life like he belonged everywhere. Like the world had been made to fit him, not the other way around.

Yunho scribbled something in his notebook, not even sure what it was. Why am I thinking about him so much? He forced himself to focus on the lecture, but it was useless.

By lunchtime, Yunho’s brain felt like it had been wrung out like a sponge. He trudged to the cafeteria, hoping to find a quiet corner where he could eat and recharge.

The cafeteria was a zoo. Tables were packed with groups of students laughing, talking, and shouting across the room. The smell of fried food and coffee lingered in the air, making Yunho’s stomach churn. He grabbed a tray and loaded it with something vaguely edible before scanning the room for a free seat.

That’s when he saw him again.

Mingi was sitting at one of the tables near the window, surrounded by people. A group of at least five or six students leaned in close, laughing and talking like they were best friends. And Mingi? He didn’t even have to try.

He wasn’t the one telling jokes or trying to dominate the conversation. No, Mingi just sat there, leaning back in his chair with a lazy grin, and everyone else flocked to him like moths to a flame. When he laughed—head thrown back, his whole face lighting up—it was like the whole room noticed.

Yunho hated the way his chest tightened at the sight. He quickly ducked his head and headed for a table in the corner, as far away from the commotion as possible.

Of course he’s already popular. Yunho stabbed at his food with his fork, his appetite gone. It made sense. Someone like Mingi didn’t have to work for attention. He just existed, and people came to him.

Yunho tried to eat, but his eyes kept flicking back to that table. To the way Mingi’s rings caught the light when he gestured. To the way the girls in the group leaned closer, giggling at something he said.

It was infuriating.

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

By the time Yunho got back to the dorm, he was completely drained. His first day of classes had been a blur of new faces, confusing syllabi, and the overwhelming realization that he was way out of his depth.

All he wanted to do was crash on his bed and not think for a while.

But when he walked into the dorm, the sound of voices stopped him in his tracks.

They were coming from Mingi’s room.

Yunho hesitated in the doorway, his ears straining to catch what was being said. The door to Mingi’s door was thin just enough for the sound to drift through—low, muffled laughter and the occasional murmur of conversation.

He already has someone over? Yunho frowned, dropping his bag by the couch. He wasn’t surprised, not really. Mingi seemed like the type to make friends instantly. Outgoing, confident, the kind of person people gravitated toward.

Still, it was annoying. Yunho couldn’t even get through the first day without feeling like he was falling apart, and Mingi was already entertaining guests?

He walked to his own room, sat on his bed and pulled out a book, trying to lose himself in the familiar comfort of words. But the voices he heard from Mingi’s room made it impossible to focus.

Yunho sighed, setting the book aside. He could feel a headache forming behind his eyes. He decided for a short nap.

Eventually, nature called, and Yunho groaned, peeling himself off the bed. His back cracked as he stretched, and he yawned, rubbing at his tired eyes. The day had drained him, and all he wanted was to pee, maybe grab a glass of water, and go straight to bed again. He shuffled toward the bathroom, still half out of it.

That’s when he heard it.

A moan.

Yunho froze mid-step, his ears perking up like a startled animal.

Was that…? No, it couldn’t be.

But then it came again, soft but unmistakable.

Oh. My. God.

A rush of heat hit his face, and he stood there, awkwardly rooted to the spot. Seriously? Already? It was only the first day of school, and Yunho was overhearing his roommate hooking up? He hadn’t even been here a full twenty-four hours yet!

Yunho’s eyes darted to Mingi’s closed door, his lips pressed into a tight line. He couldn’t believe this was happening. Great. Just great. His mysterious, tattooed, effortlessly cool roommate had someone in his room, and Yunho was here, stuck in the hallway, trying not to combust from secondhand embarrassment.

He shifted awkwardly, debating whether to just head back to his room and forget this ever happened. But then—

Another sound.

This time it wasn’t a moan. It was a groan.

Yunho’s eyes widened. That wasn’t just anyone’s voice—it was Mingi’s.

His heart started to race, and his stomach did a weird little flip. He immediately hated how aware he was of the sound. It was low and rough, and Yunho couldn’t stop himself from hearing it again and again in his head, even after it faded into silence.

What the hell was he supposed to do now? Knock on the door? Run to the bathroom? Pretend he hadn’t heard? His mind scrambled for an answer, but then—

Another sound.

This time it wasn’t Mingi. It was… the other person.

And it was definitely not what Yunho expected.

The moans were soft, breathy, but they weren’t… high-pitched. They weren’t the kind of sounds you’d expect from a girl.

Yunho blinked, his brain halting mid-thought.

Wait. What?

He strained to listen, his face now burning with embarrassment and curiosity he desperately wished he didn’t have. The moans were quieter now, but the tone was unmistakable. Lower. A little deeper. Definitely not feminine.

His stomach flipped again, harder this time, and his brain scrambled to keep up.

No way.

Yunho’s breath caught in his throat as realization started to sink in. His palms felt clammy, and his knees locked up. He stared at the door, willing himself to be wrong, but the sounds kept coming, soft and undeniable.

Mingi wasn’t with a girl.

He was with a guy.

Yunho’s jaw dropped. His heart pounded like a drum, the sound deafening in his ears. A million thoughts raced through his head, none of them coherent.

What. The. Hell.

He’d barely known Mingi for a day, and already his world felt like it was spinning off its axis. Yunho wasn’t sure what shocked him more—the fact that Mingi was hooking up with someone so casually on the first night, or the fact that it was another guy.

He wanted to back away, to escape this hallway and pretend none of this was happening. But he also couldn’t move. Couldn’t stop thinking about how none of this fit the image he’d built of Mingi in his head.

The guy was already a walking enigma: the tattoos, the earrings, the intimidating vibe that somehow drew people in instead of pushing them away. Yunho had spent most of the day trying to figure him out, trying not to think about the way girls probably threw themselves at him without him even needing to try.

And now this?

It was too much. Yunho’s head was spinning, and his chest felt tight.

Eventually, he forced himself to move, stumbling toward the bathroom like his legs were made of lead. Once inside, he shut the door with a soft click and pressed his back against it, exhaling shakily.

What the hell was that?

Yunho closed his eyes, but the sounds kept replaying in his head—the moans, the groans, the undeniable proof of what was happening just a few feet away. His face burned hotter than ever, and he buried it in his hands, trying to will away the thoughts creeping into his mind.

He shouldn’t care. He didn’t care.

Right?

Yunho splashed cold water on his face and tried to focus on something—anything—other than the fact that his roommate, his intimidating and annoyingly handsome roommate, was currently in his room hooking up with another guy.

And for some reason, that fact shook Yunho to his core.

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[nixwriteschaos]

Punishment & Pleasure

Dabi x Female!Reader

Summary: Dabi was being a brat, always interrupting his beloved during meetings and conversations. I’m sure he deserved what she’s willing to give him as punishment..

★☽A/N: I never wrote smut in a long time.. This is like– My second time writing, and my first wasn’t exactly a satisfying one.. So I hope this one is not too bad! I might be making a separate account for smut if this one turns out okay!

Contents: SMUT

Power bottom AFAB reader, sub top Dabi – Manhandling, anal play, orgasm denial, masochism.

18+ MDNI

· • —– ٠ 𓆩♡𓆪 ٠ —– • ·

It was a cold evening. The sun was slowly setting and the sky was a beautiful hue of orange and red. The League of Villains was having a few short meetings, all ending with Shigaraki getting pissed.

But someone was getting a lot more pissed.

That someone is Y/N L/N.

She was talking to Toga, listening to her rant about her obsession over a certain green-haired boy. And just before she was about to respond, Dabi had come behind her and interrupted her speech. She was surprised to see him, and she was a bit upset about him interrupting her. But, like the patient soul she was, she let him off easy.

But as the day went by, Dabi kept interrupting her. His continuous interruptions were starting to bother her. He continued in that manner because he wanted to see her lose her cool. She was always calm and collected, even during missions and when faced with enemies. Her personality only made him curious for her angered state.

And what better way than to interrupt her everytime she talks?

With each interruption he did with everyone she was trying to talk to, he could see the frustration flicker in his beloved's eyes, her patience wearing thin by the second. He started to feel a bit excited. Not aroused, but excited. Her face was a dead giveaway that she was getting pissed, and that’s exactly what he was looking for.

He wanted to see her enraged, maybe even lash out. He could take it, her anger couldn’t possibly be bad, right? He had experienced much worse from other people. And he was a villain, he couldn’t easily be scared by some “tantrum” from his beloved. 

Dabi couldn’t resist doing it again one last time. She was talking to Mr. Compress and she managed to talk to him for a good amount of time. But before she could talk to him longer, her response was cut off by Dabi’s annoyance.

"Hey, Y/N," he interjected, his voice dripping with mock innocence. "Did you hear about that new hero in town? Word on the street is they're cheating on their married lover.” He grinned mischievously.

Y/N's jaw tightened, a flicker of irritation flashing across her features before she composed herself with practised ease. She shot Dabi an annoyed look, but kept a smile on her face, and responded. "Yes, Dabi, I'm aware. Now if you don't mind, I was in the middle of a conversation."

“Really? I didn’t notice..” He teased with a grin. Before she could say anything else, Mr. Compress excused himself to talk to Kurogiri. She calmly said goodbye before her facial expression turned into a really pissed off one. She turned to Dabi with an annoyed look. She looked almost menacing. Steam could be seen coming out of her mouth.

He had done it! He finally got her to snap! But why did he feel… afraid? Her face looked almost scary to him, unrecognisable to him. To look composed and calm, he grinned with mischief. “What’s wrong, love? Cat got your tongue?” He cheekily said.

Dabi was caught off guard when she pulled him towards her. His body slowly bent down as he was face to face with her. She was a few centimeters shorter than him. “Are you going to behave like this all day? You think this is funny, huh?” Her voice was low and menacing.

By now, Dabi was sweating bullets. He had to swallow hard, feeling a sudden wave of apprehension wash over him. He hadn't expected Y/N to react like this, to confront him so boldly. But even as fear prickled at the edges of his consciousness, he couldn't help but admire the fire in her eyes.

He grinned a weak grin, trying to compose himself. “It.. It was just a joke, love! You know I didn’t mean any harm!” He awkwardly chuckled. But Y/N wasn't buying it. She tightened her grip on his arm, her nails digging into his skin. "You crossed a line, Dabi," she growled, her voice cold and unforgiving. "And now, you're going to pay for it."

She grabbed his arm and dragged him to his room despite his protests. While she lived in her own apartment, Dabi didn’t have the money and agreed to stay at the League’s base after Shigaraki’s proposal. She tossed him onto the bed and straddled him as she took off his shirt before taking off all of his garments, leaving him bare on the bed.

She took his belt and tied it around his arms onto the headboard. He squirmed in his place as he tried to get out of it. Y/N could see Dabi’s flames starting to ignite. She felt pissed at his attempt to escape. She slapped him harshly on his thigh, causing him to flinch.

“Don’t you dare use your flames on me.” She sneered, causing Dabi to stop his flames. She sat in between his quivering legs, she forcefully spread them open and placed them beside her hips. He tried to close them but that just earned him a slap on his thigh and a grunt out of his mouth.

She scoffed with annoyance. “You’re shivering? This was your own doing, fucking disturbing me during my conversations. You need to be taught manners.” She said before slapping his thigh again. He grunted again at the impact, the sting still lingering.

She quickly got to work, her hand on his erected cock. She stroked it slowly and painfully, teasing the tip with her thumb. His groans slowly turned into low-pitched whines, his body squirming in place. She stopped him by grabbing him tightly on the hips. “Stop moving,” she demanded with a low tone.

Despite it had only been minutes, Dabi could feel his release. But before he could even release, he felt a finger probing his entrance and a thumb covering his slit, preventing him from releasing. “Why did you-” His speech was cut off by Y/N’s lips on his. His sounds were muffled by her lips as she continued her assault on his body.

He didn’t know what was so arousing about this. He shouldn’t like this! But as she continued the same action, he could feel himself losing himself to the pleasure. Her lips eventually left his, her face close to his. “So, are you going to behave?” She whispered. And as a last attempt of keeping his dignity and ego, he smirked with his tired eyes. “Fuck off, bitch..”

“Oh? Is that how you want to behave today? Fine.” She slapped him on the thigh again before squeezing it harshly. With lube on her fingers, she slowly pushed a finger inside his entrance, ignoring his whines. “Stop..” He muttered softly, almost like a whisper. She started to finger his ass, slowly making room for two.

She looked down at his leaking cock, red and angry, begging for its release. With a random idea in her head, she flicked the tip with her index and thumb, getting a sudden moan out of the scarred man. She was surprised by his response. But her surprised look turned into a face of amusement. She flicked his tip again, getting the same response from before.

She couldn't believe how quick Dabi was to falter. His moans started too much louder and higher in pitch. Everytime he tried releasing, a thumb on his tip prevented him. She fingered around his insides, trying to find that one spot.

“Ah!” He yelped, feeling a sudden spark in his stomach. He looked down to see the massive grin on his lover’s face. She hit that spot once again, causing a moan out of him. She continuously stimulated that one spot while stroking his cock.

He ended up releasing all over Y/N’s hand, aching his back as he felt his release. Her smile grew even bigger. “Now, this.. This is going to be fun.”

He knew… He was in for it now..

· • —– ٠ 𓆩♡𓆪 ٠ —– • ·

[star-dust-stuf]

Luke Skywalker x fem!reader

title: dear stranger, heal my soul

warnings: some cursing

a/n: I can't believe I didn't do this earlier! the reader first meets Luke. I absolutely love this. sorry for typos, with love.

-

My hands were dry and my eyes burned, I was in something hot, it burned my bare arms and fingertips. I was in sand, R2 beeping beside me mostly buried in the sand as well. I lifted myself, panting and sweating, I brushed off the access sand on my dress and my hair. 

"What happened?" I breathe. R2 beeped, he sounded a bit mad. "Okay, okay. I'll get you out." 

I approached him and dug him out, though it was easy for me to do I could understand why it was hard for him, he had no limbs. "Do you know where we are?" I asked, looking around. There was sand surrounding us. 

R2 stuck out his little satellite, he was beeping for longer than a couple seconds before turning to me and beeping some more. "Tatoonie? I have no idea what kind of planet this is but I don't like it at all." I brushed some more sand from my hair. 

I knew we wouldnt make it anywhere if we didn't walk, so as we did R2 followed. I was surprised he could move through the sand just fine and it was a relief I didn't have to drack a droid that probably weighed more than me through the hot sand. I was already sweating quite a bit before we even walked through a valley, yes mostly, of not all sand.

"I can't R2, it's far too hot." I lean up against a rock, sweat glisning on my face. R2 beeped. "Well, no I don't want to die obviously, but where the hell are we going??" 

He beeped, I sighed and stood back up. We continue through that valley but before we made it out there were small creatures with hoods and small little gears beside them. One of them aming them at R2. They shot it and it seemed to have eleticuted him, sending bolts that shut him down. 

Then they aimed it at me, I had no time to get away from it. It shocked me and I fell to the sandy ground, passed out. Possibly the next day, I woke up in a transport? The transport was shaky and there were a lot of droids in there. All shut down or possibly broken. I was scared but I was able to find R2. That was until they opened the doors. I was dizzy and my body still feeling the twinge. 

The creatures, whom has their own language opened up the large door, the sun peering Im that was too bright for my eyes. They dragged R2 out and me with him, along with other droids. There were tons more of those little creatures. When they pulled me out back onto the sand, I was squinting, the sun too bright for my eyes have not adjusted.

When I was able to peek through my eyelids I saw a small little... Rock? No... A home? And two people heading my way, one was slightly shorter than the other and had blonde hair, he was a lot more faster than the taller one. His voice was soft and sounded kind. But once he got close he was much taller than I expected.

"Uncle Owen?" His voice lit up my ears but I was unable to open my eyes completely.

Another male voice came from the distance as hs approached. "What is it, Luke?"

"Is that a girl? A human girl?" Luke was pointing to me. Owen was a little shocked and spoke with one of the creatures. 

"What's this? You sell me droids, you don't pick up human beings." Owens voice sounds almodt furious. 

The creature spoke, it's voice was higher in pitch. It sounds to me like absolute gibberish. Owen waved him off, "yeah, I'll take her." 

Luke stepped close to me, he placed his hand on my shoulder. "Hey, you alright?" I was still unable to open my eyes completely, my body feeling the past shock. "Uncle Owen? She doesn't look so good." He spoke to his Uncle who was twelve feet away. 

Owen nods to Luke, "yes, take her inside." 

I managed to speak to the boy, Luke. "And R2..." 

R2 rolled up beside me, Luke thought for a moment but then nodded. He didn't want to waist time keeping me out here any longer. He led me up to The Lars Homestead, taking me down the steps and entering a room. Luke led me to the step above the other door that led back outside and sat me on the floor. 

"There, I'll see what I can do about your eyes and then I'll clean your droid." His voice was softer, it was a lot cooler in the room, shady and neat, some beeping and buckling assuming it was some other stuff behind me. I was rubbing my eyes.

"Don't rub them. You'll make them worse." He kneeled down to me and placed his hand on my forehead, letting his thumb lift my eyelid. "Being in that Sandcrawler for a whole night might have messed with your eyes. Not to mention you must have gotten some sand in them." 

He grabbed a small cup of water, "put your head back and try to open your eyes, im going to flush them a little, I promise it won't hurt too badly." He was kind. And I listened, I was sick of not seeing.

When I put my head back he poured water over them, making my face get a little wet in the process, I wince. "Ow!" 

He nods and smirks, "not too bad." I blinked a little before I was able to open them a little more than before, I saw his beautiful face, his blue eyes and blonde hair, his first white clothes and his soft cheeks. He smiled a little, "better?" 

I nod, "thank you... I suppose I already got your name. Luke."

He chuckles and nods, "what's your name?"

"Y/n." My voice was a little scratchy, he nods and heads to R2, all dirty and I didn't notice till now, now that my eyes are open completely.

Luke grabs a small tool and and scraped off some of his dents. "Where are you from? You don't look like you're from here at all." He laughed a little.

"I was actually on a ship with my brother, I was trying to fix something and R2 was helping me, I guess I pulled a wrong switch and the floor opened and we fell through, luckily the sand broke our fall."

Luke was intrigued, "you have a brother?"

I nodded, "his name is Han Solo. Gosh he's gonna kill me when he finds out I was dumb enough to pull some stupid wires." 

Luke chuckles. "Yeah, good luck with that." 

"I mean I guess i'll find him here. He was here for something about paying dept, he never really told me. But he wanted to go to the Cantina. You know where that is?"

Luke nods, "a little ways, it's not a nice area to be in though." 

I nod a little. "Been there?" 

"Not since I my friend Biggs left Tatooine. Hes an ace pilot." 

"Oh. How interesting. He left recently?" I asked, hoping I wasn't getting into something too sensitive. 

Luke nods, "I'm glad he left though. He always dreamt of leaving Tatoonie." 

"Are you able to take me to the Cantina? I might have a chance of finding my brother, he might even be looking for me." I tried to stand up.

Luke stood up and tried to sit me back down. "You should sit down for a bit. I'll get you some water. I bet those Jawas used an ion blaster on you?"

"Jawas?" I chuckled.

Luke smiled, "yeah, I suppose they did hit you with it, huh? Still feeling a little tingly?" I nod, he nods in return. "Sit for a bit longer, you won't be able to function right after a hit of those things."

He stood up and left the room only for a minute to get me some water. He returned and handed it to me. "I'll clean your droid and see how you do after that. If you're alright I'll take you to Mos Eisley. That's where the Cantina is." 

I nod in return drinking the water as Luke got back to cleaning R2. He was beeping and making all kinds of noises. "Gee, he's a noisy little guy isn't he." Luke smiled. 

After a bit and R2 was all clean, Luke helped me up, dustinf off some sand from my shoulders and my hair, as he did I just realized how hand he is, his blue eyes sparked in the little light and his hair was all glossy. He smiled before he held one of my arms and spoke. 

"Let's see if you can really take a first step." I started a little wobbly but I put one foot forward, I wasnt as trembling as I was when I walked in here, and my eyes where completely open now. "Good, you're almost back to normal. Just try not to run for whatever reason that might be."

He walked me back up the steps to the sandy ground, the two suns shining over us. Luke walked up to his uncle, speaking. "She's got a brother whos in Mos Eisley, can I take her?" Luke leaned up on the table over the small tarp. 

His uncle glanced at me and back at him, "fine, take your landspeeder and don't wonder around there, don't go in any shops and don't buy anything. And most certainly do not lose her. Got it?"

Luke nods, waving him off and walked back to me. "Yes, Uncle Owen." He rolled his eyes playfully at me as sign his uncle is always so stricked. 

He walked me around the Homestead and to his landspeeder, definitely more rusty that R2 was before he cleaned him. "And this'll get us there?" 

Luke smiled and he hopped, gesturing I do too, so I did. "It's fast, I promise." 

He wasn't wrong, when we took off I felt an adrenaline but it felt good, my heart was going and so was my blood, there was a warm breeze, R2 in the back. Once we got it to the town it was filled with different kinds of creatures, some I've seen before and some I have not.

But once we did make it there we had to get off his landspeeder, I didn't ask why. He seemed like he knew where he was going. And had a glint in his eyes when he heard some jazzy music playing.

"This way." He held my hand a little just so he didn't lose me. I felt heartwarming by it, the small gestures. 

He led me into the Cantina. Music a bit louder that I thought. "Okay, just stay by me and we'll look for your brother, make sure R2 follows." 

I nodded. He held my hand as we walked through the crowd of creatures and some humans. It smelled like a stuffy room, interesting drinks and the different smells of different things. Luke let me look around but only if I was with him, then... There was a loud fire of a heavy blaster pistol echoed in the Cantina. Me and Luke turned to the sound as a long with the other people and creatures who went silent.

We didn't want to make a move till they went back to what they were doing, as so they did. And when we approached where the sound came from I saw Han, sitting there, his blaster had smoke beaming out of it, his legs crossed but his eyes grew wide when he saw me. "You little rebel!" He stood up and approached me, looking at Luke as well. 

"What the hell did you do??" He sounded pissed. 

"I was trying to buckle in R2 and then-." Han cut me off. 

"Yeah, lie to me another day sweetheart."

I sigh, "I was trying to fix the hyperdrive and I pulled the wrong wire and... I fell through one of the hatches. R2 with me." 

Han chuckled, "I told you not to touch a thing, you can't even fix a damn light!" 

"To be fair, you broke that light." I wasn't as pissed as him, just hoping he wouldnt embarrass me in front of Luke.

"And who's this?" Han smirked at Luke, Luke saw his intentions clearly and looked at him with contempt. 

"Luke Skywalker." Luke held out his hand to shake Hans. 

Han smirks. "Your new boyfriend?" he ignored his hand and Luke rolled his eyes in return.

I grew defensive, "no Han, he actually helped me thank you very much!"

Luke couldnt help but laugh a little, he crossed his arms. R2 beeped. "Oh, surprised you didn't lose R2!"

I gave him a smug look, "you underestimate me sometimes." 

He laughed a little, "you're my little sister, what you expect, more?"

Luke spoke up, "whyd you fire your pistol." He seems like he wanted the bickering to stop.

"Oh, just some unfinished business, kid." Han put his pistol on his side.

Lukes eyes almost light up like a child's joy when he saw the pistol. "Is that a DL-44!?" Han looks at him for a moment, Luke clears his throat. "Not because I'm interested or anything." 

"Right, you just keep your thoughts to yourself okay?" Han patted his shoulder, his smile was sarcastic. 

[meganechan05]

When you need to infiltrate enemy territory and the only disguise option was one your girlfriend set up and you're the only one able to use disguises 😂😂

AU draft scene here:

The team looked at the tall building in front of them. "I didn't expect a school to be this big," Gira murmured.

"It's supposed to hold students of all grade levels including college," Jeramie said," But admissions are claimed to be even harder than Chikyuu."

"Eh?! Really?!"

"But it explains its reputation," Yanma said, typing on his laptop," Even with its admission system, you still got a lot of well-known celebrities and prodigies attending."

"Wonder how it managed to gain admissions so quickly," Himeno wondered in thought.

"So far the only problem is that temporary admissions are closed to infiltrating will be hard. Next opening won't be for a while."

They all then turned to Rita who held back a groan. "Fine." They reached into their pocket to take out their Disguise Compact.

"Wait." Himeno leaned close to her partner, whispering in their ear.

Rita's face reddened in embarrassment as they faced her. "I will not!"

"It will make disguising yourself easier. You know we've been working on this for a while in case you ever need it."

"Working on what?" Kaguragi asked, intrigued.

"Just this thing we did for Cela when she was upset... Or something Himeno forced me to do." They gave the girl a stern look as she was giving them a pleading one.

"But if it means they can't trace it back to you or our other identities, it's worth a shot," Gira said," Maybe it won't hurt."

Rita stepped back when the others looked at them expectantly.

They sighed. "Fine. But tell this to no one."

They shot Himeno a small glare when she hopped and clapped in excitement.

They looked at their compact before tracing their finger over the snowflake designs in a circle, making it glow.

"Change me into a Mugen Academy student."

They opened the compact, its mirrors glowing as it surrounded Rita in the familiar lilac light. Their sailor shirt and slacks turned into the red and green girl's uniform for the Academy. Their hair grew longer and were pulled into a set of pigtails that flowed over their shoulders as their bangs were cut shorter so they would not cover their right eye. A cute pair of rectangular glasses covered their eyes as well.

They pocketed their compact before looking at the team, all slack-jawed and wide-eyed except Himeno who only grew even more giddy upon seeing them. Yanma was the first to break as he fell to the floor in a fit of laughter.

"Y-you look like a girl!" he said between laughs.

Rita's face reddened in embarrassment. "I've worn skirts before, you idiot!"

"I-I'm sure he didn't mean it like that, Rita-san!" Gira exclaimed," I mean he did, but we never saw you with long hair before and- well- Jeramie!"

"Well I will say it does suit you," Jeramie mused, taking in the new look," If anyone at school were to see you, they wouldn't know it's the Ice Prince. Or should I say 'Princess'?" He quickly held up his hands and stepped back when he found Rita's eye glowing. "Well now!"

"But Jeramie's right. This should work," Kaguragi said, hoping to calm them," And best to make haste."

"Tell no one of this," Rita warned before entering the school campus. "And stop taking photos, Himeno!" they warned as they heard the shutters of their girlfriend's phone.

"I'm saving them for a rainy day!" she teased.

"Gotta hand it to you, princess. You really managed to get them to dress like that," Yanma said as he got back to his feet.

"While they're busy with that, I suppose I'll try the back entrance," Jeramie said," Hopefully they won't turn me away this time."

"I'll come with," Gira said, following him.

[artifeast]

Cursed Dungeon Meshi AU, with a vague attempt at the manga's style. They are 17 inches shorter than their canon heights. Maintained the height differences though!

Telesphore is an elf of course, Colette is a half-foot/tallman, and Eisen is a gnome. WAY too many miscellaneous thoughts about this AU under the cut. There miight be worldbuilding spoilers if you haven't read the DunMesh manga and bonus material

Telesphore is an elf because, obviously

Eisen's a gnome because that gave me a decent height difference with Telesphore while still giving him strong magic capabilities. He might have a bit of dwarf in him, though

Colette's mother was a half-foot, and her father is a tall-man with a half-foot grandparent. Colette is still taller than the average considering her heritage (I did MATH about this. and jsyk the numbers worked beautifully). I wanted her to not be particularly innately magical, and also this would give her an appropriate height in comparison to Telesphore and Eisen. Like, the AU is already gonna be cursed with how Telsie has to get shrunken, but it'd be even worse if Colette was a tallman and 8 inches taller than him LMAO

Colette still has the Kingmaker in this AU, though I forgot to draw it. In this, it's an ancient elven magical artifact.

Colette's still 25, while Telesphore and Eisen are the same age (190). I made an age comparison chart for the Dungeon Meshi races a while back, taking into account both age of maturity and life expectancy, and according to it, 190 makes Telesphore the equivalent of about 29 and Eisen the equivalent of about 47.5, which is close enough. This AU loses the dynamic of Telesphore being alive for hundreds of years longer than Eisen, and in fact makes Eisen the older one of the two (aging-wise) from the very start, but eh, I think it still works. There's still lifespan angst since Eisen only has 50 years before he hits the average life expectancy for gnomes, while Telesphore has another 210 years. Also I think them remaining the same age, as opposed to canon, but still aging differently is kinda fun.

The Kingdom of Valor is somewhere in the middle of the Eastern Continent, landlocked like in canon. The population is primarily half-foots, but there are also a good deal of gnomes and dwarves, as expected from the region. More interestingly, there is a community of elves.

Within Valor is the Seltsamwald, a bizarre and massive surface-level dungeon in the form of a dangerous forest that stretches for miles, held in check by incredibly powerful ancient magic forming a barrier around it. The elves are investigating it and maintaining it. There is no immortality spell in the Seltsamwald. The lord of the dungeon has not been found, but doesn't appear to be particularly active; in fact, despite being clearly contained and rather active in terms of monsters, it retains many properties of a natural dungeon. Some have theorized that it actually is a natural dungeon that's spread too far, perhaps cultivated by a mage in ages past, that was then sealed closed when it grew too powerful. However, it's not sealed entirely shut, and is kept alive mostly by the elves investigating it. There is very limited non-elf foot traffic, with it mostly being criminals that sneak into its maze-like forest. The Seltsamwald has been kept stable like this for hundreds of years. More recently, a group of elves have formed a small town within the dungeon as a sort of research post, named Sorbus.

Also within Valor are at least two magic schools, located there due to the plentiful mana from the Seltsamwald. One is for gnomish magic, and one is for elven magic.

The Desrosiers were half-foots. Ariadne is a tallman that's managed to prolong her life using ancient magic. (Though even still, in this AU she probably murdered Eisen's parents when he was the equivalent of like... 37, rather than 18)

I've spent a LOT of time thinking about it and I've decided not to try to translate the revolution and the closed Kehrseite portal situation into this AU. It's much easier to say Telesphore not being able to go home is just… a personal issue, because he's a wanted criminal on the Northern Central Continent, LOL. And the revolution's just a huge mess... I guess it wouldn't be so bad if I excluded the Good Neighbors/elves from the proceedings, though. These fantasy medieval ages are allowed a little populist revolution

[scrollonso]

First Kiss (Race 15)

A strollonso AU where 18 year old rookie Lance Stroll falls helplessly in love with the notoriously mean world champion. (1.3k words, seblance, so cute, then ANGST. but then fluff?) [@v3lnys @biancathecool] {I don't like the end of this but fuck it we ball!!! and now writers block starts}

last part - masterlist - next part

Lance walked into the grid with Sebastian, he was going to be driving for Sauber during free practice so the two got to catch up until then.

They'd been in karting together for years before Formula 1 was even an atainable goal for the boys but now that one was a race winner and the other was negotiating a contract it was insane. Sometimes Lance wondered if him and Nico got on so well because he'd practically grown up with Seb and the two were pretty similar.

"Scared?" Lance asked, looking down at his friend as they just wandered around the paddock, it felt nice today.

"Should I be?" The German boy laughed, overgrown blonde hair being blown all over the place as they walked

"Five Germans on the grid today, I'm scared." He laughed as well, grabbing his shoulder in response to his friend smacking him

"Piss off" Sebastian groaned, speeding up to pass Lance, smiling as he heard his foot steps speed up, the Canadian pleading for him to slow down

Sebastian did well during free practice, Lance going to the Sauber garage straigjt away to congratulate his friend

"Kumpel" He called, pulling the shorter boy into his arms as he patted his back "Good job, Sebby"

"Sebby is insane." The German laughed, hugging his friend back

"Expected you to crash" He added, smiling once Seb pushed him away, cursing at him under his breath "Joking, joking, I knew you'd do good."

Qualifying came to an end, Lance in 8th, Fernando in 10th, and Nico in 19th. A very diverse group.

"Nando" Lance said, having found his boyfriend first because he'd been to busy with Sebastian to find him any earlier

"Hola, Lancito" The Spaniard smiled, it looked like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders just because he saw the Canadian. "How are you, mi vida?"

"I'm good" He nodded, Fernandos smile contagious. "Are you okay?"

"Si, why wouldn't I be?" Fernando questioned, not caring what place he qualified now that he was talking to Lance.

"Brad told me Quali wasn't the best for you are Fisichella, I figured you'd be upset."

"Am fine, just slower than usual. Engineers are looking at my car, not sure what is wrong." Lie.

Lance and Fernando spoke for a little longer before they began lining up on the grid, both Renault's in row 5 behind him and De La Rosa.

The race got off to a much better start but only 10 laps in Brad told him Nico was retiring, driveshaft issue, but his car seemed to be perfectly fine.

He didn't respond, just nodded to himself like Brad could see him.

In the next 20 laps both him and Fernando had managed to go up 3 and 4 spots, in 5th and 6th place respectively. Yamamoto and De La Rosa had also retired so now it was down to 19.

Another 13 laps went by smoothly, Lance and Fernando now in 4th and 5th until the Spaniard lost control and his engine blew, leaving a cloud of smoke and a worried Lance on the track

"Is Fernando okay?"

"Is Alonso the renault whos off the track?"

"Yes, is he okay?"

"He is, now focus, Lance." Brad said, unsure if the man was okay but he knew telling the Canadian that would just hurt his performance.

Lance ended the race in 4th, 8 seconds behind Robert but he couldn't bring himself to care as he went straight to looking for Fernando, his engineer telling the boy where he was.

He knocked on Fernandos drivers room, waiting for a second with no response so he knocked again "Nando?"

The door opened right away and before he could speak the Spaniard was hugging him

They spoke for a bit, going over the race together.

"You did so good, mi vida, so impressive for a rookie."

"I'm sorry about your race"

"Is okay, I do not care anyway." Lie. Fernando shrugged, simply brushing off the fact that his engine blew on track and he didn't finish.

"You don't care?" His eyebrows furrowed, wearing his emotions on his face.

"Lancito, am not sure why exactly you are upset, you finished the race in the points. I do not care about me not finishing, I simply have to try harder next week" Fernando was calm, how was he so calm. Michael Schumacher was 2 points behind him in the world championship. A seven time world champion was 2 points behind him in the world championship.

"Exactly, Nando, that's the problem! We're so close to the end of the season and you're so close to winning the world championship again and you just- you don't care? How can you not care?"

"The championship doesn't matter to me, all the media and hastle of being on the podium, is not what I look forward to, I love my job, Lancito, you know I do, but is not the only thing I have anymore." Lie.

"I know, you've said it a hundred times, Fernando. Of course I know you love racing. But I just- god I feel like it's my fault distracting you, I hate knowing that you're okay with losing because you get to see me, I hate to see you lose, you were born to win, you're too talented to give it up because of me."

"Lancito-" Fernando paused, running his hands through his messy hair "am sorry but you are wrong, that is not why I am fine with not winning, you are not at fault here, mi sol." Lie.

"Fine, but that doesn't change the fact that you have something good here, Nando, being a two time world champion is fantastic, I just-" Lance knew what he meant he just had no idea how to put it into words, he felt like the Spaniard wasn't understanding where he was coming from. He didn't want Fernando to throw anything away, he didn't want him to make any decisions where he considered Lance before his career. He loved having Fernandos attention, he loved being alone with him, he loved loving him, but the championship should be more important than that.

"Is that really what this is about? Me winning the championship?" Fernando asked, knitting his eyebrows together, somehow not surprised that the world championship is what Lance is most worried about "If this is about the title, Michael can take it. I don't want it without you."

"Fernando. Don't waste your talent because of me. You have a hunger." Lance shook his head, stepping away from him as the Spaniard desperately came after him "You're brilliant, you want to win, you want to be the best, and you are. Don't settle for second because of me."

"Okay, am sorry." Lie. He spoke softly, just wanting to end the conversation as his arms reached out and pulled the Canadian to him, one hand on the small of his back as the other stroked the boys hair, feeling how shakey his breaths were, he almost regretted lying about being sorry but now part of him was. "The rest of the season I'll be on that podium for you."

Lance didn't respond, he just settled his head in the crook of the Spaniards neck, eyes shutting as he took in the scent of the older man, embarrassed at how worked up he'd gotten himself over another persons race

"I'll win again, I'll win for us." Fernando said with false confidence, truly not caring whether he won or not. It was weird. He'd never cared about anything how he cares about Lance. He's never enjoyed losing but now he didn't mind it as long as he got to see Lance when it was over. But now he knew to never admit that to Lance so he would lie, just a little white lie.