#falling off things into pits or missing jumps

[velvetghoul]

One Touch Away

✦ oneshot

Reader x Yuji Itadori | MDNI

cw: fluff, mutual pining, first kiss, playful teasing, Yuji being stunned and soft, one-sided closeness turning very much two-sided, both are 20.

⸻

The day had started normal enough.

Gojo dragging everyone into the city for what he called a “soul-cleansing team bonding shopping trip,” which meant chaos, snacks, and way too many pit stops at weird stores.

Somewhere along the way, Nobara, Satoru and Megumi split off in search of skincare and “normal people clothes,” which left you and Yuji to wander on your own.

You weren’t complaining.

He was in rare form today—loud, animated, cracking jokes and trying on the stupidest things he could find just to make you laugh. And it was working.

Especially now.

You stop in your tracks as you watch him standing in front of a rack of hats, bright orange corduroy bucket hat perched proudly on his head like a trophy he definitely doesn’t deserve.

He turns to you, eyes sparkling. “How do I look?”

You blink. “Like a confused farmer.”

Yuji gasps. “Excuse me? This is peak fashion. This hat has personality.“

“It has crimes.”

“Wow. You wound me.”

You’re grinning before you even realize it, stepping up closer to him.

“Hold still,” you mutter, lifting your hands to the hood of his sweatshirt. “It’s all bunched up under the hat. You look like a mushroom.”

“A handsome mushroom,” he corrects quietly.

You roll your eyes, rising up slightly on your toes as your fingers smooth out the fabric behind his neck. But you don’t pull away.

And neither does he.

You’re still adjusting the edge of the hood when you realize—Yuji’s gone silent. Very silent.

You pause. Then glance down.

And his eyes are on you. Wide, soft, full of something unreadable like you’ve just stepped into the sun and he’s never seen anything shine that bright.

He’s blushing. You can see it creeping up from the collar of his hoodie, spreading across his cheeks and nose like fire catching cotton.

“You okay?” you ask, softly now. He nods. Barely.

“I’m not poisoning you, you know,” you tease, brushing your knuckles just under his jaw. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“I’m fine,” he says. “I’m—just—uh—”

You catch his eyes again, and that’s when it hits you: the tension, the moment, the stillness of it.

So you do it.

You lean in and press one small kiss to his lips.

A breath, a heartbeat, and that’s all. But it’s everything.

Yuji goes completely still—then immediately, visibly, flushes bright red. The hat shifts on his head like even it is surprised.

His mouth opens a little, like he’s trying to form words but forgot the concept entirely.

“I—was that—did you just—“

You laugh softly, brushing a finger under the edge of his hoodie string.

“You looked like you needed a little reboot.”

“I—I think my soul left my body,” he stammers.

You smirk. “Relax, Yuji. It was just a kiss. You won’t die.”

“…No promises.”

You chuckle and start to walk past him, but he turns with you, stunned, blinking like he’s trying to piece his brain back together.

Yuji’s still standing there like a frozen Sims character—blushing, dazed, mouth half open, when a sudden, loud voice cuts in:

“OH MY GOD.”

You jump. Yuji nearly dies.

You both turn at the same time, slowly, like you’re facing judgment—and find Satoru standing ten feet away with a soda in one hand, sunglasses half-pulled down his nose, and the most dramatic gasp expression on his face.

He points at Yuji like he’s just discovered a new species.

“YOUR FIRST KISS?!”

Yuji immediately throws his hands up like he’s being arrested. “NO—WHAT—WHO TOLD YOU—WHY ARE YOU HERE?!”

“I walked in for like two seconds to find you and BAM—” Gojo slaps his hands together, “—I witness the fall of innocence. My son. Corrupted. In the discount hat aisle.”

“I’m not your son—”

Gojo ignores him, rushing over, hands flailing like a proud mother at a graduation.

“I can’t believe I missed the first steps and the first words but I got the first kiss. I’m framing this moment.”

Yuji’s face is burning.

You, still blushing, look up at him slowly, jaw half-dropped.

“…Oh my god. That was really your first?”

Yuji covers his face with both hands. “Why are we still talking about this—”

Gojo gasps again. “YOU DIDN’T EVEN TELL HER?!”

“I didn’t know it was gonna happen!!” Yuji yells, muffled.

You try to hide your grin behind your hand. “Yuji. You should’ve said something.”

“I was trying not to combust!”

Gojo leans dramatically toward you, whispering loudly, “How was it though? Like, be honest. One to ten. Did he drool?”

“GOJO!!”

“Oh relax!” he beams. “You’re glowing, both of you. Oh my god. My heart. I need to sit down. This is better than TV.”

Yuji looks like he’s about to collapse from emotional overheating. “We are never speaking of this again.”

Gojo’s already pulling out his phone. “Say cheese, new lovebirds—”

You slap it out of his hand. “Try it and you die.”

He pouts. “Ugh, young people and their secrets. Fine. I’ll just tell Nobara.”

“DON’T TELL NOBARA—” you and Yuji yell in unison.

Gojo just grins, already backing toward the exit like a gossiping cryptid. “Too late. She’s gonna scream.”

Yuji turns to you, eyes wide. “…We’re gonna die.”

You just shrug, still flushed, still smiling. “That‘s fine.”

The store finally goes quiet again after Gojo disappears through the entrance, yelling something about “teen romance and betrayal” as his voice fades into the crowd outside.

You and Yuji just stand there.

Staring at the floor. Blushing. Breathing.

“…I can’t believe he saw that,” Yuji mutters finally, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s trying to physically erase the memory.

“Could’ve been worse,” you say, nudging him with your shoulder. “Could’ve been Fushiguro.”

Yuji lets out a broken laugh. “No. He would’ve just stared at us with that disappointed ‘my friends are idiots’ look.”

“Which is fair,” you add with a grin.

A small silence falls between you. Not awkward—just warm. Like something has settled in the air between you. Shifted into place.

Then you feel it. His hand brushing yours again. Soft. Hesitant.

You glance down as his fingers graze along yours, searching for the contact you gave him earlier. This time, he’s braver. You feel the tip of his pinky hook around yours again and then, without a word, he laces his fingers with yours.

No drama. No flinch. Just that simple, quiet intertwining of hands.

You look up. He’s already looking down at you.

Not grinning like a maniac. Not cracking a joke to cover the moment. Just smiling very genuine and open and a little sheepish, like he can’t believe he actually got to hold your hand like this on purpose.

Your heartbeat skips like a stone on water.

“You’re still red,” you murmur, voice light.

He squeezes your hand a little. “Yeah. I’ll probably be red for, like, an hour. Or two.”

You tilt your head, smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Wanna kiss again and test that theory?”

His eyes widen. Then his whole face lights up bright and golden and glowing like you’re the only person in the world he can see. He leans closer. “Only if you promise Gojo’s definitely gone.”

You laugh softly, pulling him by the hand. “Then come on, carrot boy. Let’s get outta the hat aisle.”

You don’t let go. Neither does he.

You weave through the store with your fingers still locked in his. Neither of you speaks for a few minutes, and it’s not uncomfortable—just… weightless. Like you’re both floating a little too high to ruin it with words.

Yuji swings your hands once between you.

You glance at him. “You good?”

He nods, but it’s that bashful little smile again. “Yeah. I’m just…” He hesitates. “I didn’t think you’d actually kiss me.”

You snort. “Why not?“

“I dunno.” He shrugs with one shoulder, cheeks pink. “I guess I thought you just saw me as… you know. The dumb friend.”

You stop walking. He looks at you. And you stare at him like he just spoke in a foreign language. “Yuji. I kissed you.”

“I know,” he mumbles, eyes darting. “I just—didn’t think it meant—”

You tug his hand, step into him again, close enough to feel the warmth rolling off his chest. “Yuji,” you say, quieter now. “It meant exactly what you think it meant.”

He swallows hard. You can see the way he’s trying to hold back a smile.

“Okay,” he says, and you feel his hand tighten around yours, grounding himself in it. “Okay.“

And then, because the look he’s giving you is all soft awe and dumb courage, you lift your chin and whisper, “Do you wanna kiss me again?”

He doesn’t even speak this time. Just leans in, slow, like he’s still making sure he’s allowed—and when you don’t pull away, he presses his lips to yours again.

It’s still gentle. Still new. But this one lingers.

And this time, he kisses you first.

You melt into it, fingers curling into his hoodie, heart beating like you’re sixteen again. When he pulls back, he’s breathless, grinning, eyes shining.

“Still not poison,” he whispers.

You grin back. “Addictive though?”

“The worst kind,” he says, bumping his forehead to yours. “And I’m not quitting.”

You groan dramatically. “You’re gonna get so cocky about this.”

He laughs, pulling you close again, your fingers still tangled.

“Only if you keep kissing me.”

“…Guess I’m okay with that.”

Outside, the others are probably already causing another scene. But for now, the two of you stay there. Hat aisle. Hoodie askew. Heart full. Hand in hand.

The car ride home was never going to be peaceful. Not with Gojo driving. He’s been nonstop since the moment everyone piled in.

“Oh my god, Yuji, your first kiss in a hat aisle? That’s so tragically you.” “You looked like a deer getting CPR.” “Wait—hold on, did you kiss back or did you just stand there like a loading screen?”

From the passenger seat, Nobara’s cackling, thriving off the chaos. “You should’ve seen his face. He looked like he needed to reboot his soul.”

Yuji’s face is scarlet, and he keeps making desperate eye contact with the window like he’s considering just rolling out and escaping.

You’re in the backseat, right behind Gojo.

Yuji’s sitting beside you in the middle. Megumi’s silent and slouched on his right, arms crossed, looking as done with all of this as ever—until you shift.

Because Gojo’s teasing doesn’t stop. And Yuji looks like he’s dying. So you just… rest your hand on his knee. He stiffens.

Your nails trail up slowly. From just above his knee, dragging upward in the lightest, laziest little path along the inside of his thigh. Yuji’s whole body locks. His breath stutters. You feel the tremble in his leg under your touch.

He turns his head—slowly, like he’s afraid to look—but his eyes meet yours. Wide. Pink-faced. Silently screaming. You just give him a sweet, innocent smile.

Megumi notices immediately. He glances to his left, catches the way Yuji is frozen like he’s about to short-circuit—and then his eyes drop. Right to where your fingers are ghosting higher, barely brushing fabric.

He blinks. Then looks at Yuji. Then looks at you. And then, without a single word, Megumi smirks.

Just a smug, knowing little curl of the lips as he turns his head and stares out the window again like he saw nothing.

Yuji is dying. He leans toward you just a little, hissing under his breath:

“What are you doing—”

“Comforting you,” you whisper sweetly, trailing your nails up his thigh again. “You looked like you needed some stress relief.”

His eyes flutter shut for half a second. “You’re gonna kill me.”

From the front seat, Gojo pipes up again, totally oblivious: “You know, I remember my first kiss. It was under a vending machine during a thunderstorm—romantic as hell. I cried. She didn’t. That’s how I knew it was real.”

“Please crash the car,” Megumi mutters.

Nobara snorts. “You crash this car and I’ll kill you before the seatbelt does.”

Meanwhile, Yuji is fighting for his life beside you, hand twitching against the seat, body so tense he might explode. He finally grabs your wrist gently, trying to still your hand.

You lean into his ear. “Still not poison?”

He exhales slowly, eyes darting to Megumi who is definitely listening but pretending not to.

“…Worse,” Yuji mutters, barely above a whisper. “You’re a fucking trap.”

You just grin, curling your fingers slightly around his thigh one more time before retreating like nothing happened. Sitting back with your hands folded sweetly in your lap.

Gojo slaps the steering wheel. “Man, I love young love. You guys are so gross. It’s adorable.”

Yuji doesn’t speak the rest of the ride and Megumi just keeps smirking.

Back at the dorms, Yuji’s still quiet. Not awkward—just dazed, blinking like his brain hasn’t caught up to the reality of today. You’re not having it. You reach for his hand, lace your fingers with his, and tug. Hard. He stumbles a little behind you, like a very tall, very flustered duffel bag full of nerves.

“Come on, I don’t bite, Itadori.”

“That’s what you say,” he mumbles, letting himself be dragged anyway, cheeks still flushed.

The hallway is empty. Your dorm door swings open with a gentle click. And the second you’re inside before you even turn around his arms slip around your waist from behind.

You freeze for a second, surprised.

He hugs you tight, solid and warm, chin coming down to rest lightly on the top of your head. His voice is low, a little hoarse from everything unsaid.

“I didn’t know you were so… shy.” You whisper.

You feel the smile curl onto your lips.

“Sit, Yuji.”

He hesitates. But he listens. He moves to the bed, sits down on the edge hands gripping his knees like he’s bracing himself for an earthquake.

You follow. You straddle his lap with no hesitation, settling your weight onto him as his breath catches hard. His hands instinctively fly to your hips like he’s not sure what to do with them but can’t stop himself either.

“I’m not shy,” he blurts, looking at your mouth. Then your eyes. Then your mouth again.

Your fingers toy with the strings of his hoodie, soft and slow. “Then what are you?” He looks up at you, breathless.

“I’m… nervous.”

You smile. “That’s cute.”

He lets out a dry laugh. “Not to me.”

Then he reaches up, his palms cupping your jaw with a kind of trembling reverence like he still can’t believe you’re real. His thumb brushes your cheek. Soft. Deliberate. Almost shy now.

“How does it come that… a handsome dude like you never kissed?” You tilt your head. “Or anything else?”

He bites his lip, just slightly, and shrugs, eyes flicking away for a second. “I-uh… I had other priorities, I guess.

Your voice drops. “Like saving the world and fighting curses?”

“Something like that,” he says, still smiling, but quieter now. “Didn’t think anyone’d really wanna… y’know. Get close.”

You stare at him, and your chest squeezes. Because there’s no arrogance in him. No fake coolness. He’s just real. Brave, and strong, and sweet, and somehow still unsure of himself even after everything he’s done. You lean in slowly, your lips brushing the edge of his jaw. “I wanna get close.”

His breath shudders. “Y-you are.”

“No,” you whisper, pulling back just enough to look at him. “Closer.”

His grip on your hips tightens. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Not yet,” you murmur. “I still haven’t tasted enough of you.”

Yuji chokes on air. And you just smile, brushing your nose against his, before leaning in for another kiss that silences everything.

And this time he kisses you back like he means it.

Your lips press to his again—softer at first. Slow. Letting him feel it.

But then you tilt your head and lick into the kiss just a little—barely there, but enough to make his hands grip your hips tighter, enough to pull the breath from his lungs.

You feel it happen. The shift.

His hesitation giving way to something deeper, heavier.

You roll your hips forward gently, just once, and he makes the softest sound against your mouth—like he didn’t mean to let it out, like it caught him off guard.

You pull back, lips flushed, smiling. “Still nervous?”

He stares up at you, pupils blown wide, lips kiss-swollen.

“Yeah,” he croaks. “But also, like… really not.”

Your fingers trail from the drawstrings of his hoodie, to the base of his throat. “You’re doing so good, y’know.”

His breath hitches as you lean in and kiss the corner of his jaw, then lower, your lips brushing along the curve of his throat. He tilts his head back instinctively, swallowing hard.

“W-what are you doing?” he asks, voice thinner now.

“Making you feel wanted.”

You bite down softly—not hard, just enough to make him twitch and kiss the spot right after, slow and warm. Your hands are under his hoodie now, fingertips dancing over the hard lines of his stomach like you’re learning him inch by inch.

Yuji groans quietly and tilts his head back up, looking at you through his lashes.

“You’re driving me insane.”

“Good,” you breathe, rocking your hips into his lap again, slower this time—pressing just enough for him to feel the friction.

His hands clutch your waist like he doesn’t trust himself not to lose it.

“I—fuck—I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do—”

“You don’t have to do anything,” you whisper. “Just feel. Let me take care of it.”

You kiss him again, deeper now, and this time he doesn’t hesitate, his hands slide up under your shirt, warm palms on your lower back, drawing you closer.

“You sure?” he murmurs, voice cracking a little as your nails drag down his ribs.

You rest your forehead against his and smile. “I’m so sure.”

And just before you kiss him again, you murmur “Let’s see how long I can keep you nervous.”

The way his breath catches—

The way his hips buck up just a little—

The way he looks at you like you’re the whole damn sky—

It‘s on.

He kisses you again—messy this time, deeper, more desperate. Like something inside him just snapped.

Because he feels it now. The way you moan softly into his mouth when his hands slide lower, the way you grind back down against him when he meets your hips halfway. You’re not just teasing him, you want this. You want him.

And that realization lights something in him.

His tongue swipes against yours with more confidence now. He groans into the kiss, one hand gripping your hip while the other slides further down and grabs your ass.

You gasp into his mouth, and that’s when he grins. Just a flash of teeth, cocky and flushed and a little drunk on you.

“You like that?” he murmurs, voice deeper now, a rasp crawling into it.

“Mmhm,” you breathe, dizzy from the way he’s suddenly holding you like he owns the moment.

“Good,” he mutters, and then, with zero warning, he hooks his hands under your thighs, stands up with you in his arms like you weigh nothing, and lays you down into the bed.

You yelp, arms around his shoulders, and he just laughs softly—breathless but locked in. “Told you I was strong.”

“You show-off—”

But your sentence dies in your throat when he lays you down, gentle but fast, and then follows crawling between your legs, hands dragging along your sides, lips crashing back to yours before you can even catch your breath.

This kiss is all heat. All tongue and teeth, and breath caught between gasps. His hands are on your waist, pushing up your shirt just enough to feel skin. He’s not holding back now.

He groans into your mouth as you thread your fingers into his hair, tugging a little, and his hips instinctively roll down into you, grinding just enough to pull a low whimper from your throat.

You feel him everywhere—his chest against yours, his hands gripping your thighs, his mouth hot and wet and hungry.

“Fuck,” he whispers, panting against your lips. “You feel so good—”

You arch into him, dragging your nails down his back. “Then don’t stop.”

And Yuji? He doesn’t. He dips his head, kissing down your neck now, mouth open, tongue dragging slow over your pulse before he sucks—not too rough, but deep enough to make you gasp.

You feel his smile against your skin.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he growls softly.

Then he looks up at you, flushed, golden eyes dark with want.

“But if this is how I go…” His lips find yours again—harder, deeper. “…I’m not complaining.”

His kisses are deeper now. Still a little clumsy, but hungry, like he’s trying to learn your mouth by feel alone. His hands stay on your waist, gripping gently, but not pulling—just holding, like he’s afraid to press too far.

Your thighs are parted around him. You can feel the heat of him between your legs, hard beneath his jeans, pulsing every time your hips shift just slightly.

But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t grind into you. Doesn’t push.

And neither do you. You’re just… here. With him. His breath trembles when your hands slide up under his hoodie, palms resting over his bare back, warm and slow. His mouth softens against yours, easing from frantic to tender in the span of a few heartbeats.

He pulls back slightly, resting his forehead to yours, both of you panting.

“…Shit,” he whispers, smiling a little. “You’re really gonna kill me.”

You laugh softly, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth. “Not tonight.”

He shifts again, his hips pressing down just enough for you to feel how hard he is—how long he’s been holding back—and you swear he almost whines under his breath. But you don’t tease him. You don’t push.

Instead, you lift your hand and run your fingers through his hair, slow and sweet, combing it back from his forehead. “You okay?”

He nods. But his face is flushed, his eyes hazy with need. He hesitates… and then whispers, quietly— “Can you just… touch me? A little?”

Your heart softens instantly.

You don’t say anything. Just lean up and kiss him slow, while your hand drifts down to cup him through his jeans—gentle pressure, nothing rushed. He shudders into your mouth, hands trembling against your sides.

You stroke him softly, through the fabric, enough to ease some of that ache he’s carrying. He lets his forehead fall into your shoulder, his breath stuttering as you keep your pace steady, teasing but tender.

“Feels good?” you whisper.

He nods against your skin, voice muffled. “Yeah. I just—I wanted to feel close.”

“You are,” you murmur. And you stay like that. Warm hands. Gentle touches. Kisses against cheeks and the edge of his ear. Until the tension drains from his body and he exhales a long, shaky breath.

You pull your hand back, let your arms wrap around his back. He climbs off you slowly, eyes heavy, cheeks still burning—but calmer now. Soothed.

You guide him under the blanket and pull him into your chest. He doesn’t even hesitate. One arm slung around your waist, face tucked into your neck, his whole body curling into yours like it’s the only place he wants to be.

You run your fingers through his hair again.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper.

He hums sleepily, his voice soft and low.

“Stay ‘til morning?”

“Always.”

And that’s how you fall asleep.

Him wrapped around you. Your heartbeat slow. The heat still lingering between your legs, but nothing rushed.

Because this?

This was never about just sex.

It was about him. Always.

໒꒰ྀི ˶• ༝ •˶ ꒱ྀི১ hope you like it!!

be sure to check out my other stuff too <3

[cowbot-lumberjane]

DUSK was kinda mid to me and im tired of pretending it wasn't

[evieelyzabethh]

"taste"

☆"you're wonderin' why half his clothes went missin', my body's where they're at"☆ Wearing Arcane characters clothes {fem reader}

cast ✧ Vi, Ekko, Jayce, Viktor, Mel

cw☞ slightly pervy jayce, a bit of fluff, Viktor calls reader a whore, a bit suggestive for all of them

an: this is the case for all my titles, but I feel I should clarify; the songs are not meant to accompany the headcanons, I just get lazy when naming things so I cherry pick song lyrics then use the title lol.

♞Vi♞

♞Vi never thought she would have to worry about her clothes going missing. They're all tattered and torn, holey from all the times she's been cut or stabbed, blood stained from all her injuries throughout the years, and absolutely falling apart at the seams. Hell, her own shirts are so ruined she usually just walks around in chest binding bandages. Granted, stealing Vi's clothes started from an accident of convenience.

You didn't think anything of it as you slipped on the old thing, the writing so faded you could no longer make out the outlines of the letters and the color so sun-bleached it just looked a dull beige. There were holes along the shoulder blade, rib cage, and chest, the hems had long since unraveled, and the neckline had been cut. It Vi wasn't so averse to throwing things out, it's home would've been the garbage can ages ago. But still, it was comfy and clean and something of hers, so you pulled it over your head and carried on into the laundry room where you sat on top of your washing unit, vibrating along with the clunky machine beneath you. You decided to read as you wait, eventually become so engrossed with your book, you miss the sounds of Vi trudging her heavy feet across the floor as she returns from her most recent bout of getting her ass kicked. She hums her way around the space, painfully shrugging her jacket over her aching shoulders, enroute to the laundry room where she finds you, ankles crossed with some old mystery book in your hands. She gawks at you for a moment, not quite knowing what to say at the sight of you in her clothing. It looked good on you. Well, everything looked good on you, but this looked right. "Did you get all dressed up for me, pretty? You jump a bit at the sudden intrusion of her slightly gravelly voice, but eventually relax into her warm, musky presence. She knows how you feel about her smearing her bloody lips across your freshly showered skin, so she bites her lip to swallow her urges. "Depends, did you get yourself all battered just so I could patch you up?" She snickers, wiping the remnants of dried blood from her top lip. "Will my honest earn me a pre-shower kiss?" Of course, you nod your head. You have a very hard time denying her, not even bothered by the feeling of her gauze bound hands grip on your thighs and your skin beneath her shirt. She whimpers, leaning heavily onto the washer, her fingers likely leaving marks from how desperately she grabs at you for stability and her own sanity. She doesn't realize until the adrenaline wears off how much tonight did a toll on her, pulling away from the kiss to rest her head on your shoulder. "You need help to the shower?" "Yeah", she murmurs, hardly louder than a whisper, holding onto your waist as you hop down and sling your arm over her shoulder. "No more pit fighting for a while?", you question lightly, to which she responds by pulling a hefty bag of coins from her pants pocket. "Not for a few months."

★Ekko★

★Ekko has a commune, he is absolutely no stranger to sharing, especially when it comes to clothes. As many times as you have snuck a few of his jackets over the years, he has taken his fair share of your tops, liking the way they constrict and show the definition of his biceps and show off his sculpted lower abdomen. You swap rings, hair ties, and all sorts of accessories, it's another way that you two are visually all over each other. I also wouldn't be surprised if he was the type to buy things knowing they would eventually end up in your closet.

★This being said, you would have better luck getting a reaction out of him showing up wearing nothing rather than in his clothes, at least clothes that aren't important to him. He's so desensitized to the idea of sharing; a regular hoodie wouldn't get him going. Wearing something of his though, his jacket, his mask, replicating how he does his face paint, that would certainly get him. It's the explicit connection to him that gets him, it's you proudly wearing an echo of Ekko.

It was cold and wet and dreary. The sky was grey, and murky puddles formed in the innumerable cracks and crevasses in the dirty floor of the Undercity that the ground began to look like a muddy sea of water. It was the perfect day to be inside, maybe make some warm soup, put on a vinyl and pretend the crackley sound bites are early lightning bolts, and bundle up beside Ekko and call it a day before the sun went down. This was not the case as Ekko was out covering the gardens so they wouldn't be flooded by impure water and preparing for any potential storm surge, leaving you home alone, wrapped in his favorite jacket. You doubted it would be a big deal, it's not like he's ever been upset about borrowing his clothes without asking before, but his reaction when he returns home scares you for a moment. His eyes are closed as he walks through the door, carelessly toeing off his shoes, lifting up his already soaked shirt to wipe the running face paint before it gets into his eyes. From your place on the couch, you look out the window for the first time in hours to see it pouring down, the droplets pelting on your windows and the wind sending the occasional pebble flying at the glass. "I'm telling Scar to do this shit next time, it's too damn w- oh." He freezes, midway through yanking off his raincoat, eye's slightly irritated as they stare at you. oh? "Is that my jacket?" You falter a bit. "Yeah...is that ok?" You had no plans of going out in it, wearing only some old cotton shorts whose elastic waistband snapped years ago and a thin tank top. You didn't even have a bra on. He collects himself though, smirking as he looks you up and down, how good the color compliments your complexion, drinking in the slivers of skin, the sight of your nipples through your top. Of course it's ok, in what fucking world would it not be? "Yea, baby, it's fine." His mumbles, his voice lower and his eyes a bit wide. "You look good in it, too. C'mere, do a spin for me."

❂Jayce❂

❂This man is 6'7 and built like a brick shithouse, his clothes absolutely swallow you and he thinks it's adorable. He gets a fit of cuteness aggression, he just wants to squeeze and hug and kiss you until you pop. It speaks to that part of him that is quite aware of his sheer size, his biceps are the size of your head, you have to look up just to make eye contact with him, his clothes practically fall right off you. He's just so...big.

He awakes slightly startled and feeling empty, immediately feeling your lack of warmth in his arms and slightly panicking. It's too early in the morning to be rational and his frequent nightmares are doing him no favors. He hates waking up alone and cold, he feels like he's waking up in that cave again. His senses calm his rapidly beating heart, the comforting smell of coffee and something syrupy sweet, the sound of something sizzling on the stove. He throws the comforter off him, cringing at the feel of the cold floor on his feet before he throws on some socks and sweatpants to wander around half-asleep in. His brain short circuits when he sees you, his large shirt practically hanging off your shoulders, flowing around your bruised and kiss-bitten thighs. You moved lithely around the kitchen, going back from chopping strawberries for the waffles, stirring the eggs, flipping the bacon, and he's man enough to admit he's blushing a bit. You made breakfast for him! That's so cute. He slides behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, bending down to plant kisses on your neck. "My shirt looks really good on you, gorgeous." You giggle, turning around to face the big man behind you who picks you up by your hips to set you on the countertop, settling in between your thighs. "You think?" He hums. "Maybe a few sizes too big, but it's endearing. You look like a little fairy, like I could carry you around in my pocket all day." And his eyes are big and out of focus, that charming gap-toothed smile on display as his hands rub over your smooth skin, pushing his shirt higher and higher. Too big is certainly a familiar sentiment, how desperately you were crying that out just last night is still looping in his brain as he says it. "Maybe I'm normal sized, and you're just a giant. Have you ever thought of it that way?" He chuckles. More times than you can imagine.

☽Viktor☾

☽Hard immediately, next question. His work outfits look completely normal on him, but the buttons pop at your chest and the vests accentuate them in a way that's pornographic. Even his ties only serve to enhance the fantasy, even though they are the exact garments he wears to his lab every day. There is nothing innately sexual about it at all, but that's the fun of it. The fact thar you chose to wear that black lacy bra that you knew would show through the top, the way you wear his reading glasses low on your nose, the red bottom heels that you wear, which in any other context could be seen as perfectly appropriate work attire. It's the performance of it that he appreciates.

He knows exactly what game you are trying to play with him, no matter how hard you try and play coy. There is no way that you accidently shrunk your blouse in the wash, hell, he knows that's not your blouse because the buttons are on the wrong side for it to be female attire. He knows that's his tie, he is one thousand percent sure that if he was to yank you by it and check the underside, he would see his initials embroidered. He knows you left it loose on purpose, you have requested for the entire relationship to pick out and tie his ties for him, he knows you can make it tighter. Everything is utterly loose, for lack of a better word. The top button is undone, the tie isn't completely tucked under the collar, the slit of your skirt is not where it should be. It's a play at looking professional that you and him both know is just a test to see how long it takes for him to crack and rush you both home. At first, he's willing to play ball because you always crack first, but today, however, you decided to be serious about your productivity. He tries to focus, he really does, but after a while the clicking of your heels becomes too hypnotic, the fake attempts at adjusting your tie begin to pile onto the sexual frustration, and you lean over one too many times, giving him a good whiff of your perfume and oh you went with a red bra to match his red tie. He waits for Jayce to leave the room, slamming the book he was 'reading' shut as he lets out a very aggravated breath. "I want my shirt back." Cut and dry, his hand flipping the tie you're wearing to confirm that is indeed his. You smirk, and he would feel the need to wipe it off your face had it not been for the fact that he swallowed his pride hours ago after his hard on became too much to ignore. "You want it back now? Right here." And you're already slipping off the other buttons and he contemplates whether it's worth it to barricade the door with the table to buy you more time or be rational and tell you to stop. "Had I known you planned on being a whore today, I wouldn't have invited you over." You pout as he pulls the knot of his tie, grabbing your hands to bind your hands. "But don't I look pretty, Vik?" He rolls his eyes. "You look magnificent, love."

☼Mel☼

☼Like Ekko, she isn't a stranger to sharing clothes with you. Even if it's not hers, she has an exact replica tailored just for you. This being said, she loves playing dress up with you with her clothes. Anytime she needs to clear out her closet or has an article of clothing she doesn't know how to feel about or just gets bored, she'll call you to wherever she is and request you be her doll for a little bit.

Though you had been in Mel's closet for what had to have been hours at this point, you couldn't really complain. Never had you felt more pampered in your life, tens of gowns, trousers, and blouses gracing your skin as you twirled on the platform in Mel's closet as she analyzed the garment from every angle. Now you stood in something white and flowy, the sleeves long, the bodice double lined for winter weather, the hemline off the shoulders and trimmed with fur, the bottom thick and heavy. "What do you think lovey? Do you think it's too on the nose, you know I've never been the biggest fan of fur." Her hand feels across your chest, dusting off where some of the fluff had fallen and rubbing the soft material in her hands. "I don't see you in fur, it's too much of your mother's thing, but I do think it's nice. The lining is really nice on the skin, sorta has a fleece feel to it." She nods, moving her hands along your waist to connect with the silver zipper. She clucks her tongue. "Would I be silly to not wear it because the zipper isn't gold. I know it's a miniscule detail, but I really don't do silver." You chuckle as you look around her closet, a room larger than the bedroom you grew up in filled with racks of clothes that had some sort of golden sheen, be it from the color of the fabric, some sort of metallic accent, or a reflection from the general vibe of the room. "My love, you have so many clothes in here I doubt you would wear it regardless." She smiles. "Are you getting tired of this." You hesitate, which is plenty answer enough for her. You had been standing for hours at this point, and your back was starting to ache from how straight your back had been. "Do you have it in you for just one more. I promise, it'll be quick." She already has it out of the box, a very small party dress that you had never seen her wear before. "I bought it months ago but have been going back and forth between whether or not it would look better on me or you." Of course, you oblige, and she giggles as she zips you out of the dress, carefully sliding it off until the fabric pools around your nearly naked body. Her tunnel vision is briefly abandoned as her movements slow, lingering over the curves of her body, her fingernail tracing tiny hearts on the skin of your chest. "I know I say this every time, but you truly do look beautiful out of everything. Undressing you may be my favorite part of this." You playfully roll your eyes. "Stop being a flirt and just zip me into the dress, I want lunch."

[byfulcrums]

been rewatching rtte

toothless is called T multiple times, but the letter T doesn't exist in the alphabet of this world

i think hiccup was also called H???

hiccup went to the wedding of the man who tried to kill him and his family multiple times. no wonder he thought he could change drago's mind

snotlout is canonically a theater kid

"you're so small and cuddly" "please never say that again"

the twins are really smart, but they're also just stupid

hiccup straight up disappears when he's working on something

heather had a super noticeable crush on astrid

fishlegs got a love interest!! a plus size main character actually has a cool, badass love interest!

it was super hetnormative but it was cute

there was an island full of flying women who were implied to regularly commit cannibalism

hiccup taught all the riders how to fly with toothless, that's so sweet

everyone is a flat earther except for the twins

hiccup almost directly killed a lot of people

and killed a LOT more when destroying their ships

“scalding– cal..ding--" "toothle, plama bla!" was pretty much the funniest part of the entire series

dagur was bullied as a kid by a guy 8 years older than him who literally tattooed an imagine of him beating up little dagur in his arm??? What was that all about

actually we need to talk about how messed up everything about dagur is and about how the things that could've/did happen(ed) to him may be the reasons why he's Like That

just why was he imprisoned by the outcasts??? he didn't do anything to them directly

oof my brain is spiraling. "he loved you" "ig now we'll never know" what do you mean he didn't know if his dad loved him

there's a technically musical episode

tuffnut became hiccup's defense attorney and immediately got him the death sentence

hiccup regularly jumps off cliffs

he also jumped off a boat, with his arms tied and without toothless. just where did he think he was going

snotlout's annoying attitude is actually because spitelout pressures him too much and he feels like he has to be perfect for his dad :((

THE 'HICCUP'S EVIL MIRROR' VILLAIN THEME DONE RIGHT YESS!!!

viggo is the best httyd villain change my mind (you can't, swords at sundown, you may bring backup but i will win on my own)

skrill comeback skrill comeback SKRILL COMEBACK!!!!

"COMEEE TO DADDY"

what is a boar pit???

oh my god i had missed this series so much. it has no right to be this funny

this was my childhood. it has forever shaped the way i am

berserker heather the unhinged >>>

actually good disability rep! yay

hiccup complains about his peg leg pinching him

he straight up cannot walk without it and it is shown many times

"well, there are the benefits of a metal leg" after it got caught in a bear trap

funny moments, like snotlout trying to steal it to use it as a weapon

the jokes!! toothless laughing at the jokes!!! hiccup being so fucking done with the twins, who are always making the jokes!

there's an episode where everyone is so sleep deprived they actually start spiraling

astrid becomes a happy go lucky girl, hugs snotlout and tells him he's handsome

the fucking mood swings snotlout got were insane

the twins were straight up just hallucinating

"i sent them to wash their dragons, how could they mess that up?" cut to heather falling on her face with a bucket full of water in her hands

fishlegs becomes so paranoid, he's yelling at everyone all the time

"don't you know the trapper's trap can trap the trapper?? ...oh gods, i must be losing it, i'm quoting dagur"

YOOOO VALKA!!!! it's so nice to see her

hiccup tried to murder dagur to stop him from getting to toothless, which is scary bc it shows just how far he's willing to go for his bff, but also funny because hiccup. that was not going to work

oh the hiccstrid slowburn, how i have missed you

the twins's made up language

there was a beach episode turned murder mystery and a musical episode held at gun point

hiccup has a whole little speech that he periodically gives astrid to remind her that the twins serve a purpose

[bodhiscurls]

run for the hills. ( garrick tavis )

the way you touch me, straight to the heart it cuts me. i know deep down it's never ever going to be us. (based on the tate mcrae song!) you knew it was dangerous to fall in love with garrick tavis and you did it anyways, you should've known it was never going to be you when it has always been her. part of 'garrick week' day 7 - free @empyreanevents

pairing: garrick tavis x fem! reader, implied garrick tavis x imogen cardulo

themes: angst, swearing (not a lot), fighting (but you're decent at it)

he pulled you in with that easy grin, those dimples that popped like two holes sucking you in and once you slipped you fell hard.

"boo," he whispers in your ear and makes you jump slightly, hand going to steady your heart. you've bonded to a dragon, you can move mountains with your mind and yet a certain gentle giant was the one thing that can catch you off guard.

you pace yourself after a moment and get ready to scold him to which he returns with a loud laugh, "didn't catch you this morning?" you ask lightly. he didn't usually stay the night often, but some nights when the two of you were so wrapped up in each others embrace, tangled into the mess of sweet nothings he stayed. you slept to the sound of his rising heartbeat as he held your frame close and it felt so perfect.

so perfect that you forgot about all the other times, he'd slip free into the thick of the early morning. the first few times it didn't bother you, this wasn't anything serious and he made sure you knew that going into this situation. then he started staying the nights, starting searching for you in a sea of cadets in the food hall and looking at you a little bit more meaningful, like something had softened in him and it melted you to your core.

oh was that warmth dangerous.

"just something xaden needed," he shrugs off and the tone of indifference is hard to ignore. it sets into the pits of your stomach and lingers there a little too long. it was always something on the nights he didn't stay, but never enough to warrant an actual reason and if you didn't know any better it felt that he didn't trust you enough to know the real reason. like he gave you the key to his heart but you still had to knock to enter.

you bite your lip and his gaze narrows down on you, eyes sharp in focus. "hey hey hey beautiful," he whispers, finger tracing your lip where your teeth had left a small pink indent. "whats wrong?"

his tone is too gentle that you hardly recognise that dirty footprints it leaves on your mind. you match his ambigous tone, deciding that this morning was not the morning to get into it. "nothing," you let a small smile rise and press a soft kiss to his lips. "meet me for dinner?" deflection, at its finest.

"sure thing, doll," his lazy drawl comes and flips butterflies in to your stomach all over and you forget the reason why you were ever apprehensive with this almost relationship in the beginning. and then he disappears into the crowd of cadets, throwing a wink over his shoulder and blowing a kiss to the wind.

dinner doesn't come, or it tries to but it's an hour too late and not the way you imagined.

"garrick, wha-" you immediately stand from the wall you've been sitting on for the past sixty minutes. the dining hall closed and to save face from embarrassment of being stood up by the infamous bachelor of bagsiath you decided you'd rather starve than face the smug stares of 'i told you so' from your squad.

he crushes you into a kiss, lips enveloping yours. it comes fiercely and quite aggressively, that you pull back in confusion. your brows furrow and knot with an anger that has enhanced since seeing him. he tries again, this time softer with a small peck to the inner corner of your lips and you stand there dazed. sorry's are mumbled into your skin as he works his way around your face.

"am i fucking missing something?" you scowl, pulling away from him and setting a reasonable amount of distance between the two of you. the chill of the night settles in the middle especially now that the warmth of his skin is missing from yours.

he sighs, eyes apologetic. "i'm sorry baby, i got so caught up in training i couldn't leave."

"you couldn't leave?" you ask slowly and at least he has rhe decency to look bashful. "why do i get the feeling you're not telling me the truth," and if your long awaited question has caught him off guard, he fails to show it.

"why would i hide anything from you?" he looks offended, expression suddenly stiff and guarded. a million thoughts race through your head.

because i'm not marked, because i don't know the pain you've been through. because you've never told me anything about yourself. because you've ran through girls quicker than you've fallen off your dragon and gotten the chance to get back up. and somehow, you've lasted longer than them all by a whopping four months- not that you're counting.

he senses you're deep in over your head and attempts to drag you back out to the present. to where you are now, to him and you. "hey, hey, look at me," he whispers. "i got caught up training and i missed this meal with you. i'm not hiding anything from you, i'm sorry okay?" he holds your hands and stares into your soul.

"okay," its bitter on your tongue but that's what it'll have to be. it's always been this way and it will most likely always be this way because in some oddly weird way you're in love with garrick tavis- and you'll swallow a million okays if it means you'll get pieces of him to yourself, even if its never the whole.

"okay," he whispers back, eyes glinting with a cheeky grin. "now what do you say we get out of here and get some dessert?" the question is dangerous and it dangles in the air. if you're brave enough you'll let it stay there and walk away. but you act with your heart and not your head, letting him whisk you away to his bedroom where only the walls will hear how much he loves you back.

you wake up to an empty bed again and it doesn't surprise you. it doesn't anger you but waters a tree of sadness planted in your chest. you collapse back into his sheets, the smell of him is all over you right now. it's in the air, it's in your hair and on your skin, it's suffocating that you work your signet to move a fresh pair of clothes to you immediately, changing rapidly and running for a breath of fresh air.

you barrel into ridoc on the way back to your room, crashing right into his chest. "can't talk, gotta go," you rush out, back on your feet again darting for your room. the steps are outlined in your brain- it's the only thing you're sure of right now the facts. the facts are that you need to shower, scrub yourself clean, you need to eat, you need to refuel, you need to not be so fucking stupid and make the same mistakes over and over again.

"yn, wait," ridoc calls out and you love your friend you really do but right now you just need a moment to yourself.

you reach your door in an instant, re-warding the entrance as soon as its safe and head straight for the shower. the warm water sends a rush down your bare skin and you scrub away the remenants of last night. you couldn't do this anymore, you think slowly. how long were you going to keep letting him make you feel like pure shit?

but he doesn't, your heart argues. he wasn't this way with anyone else before. you've changed him, you're different, you can fix him if you hold out for a little longer. a silent sob escapes you and you catch it in your hands, holding yourself upright against the cool tiled walls. training is in half an hour and you need to be ready to face actual people. with one last rush of water over your head you reach the surface. it's going to be okay.

it must clearly be your day because when you're called to the mat it is imogen cardulo who stands opposite you. your mind falters at the sight of her and fuck, you think. she's even more gorgeous up close. you know her as a close friend of garrick, and you can count on your fingers the number of times you've been jealous of the pink haired rider who's glare could cut you in half.

you fight, and she's a touch quicker than you. she fights with the edge of someone who's been taught that if you're sharp enough she'll never get cut. and you fight with the strength of someone who constantly has something to prove. she lunges out and knocks a punch into your jaw sending you back a metre with a giant ugly bruise and you retaliate in anger, racing at her and knocking her off her feet entirely.

she grapples and turns you over, you fight for dominance and flip her back over. she's in your hair and then in your ear. "you fight well for his little past-time," and its evil the way her voice seethes and bubbles at your insides. it throws you off for a second at how smug she is and what is that you detect ... jealousy? and thats all she needs. a single second to wrap you in a chokehold and youre confronted with the decision to yield.

gone is all your shame and air from your lungs as you heave out a deep breath. she stands to her feet and brushes you off as if you were just an inconvenience, an obstacle and you roll off the mats slowly and rise to your feet with the help of ridoc.

"bitch," he mutters and you don't hear the curse slip from your friend's lips because you're too focused on anothers.

garrick tavis stands in front of imogen cardulo, his gaze assessing her intently with a certain fondness in his eyes. a fondness you notice in a heartbeat because that's how he used to look at you- or how he looked at you on those specific nights he bared his soul for you to borrow.

he looks as though he might hug her if she didn't look as though she was going to bite her, a scowl etched on to her face. she grits her teeth, says something you can't quite catch and pivots. most likely on her way to the healers.

you do however catch the end of his sentence, "i'll meet you for dinner, you need to fuel up and recharge, tomorrow we train again." and it boils your blood. you step out of ridocs hold and into his direction and garrick stops when he sees you.

as if on some weird twisted instinct he reaches out, itching to cradle your bruised jaw but you visibly flinch and recoil back in disgust.

"you're a fucking joke," you whisper at his cruelty- so that's where he's fucking been and that's who he's chosen to run to. you had been bloodied and bruised and in confirmation of one thing; garrick tavis couldn't even love you at your lowest. you'll always be a second afterthought in his mind and it pains you, especially when he stands at the centre of your universe.

"yn baby-"

"don't call me that," you growl, suddenly aware of your spine. you wince and he reaches out for you again, steadily met with your shoved step backwards. "now i know where your priorities lie and who's clearly good enough to actually be respected and included in your plans," you seethe. "don't fucking talk to me again."

you shove at his chest and he tries to grab your wrist.

"i love-"

"don't you dare finish that sentence," and you let your palm swipe right across his face. it's an act of defiance, youre a cadet who's just assaulted a section leader. the repercussions could be dangerous; yet standing in the shame of your own heartbreak was the worst of them all.

"you don't get to do that. that's not fair

you don't get to use that against me, not when you've never loved me the way i've been loving you. you know something garrick? i pity you," something in your gaze softens ever so slightly that it stills him for a second. "you can't love someone you can't trust, you can't love someone you hide, i dont think you are even capable of loving anyone but yourself," you whisper to him.

he's stunned in silence and you feel triumph rush to your aching temples. you need to get yourself to a healer and fast.

"you're both fucking idiots if you don't realise the way you are with each other and i don't think you're smart enough to realise this yet but when the time comes and you find yourself willing to love someone clearly special to you," you jerk your head in the direction of imogen, no doubt her ears are probably picking up on your conversation. "i hope you have better luck with her or better yet, i hope she runs for the fucking hills like i should have," a scoff leaves your mouth and you get ready to turn and leave.

you've said what you had to do and slowly you'll make your peace.

he reaches out again with a desperate call to your name "yn-" but its ridoc who stops him and you could kiss your best friend right now.

"let her go," his voice is firm and strong, holding the crashing waters at bay. "it's the fucking least you could do." you dont wait to see the giant shadow leave or wait to hear the pained sigh that hits the air.

you limp slowly to the healers, slow enough that ridoc catches up to you in an instant with an arm wrapped around your weighted frame.

"thank you," you whisper and he nods in comfort.

"i've got you, hun. but thank god he stopped, i was afraid he was gonna kick my ass for a second," he breathes a sigh of relief and a laugh escapes you; shooting pain straight into your ribs.

"fuck," ridoc's eyes widen. "it's okay." and for once, you actually believe that it is or at the very least, it will be.

note: i know i said no happy ending but here, have an okay ending instead. tee hee hope u love bc i love u ! 🩷

[yandere-3-sagau]

Creator Reader With No Powers Except Plot Armor

warning(s): death, mentions of suicide, violence

Reader doesn’t have any special abilities or golden blood so they are unable to prove that they are creator.

However, they also think Teyvat is a dream or they want to go back home so they accept any punishment from the acolytes.

But any time they are going to be executed, there is some divine intervention.

They are about to be burned at the stake but it rains.

They are schedule to be hanged but the rope breaks. They try again but every rope breaks.

They decide to shoot reader with arrows but miraculously every one of them misses. Even the one aimed right at their heart ended up being blocked by a bird flying by.

They are about to be beheaded but the machine breaks. So someone tries to do it manually but lightning strikes and the character loses balance and falls.

With how many times they try to kill reader but fail without them even lifting a finger they begin to believe that they’re truly the creator.

Reader is just going with the flow, not taking anything seriously. They thought they were lucky at first with how they’re able to avoid death.

Later on after they’ve accepted them as their true creator, reader begins to feel homesick and hate Teyvat. They’re swamped with all these responsibilities and expectations that it overwhelms them.

Reader then tries to discard their title as creator. They claim that they’re an imposter and apologizes for “fooling” them. However, no one believes them. They made the mistake of calling them as an imposter once, they’re not gonna make that mistake again.

When that doesn’t work, reader themself tries to die. But the divine interventions that they used to think were amazing ended up sending them into a pit of despair because every attempt they tries, they fail.

They jumps off a high structure/cliff, reader lands on a bunch of water slimes that completely cushion their fall.

Reader tries to stab themself in the heart but a flying rock knocks the knife out of their hand just as it’s about to connect.

Reader tries to ingest a poisonous flower but the effects are nullified when the super rare antidote plant falls off a tree and into their open mouth when they’re unconscious.

It’s like final destination but instead of crazy things happening leading to death, it’s crazy things happening deterring death.

[777heavengirl]

the one where it's easy

sirius black x reader ! - 1,429 words masterlist bags masterlist

Sirius thought it would be easy. Easy to live with you, see your face every day, wake up, and eat breakfast with you, spend almost every waking moment by your side. He had spent his entire life crying for company, permanent company in the place he'd call home. He had it with James, but he knew it was different with you from the second you moved in together. He'd thought it would be easy. But as he stepped into your shared apartment, boots muddy and soaked to the bone, cold droplets falling from his long strands of hair, he knew. It was the hardest thing he had ever done. 

He never thought that seeing you standing, in his t-shirt he was sure you didn't even notice it was his— your laundry mixed together more often than not, in his sweater— deemed the living room jumper, would make his heart clench the way it did. Sock-clad and bouncing to the music that poured from his record player, your back was turned towards him as you cooked.

"Was it bad out? Oh—" You finally turned to look at him. His dark jacket was wet like he had jumped in the ocean, and raindrops still stained his cheeks. You couldn't help but burst out laughing, wooden spoon in hand. "Godric, you look like a wet dog—you're going to catch something, come on—" you said, putting the spoon in the bowl. The half-mixed batter could wait a couple of minutes. You pulled your wand out as he stripped the layers, the bag of your missing ingredients floating out of his hands onto the counter and his jacket dropped to the floor with a heavy, wet thud, his boots coming off soon after. 

He was still speechless, trying to swallow the lump that formed in his throat as he continued to watch you cast spells of warmth and shoo him into his bathroom to shower. Sirius was never one for shyness. The feeling that lurked in the pit of his tummy was one he did not know well, but living with you had forced him to get to know it. He felt shy around you, conscious of the way you fawned over him, of when you baked for the two of you, overly conscious when he baked something. Always wondering what you were thinking- why did you look at him that way? Warmth in your eyes, a small playful smile on your lips like you were biting your tongue from poking fun at him. He felt awfully tender, gross, and cloying in the way that he looked back at you. He wondered if you could tell he’d give you the whole world if you asked for it.

He had largely felt like he had had a half-baked coming of age. Too rushed, innocence lost too fast. Between cruciatus curses and running away. He could always feel himself tripping over the truth of his situation. Harrowing and traumatizing. But living with you had been different, soft, and generous. A home he didn't know could exist. 

He stared at his, still, unpacked trunk as he exited the shower. He didn't know how to unpack. He said he’d do it weeks ago and yet, it remained untouched. Sirius had been living between Hogwarts, excruciating moments at Grimmauld Place, and Potter Manor during the majority of his teens. So now, at 20, he did not know how to make his house a home. Sure the common areas with you were homey. He had made sure of that, he wanted to give you a home. A place to be comfortable and happy. A safe place to come back to every day. But his room, a place you never entered, a place that he himself didn't particularly love being in, stayed cold and stripped. 

He was in your room all the time, sometimes reading in your bed together, splayed over each other a mess of limbs and pillows. He’d burst in the mornings when you struggled to get out of bed, jumping in your bed until you stirred away and shooed him off so you could get ready. Sometimes he’d fall asleep there with you, half off the bed and often waking up sweaty and sticky in the middle of the night, his heart beating in his ears and his fingers reaching for yours unconsciously. 

On the worst nights, when he could hear his mother’s viscous drawl in the back of his mind and his muscles tensed with the ghost of pain, he’d let himself succumb to the urge to curl around you. His fingers intertwined with yours, his head buried between your torso and the bed, and every time— every single time he did this— you’d pull him close in your sleep. 

But you never went into his. You never lay with him on his dark sheets, you don't knock or open his door. You knock from your own room, only a wall between you, or call out from some corner of your small apartment and he goes wherever you call. Sirius tries to dissolve the knot that forms at his throat when he thinks of the fact that your lack of presence in his room probably meant you didn't feel the same, you didn't have his need to seek the other out, to be with him every minute of every day. 

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye as he walked out of his room, his wet hair now washed and combed back. The tips of his black hair are still dripping onto his shoulders, and he smells like the perfume you got him last Christmas, wood sage, and sea salt. He always asks you if you can smell the lemon basil note, you never know what he’s talking about. But you hope that it's what you smell when he passes behind you, his touch gentle as his hand touches briefly on the small on your back to grab the chocolate chips and then proceeds to pour the whole bag into your batter. You don’t complain.

You hate the glimpse you catch of his room when you glance towards his open door, the coldness of the room taunting you— everything still barren and packed. Like he might leave any minute like he couldn’t even bother to take his belongings out. 

“Help me to pour it into the mold?” your voice was soft and quiet, Sirius’s most mellow vinyl playing in the background. Sirius nodded and took the bowl from your hands, you couldn't help but watch him as he did so. 

Scary, carefree, ever so reckless Sirius Black, combed and bathed and warm, baking brownies and taking a picture of them through the window of the oven door. With his checkered pajama bottoms and the plain white cotton shirt that rode up to reveal slivers of his torso when he moved his arms. Soft and pliable as he puts the film camera down, turning towards you to pull you into his arms. He hummed as he swayed the both of you, you never argued. You didn’t complain about how the wetness of his hair dripped onto you, or how he stepped on your foot purposefully, to get a rise out of you, a small chuckle leaving his lips as you stepped on him in retaliation.

No, you didn't complain, not about the pack of cigarettes he had left on your kitchen island even though you hate it when he smokes, or the jacket that soaked the floor of your entrance and no doubt had another pack of cigarettes soaked and mushy. You ignored the thoughts of him leaving and the way your stomach stirred thinking about what it could mean that he kissed the top of your head as you danced. Or when he kissed your cheek, one hand cupping the other side of your face, before leaving your arms to check on the oven. You certainly did not think of his unpacked bags, the three missed calls you had from your father, or the fact that you were waiting to hear back from a job interview.

You see a flash out of the corner of your eye and turn to see Sirius. Another flash goes off, as an unapologetic smile creeps up his lips. He always likes catching you off guard when he takes pictures. Nothing else matters right now, life is easy like this.

You try to not think of anything at all, anything but him and the brownies, and the shitty soap opera you’d watch while curled up together on the couch.

[007reid]

hi aine! i love how you write spencer sooo much so i have a short request

i would looove sub/virgin spence where he’s been touch starved so he’s really sensitive and whiny but reader praises him and guides him through it

-🌹

hi rose 🌹 for one of my favorite asks ive ever gotten, i did a horrible job on this one so im so sorry ml 💔and sorry for the wait too...hope this is somewhat worth it😭enjoooyy!!

virgin. spencer reid

pairing: sub virgin!spencer reid x experienced fem!reader. 1k

summary: exactly what the req says

warnings: whining, loss of virginity, riding, creampie, nun too extravagant. yu like the picture?😏😏

"y/n...y/n!" spencer's crying, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes but he's moaning, humming his whines into your neck.

"easy, baby boy," you croon, slipping out of him and slowly lowering yourself on his cock again. spencer's pawing at you desperately, like he's never felt such a thing before.

it's because he hasn't. it’s exciting, being in a relationship with spencer; it’s exciting touching him and seeing him jump or freeze and then melt into your touch. he’s pristine, like a shiny trophy, untouched—touch starved and so unfamiliar to the idea of physical touch or intimacy.

"'s too much," he whimpers pathetically, voice halfway stuck in his throat. "can't, can't--"

"relax, spence," you murmur, pushing back the pieces of hair, damp with sweat from his face. spencer's eyes are squeezed shut, eyebrows furrowed like he's in pain or he's deep thought. you're not to sure which one. your hips continue snapping into his. "look at me baby." it takes a while, but spencer slowly peels his eyes open. they're glossy and his eyelashes are wet, and you're listening out for the word from him to stop but it never comes.

"y/n--" he gasps, right as your pussy clenches tightly around him. his eyes close again. spencer's breathing heavily, little hng, hng, hng's falling out his puffy lips. the sloppy sound of skin slapping against skin and spencer's whines and your quiet moans and the smell of sex clouds the room.

"you're okay," you reassure him, voice shaky trying to soothe spencer's nerves while trying to soothe your own. spencer's big and he practically splits you in half, the tip hitting the little button inside you that makes you want to scream without any maneuvering. he's not even trying, propped up against the bedpost as you ride him, hands pliant at your hips, the little slick of your wetness every time you lift yourself from him absolutely filthy. you lift his chin and he falls forward, planting a miss-aimed kiss at your jaw.

"you feel so good," he bambles. "so warm. i love you. feels so good but so much y/n, i--" he moans, cock pulsating inside you. his thumb flicks at your perky nipples.

"'m so full of you," you say, burying your face in his hair and wrapping your arms around him, trying to get as close as possible. "fuck. make me feel so good. my best boy,"

"best boy," spencer repeats eagerly with a soft little hitch of his voice. the tears resume. "y/n i can't it hurts, stomach hurts y/n please--"

you immediately know what he meant, and fasten your pace, hands on the base of his cock to make sure he won't slip out of you. spencer slides into you easily, your pussy stretched and wet for him and his fingers dig deep into both sides of your waist. spencer's moans cease and his hips starts bucking up to you, arms wrapping around your torso and he wouldn't stop talking. "gonna, think im gonna cum, yn please dont stop it feels so good, fuck!"

"cum in me," you coo, feeling that familiar buzz at the pit of your stomach too. "you got it. cum in me spence, so good for me, such a good boy,"

spencer's sobbing as he cums, warmness blooming at your core as he unloads his cum inside you. you follow suit, pressing at the sensitive nerves bundles at your clit, thighs shaking from the weight of your orgasm. spencer's shaking too, tears shiny on his rosy cheeks and you ride the both of you off your orgasms, the sweat on your skin cooling.

spencer's cum leaks outside the puffy walls of your pussy and down your ass when you pull off of him, pressing yourself at spencer's side and curling your body towards him. his chest is rising and his lips are parted. you watch your boy carefully, how his eyelids starts drooping as his breathing mellowed out. you should've saw it coming that spencer reid is the kind of man to get sleepy after sex.

but you've known him for long enough to know that spencer's mind never stops running, not when he's sleepy, not when he's asleep, not ever. "penny for your thoughts?"

he turn to you, smile debauched and eyes like marbles. he throws the sheets over the both of you and find your hand underneath the blanket, bringing it to his lips. "'m so grateful for you yn," he whispers like he's telling a secret. you strain your ear to listen. "so grateful. luckiest man alive. i love you. love you," spencer takes a long blink, and you know he's drifting off. you smile widely, so endeared. he weaves your fingers together. "i'll make it up to you. swear. after this. i swear."

spencer never speaks in choppy sentences, never speaks unless he's got the entire sentence planned out in his head and now he's babbling on like someone whose speech he would correct. amused, you reach out, smoothing down his hair with gentle fingers. "sleep, spencer," you say affectionately. he never needs to be told twice either, apparently, because his eyes flutter shut and he's out like a light, but fingers still tightly intertwined in yours underneath your blanket.

you'll just have to wash the sheets tomorrow.

[tinygrove]

Decent Man Pt.1

The second part

Pairing: Cregan Stark/fem!reader

Author's Note: I've decided to split this into 2 parts just to give myself a chance to work on the ending but I was eager to get something written. This is the first fanfiction I've wrote, or at least posted on this account so I hope it's not too bad.

Summary: You're newly wed to Lord Stark after having only been courted for barely a month. Although the anxieties of having to perform as a 'royal' wife start to eat at you, Cregan proves to be a decent husband.

You must have done it, how else would you be alone in his chambers. Blocking out all the noise and going through the motions would only get you so far. You couldn’t even remember the vows. Lord Stark had arranged for there to be no bedding ceremony, perhaps an act of mercy. You’ve heard some lords complain they simply want their lady wives all to themselves, untouched and unspoiled. You were neither. You weren’t sure if your Lord husband was either. 

You hadn’t learned much about him during your courting, not that it lasted long. Your father practically jumped at the opportunity for a stronger alliance to the most powerful house in the North. It must have appeased Lord Stark as well, seeing how quickly he’d agreed to the marriage, it had barely taken place a fortnight after you’d met. Now though, you were in his room, none to accompany you but your ladies in waiting. A few had come with you from your own keep, or rather your fathers. And one or two had been appointed to you since coming to Winterfell to stay. You could hardly form the words to tell them you could undress yourself. Maybe it was the cloak weighing you down, making it harder to breath the harsh winter air. You let it slip off your shoulders and yet you still feel heavy, a weight in your chest and a hard lump in your throat. 

Hearing the thick wooden door swing open and shut after heavy footfalls and quick scurrying of feet made the pit in your stomach sink even lower. “Are you well?” He asked, definitely due to your silent stewing. The whole night you’ve been lost in your own thoughts. 

“Yes, I am well, thank you.” You force a courteous smile to you face, although more brief and sour than you’d intended. You figure you’ll have to do a lot more of that in the coming years. “You do not look well.” Your not sure he says so in a demeaning way, more so that he’s seen through your flimsy facade. Or maybe he’s focused on the way your hands desperately seek purchase on your gown as your eyes start to brim with tears. You can’t control it when they start to spill. 

“There is no need for us to,” He gestures between you with a sigh, trying to supplement actions for words. “consummate the marriage tonight, if you do not wish it.” He tries to search your eyes for any sort of answer but you avoid his gaze. “Did you hear-” 

“Let’s just get it over with.” You say, voice low and wavering with all it’s strength to keep it from cracking. Another stray tear falls down your cheek as you reach behind yourself for the laces of your gown but two large hands hold your arms still. 

“You truly think so little of me? That I would– Like I said, there is no need to consummate the marriage tonight.” He brings your arms out from behind your back, holding your chilled hands in his. His fingers and palms are calloused, yet his grip gentle. “I barely had a chance to court you before we wed, perhaps we might come to know each other before; that.” Your eyes flicker down to where his hands encompass yours, and he quickly recedes after catching on but strangely, you find yourself missing his warmth. 

As your eyes find his once more he continues. “I shall have a few ladies in your service prepare a chamber for you. I know you’ve not had space for your things but I assure you they’ve been taken care of. In the mean time though you’ll need to take your rest here.” He turns to make for the door and surprisingly a part of you longs for him to stay. The brief bit of kindness he’s shown to you is more than you can say for those that attended your wedding. Your father truly had not exaggerated the icy attitude of those in the North. Lord Stark however, to see his wintry exterior slowly melt away has made it almost impossible to detest him. “I will see you on the morrow, my lady.” He opens the door and a cold breeze comes over you, yet you don’t shiver, the cold only emboldens you. “Thank you, Lord Stark, for your kindness.” your voice is somewhat steady now, no longer fighting an imminent sob. He nods at your words, “Cregan will do just fine, my lady.” You’re alone now and the chill is gone. All the warmth radiating from the hearth is slowly becoming too much to bear even as it smolders to embers. The absence of your Lord husband leaves you feeling alone now, more than you’ve ever been.

[pangborns]

WOULD’VE, COULD’VE, SHOULD’VE…

God rest my soul, I miss who I used to be

tyler durden x fem!reader x the narrator (jack)

in which tyler entered your life just long enough to fuck it all up.

swearing, mentions of death, violence, panic attacks, manipulation, mean!tyler, kidnapping tbh, possible spoilers. (This may be the darkest thing I’ve written yet, so proceed with caution.)

Your shaky hand was quick to cover your mouth as the sobs poured out of you. You sat criss-crossed on the filthy mattress decorating the floor of the deteriorating home.

Admittedly, just two weeks ago you were a completely different person. You had a stable job, healthy friendships, and most importantly, no Tyler.

The night you met him, he had stopped you from calling the police on him and his friend for fighting in the parking lot outside of Lou’s Tavern. You remember his hand being so cold as it gently wrapped around your wrist. You remember the fear you felt in the pit of your stomach as you looked between the two bloodied men, the flush of your cheeks as they both gauged your actions, and the way you ultimately stopped your movement toward the pay phone. That was your first mistake.

“What’s your name?” Tyler questioned, he tilted his head a bit. You looked around him, watching as the man he was fighting spit out a wad of blood, he was still on the ground. Tyler stepped in front of your line of view. “Your name?”

“Oh- I’m, um, I’m (Y/N),” Your voice shook as you spoke to him. “I wasn’t looking to get involved with anything. I just don’t want anybody getting hurt…”

Tyler chuckled, pivoting on his foot to face his friend, “Y’hear that? She doesn’t want anybody to get hurt,” He was mocking you. The man behind him still didn’t say anything, he seemed lost in thought as he stared at you.

Wait a minute, you knew this man…“Jack?” You spoke incredulously, you did know this man! He worked a few cubicles down from you.

Tyler’s eyes widened, he whistled and fell back a few steps. “Jack’s got a friend,” Tyler continued his trek toward Jack, kneeling beside him. “Now, how do we know this woman, Jack?”

Jack seemed to try to stutter out an answer, his eyes were blown wide. His whole life could fall apart due to this very encounter, you could run off and tell everybody what you had stumbled upon. You could get him fired. His breathing calmed as he became lost in thought, you wouldn’t do that. You were only the woman who worked down the aisle from him, the one that asked him for paperclips as an excuse to interact, the one who emailed him the work he missed out on while he was sick, the one who so obviously had a work crush on him.

Your face was white at the realization, Tyler lowered his voice as he spoke into Jack’s ear, the two still watching you. Your work heels clicked as you started to back away, not failing to recognize how Tyler seemed to let you.

“C’mon man, she’s leaving you. She doesn’t care. She’ll probably run off and tell everybody about how much of a loser you are. What kind of guy stages fights in a run down parking lot-?” Tyler continued to egg Jack on, watching as his buddy’s face contorted.

“Wait!” Jack called out, stopping you in your tracks. “This is- he’s my friend, Tyler.” You released a small breath you were holding as he admitted that he really did know the man.

You nodded, muttering assurances to both yourself and Jack. Feigning a laugh, you started to turn around to leave for good.

“Don’t leave,” Jack pleaded, shakily standing up. “Let me- do you want to come over? To our place?”

You furrowed your brow. Our place. Was Tyler his roommate? “Why?” Your words came out shaky as you fiddled with your coat.

Jack grew quiet, he didn’t know why he extended the invitation. He poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue in thought.

“- we just moved in! Jack’s been eager to show it off to everybody we meet!” Tyler jumped in, patting Jack on the back extra hard as he stood up beside him.

You looked down at your dainty watch and read the time: 11:28. You stayed at work extra late today to pick up on Jack’s slack, so you weren’t too fond of any idea that didn’t include going home and sleeping.

“I don’t know, Jack. I’ve been working all day-“ Jack closed his eyes and hurriedly nodded, murmuring to himself. You opened your mouth to speak again, but Tyler was quick to cut you off.

“You heard her, Jack. She doesn’t care,” he smirked, throwing a wink your way. “She probably only puts up with you for her own personal work gain.”

The way he so openly spoke lies was incredulous. It didn’t even sound convincing! But from the look on Jack’s face, he so clearly believed those words. You furrowed your eyebrows, anger starting to settle in the pit of your stomach.

“That’s not true! Jack, don’t listen to him.” You demanded, stepping closer to the pair.

“Prove it.” Tyler stated curtly, tilting his head as he challenged you.

And that was how you ended up here, two weeks later, sitting in a decaying house surrounded by rats and roaches. The light pooling in from under the door was slightly blocked as a pair of shoes stood in front of the door. With a click and a creak, the door opened.

“Jack.” You addressed the man, watching as his hands shook while holding the tray of food. He refused to make eye contact with you, simply setting the tray by his feet and turning to leave. 

A sob escaped your chapped lips. “Jack, he’s a criminal. We need to get out of here.” You continued to plead. The man finally looked at you through his lashes. He gulped.

You could hear the countless men downstairs talking about their newest of plans to wreak havoc. Jack cringed.

“It doesn’t work like that, (Y/N).”

Another cry came from your mouth as you deflated a bit.

“Just give up. He isn’t going to let you leave until you join the cause.”

You sputtered, throwing your arms up in frustration. “Never! These are bad people, Jack.”

Jack pursed his lips, nodding a bit as he made his exit. The door shook as he stepped down the hall towards the stairs.

You screamed, pounding your fists against the floor. “Dammit, Tyler! Let me out!”

Your voice eventually grew hoarse and you had to give up. About fifteen minutes after your tantrum, you could hear the precise approaching footsteps of Tyler Durden.

The door cracked open and Tyler slipped in. “Heard you were giving Jack a hard time.” He tsked, not wasting a moment on a greeting.

You kept your mouth shut, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

“Huh.” He nodded, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. A chuckle escaped from his amused smile. “I got all day, sweetheart.”

Your lip quivered as you fought back the tears. “I’m not joining your shit club.” You spit, eyebrows furrowing.

Tyler merely hummed. “C’mon hun, do it for Jack.” He teased. “Poor guy is in love with you or something! This is killing him, Princess.”

You reeled back at the nickname, cringing at his smirk. “I am going to get out of here one day. On my own accord. This shit hole will be crawling with cops in no time, Tyler. Mark my words.”

Tyler simply laughed at your threat. The thought seemed to amuse him, he lightly tapped your cheek before making his way for the door.

“Trust me, that won’t be happening.”

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Hi! For the bingo: Daemon Targaryen & courting?

Mirror (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Warnings: Targaryen reader. Mature situations. Mature language. A bit of angst, incest, and innocence kink.

Summary: Courting. Daemon’s version.

A/N: Everyone who writes Daemon fics has tackled this trope. I missed oneshots so bad.

There was little King Viserys wouldn’t do for his lovely daughters. During your childhood, there were two of everything. Two Septas, two dolls, two play daggers. For as long as you have been alive, there have been efforts made to make things fair.

No doubt, it was the legacy of your mother. Your father was nice enough, but you doubted he had the foresight to try to avoid sibling rivalry. Queen Aemma’s influence had been greatly missed after her passing.

It had been then when the problems between you and Rhaenyra had started. Your relationship had gotten even more rocky when she was named heir. The situation had turned so bad, even your father had noticed. And just as if it were one of his models, he had demanded perfect symmetry in all aspects.

The same rooms. Same number of servants. Same number of dresses you were allowed to own. An even split of your mother’s jewels.

Unfortunately, there were things not even King Viserys could fix. This was one of them, you thought, as you sat on one of the rails of the dragon pit.

Daemon and Rhaenyra race on their dragons in the open sky right above you. They shriek in laughter and shout things in High Valyrian. You are not sure which you resent more. Rhaenyra, for dragging you along with the promise of tending to Syrax or Daemon for interrupting your time with your sister.

It seemed as if all you did was fight now. The occasion where you did not was rare, and so, intrusion on it was not welcome. But at the same time, you can’t help but wonder if Rhaenyra is playing a cruel trick on you, dragging you here so you can see what you are missing.

Despite your best attempts at keeping yourself calm, you can’t help but feel rage bubble up in your throat. Rage, and a deep sense of failure. You had heard even Laena Velaryon, younger than you, had managed to claim a dragon. Was this why your father had chosen Rhaenyra to be heir and not you?

It felt cruel, and hurtful. Not only did your uncle always pay more attention to Rhaenyra, but now you had to watch them do things you couldn’t do. Go where you couldn’t follow, and made you watch them go.

They dismount a few feet away from you. With them, comes all the hassle and fretting of the dragon keepers. Caraxes always takes a long time to settle after going flying, and so, you relax in your seat. You hope enough time might go by, they forget about your existence and you can slip out unnoticed. It would save you the embarrassment of having to hear them flirt and tell you everything as if you were a child.

No luck for you today, though. You smell it before you see it. Sweat, leather and the unmistakable stink of dragon. Your nose scrunches up, and you jump off the railing just in time to avoid your uncle’s ruffling of your hair.

Rhaenyra snickers a little. Despite the dragon ride, she looks as royal and regal as ever. It’s a feat you admire and despise greatly.

“Trying to sneak up on me?” You frown. You don’t need any further embarrassing. Being startled and falling into the mud would have been just the cherry on top.

Daemon ignores you, tugging on your braid.

“No dragon yet?”

“No.” Your answer it’s harsh, and perhaps a bit rude, but this feels as if they are targedly mocking you. Daemon raises his eyebrows, looking on the edge of apologizing, if such a thing it’s even possible for him. Rhaenyra, more used to your moods, just rolls her eyes.

“Let her be, Kepa.” She whispers, as if you are not there. “She is always like this.”

“Pouty?” Daemon tilts your chin up with two fingers. You jerk your head away, glaring daggers at him.

“Bitter.” Rhaenyra speaks, and you glare at her instead. You do not understand why she is so mean, lately. Her being named heir has not done anything good for your relationship, but you had tried your best to play nice. She didn’t seem to care.

“I can hear both of you.” You complain, but they just laugh. Angrily, you stomp off.

You feel too jittery to go back to your chambers. It would make you more angry, if you were to go inside the castle so soon. It’s too pleasant of a day to be spent cooped up at the Red Keep. Too preoccupied with your thoughts, you don’t notice someone is following you.

Your feet lead you to the training yard. It makes sense, in a way. This is where you have been coming the past few months when the castle got too small to house both you and Rhaenyra.

Early in the morning as it is, the yard is empty. Save for your sworn shield, of course. While Rhaenyra had gotten Ser Criston Cole, handsome and dornish, you had gotten Ser Harwin Strong. Riverlander, just as handsome and with a clear infatuation with your sister.

But kind. Unbearably so.

“I figured your meeting with the Princess would not go as planned.” He explains, as he helps you out of your cloak and jewelry. Ser Harwin helps you put on some protective gear before handing you a wooden sword.

He has been teaching you swordplay for the past few months. Not so much for self-defense, but as a way to curb your more violent impulses. When you feel like you might throttle Rhaenyra or perhaps smother her with a pillow, you come to him.

It's good. You have not learned a lot, but there is something utterly satisfying about hitting someone as hard as you can. With wooden swords and against Ser Harwin, you know there is no real possibility of hurting him. He is much taller and stronger than you.

There is also something satisfying about blocking his blows, too. In the smacking sound, in the effort it takes. You understand why men enjoy battle so much, finally. When you walk away, you are always sore and bruised, but your mind is finally quiet.

“I have just resigned myself to an arranged marriage.” You say to Ser Harwin, as you block his sword with great effort. “All the men in the court are panting after her, it’s no use.”

And you do think you are on the right, this time. Too often, you feel overshadowed by her, and seeing your uncle and Ser Harwin on the same day just confirms it. You have no chance at finding true love, not when every man here only has eyes for her.

You didn’t necessarily were a romantic person, but a bit of attention would be nice. Feeling desired and admired in the way Rhaenyra was. They even called her the Realm’s delight, for Gods’s sake.

“Are they after her? Or her tittle?” Ser Harwin tries to disarm you. You hit harder, a low blow aimed to his ribs that he avoids with little effort.

“You tell me.” You pant, a little out of breath. It was something you frequently wondered yourself, but never about him. Ser Harwin clearly wasn’t hoping to be King. What he wanted was something much more carnal. You had seen the way his eyes trailed Rhaenyra’s figure when they were together in a room. He appreciated her personality, perhaps, but he clearly wanted to bed her.

You loved teasing him about it. For such a big man, he could sure get sheepish.

“Fair.” Ser Harwin chuckled, raising his wooden sword again. You liked that he was very good-humored. He didn't mind your teasing. “But think of the bright side. If someone is after you, they are really after you.”

You frowned. He had a point, you supposed. If a man were about to pursue you, it might be because you are a Targaryen, or because of your valyrian looks. But never because of the Iron Throne. With baby Aegon existence, you are certain that whatever your place in the succession line is, plenty of people would have to die for you to even have a weak claim to it.

“Wise words for one so young.” The voice startles both of you. As if you were children caught with their hands in the cookie jar, you freeze. Ser Harwin even drops his wooden sword. “You should heed your knight, niece.”

“Uncle.” You answer, casually. You know Daemon. If he senses weakness, he is going to pounce. While Ser Harwin has given away already that you are not exactly doing something your father approves off, you are not going to have your Uncle thinking he has something to blackmail you with.

Daemon ignores you, choosing to attack the weak link. He tuts at Harwin.

“Poor form. And a poor trainer. Leave us.”

Harwin hesitates. He is not supposed to leave you alone and unprotected. Much less, with your uncle. Daemon it’s not known for his trustworthiness.

“With all due respect, Prince Daemon, I am not allowed…”

“Leave us, boy.” Daemon’s tone turns harsher. Channeling all the authority he has as a Prince. Now, your sworn shield can’t refuse. It’s an order, not a suggestion. But Harwin remains where he is, looking to you for approval.

Your uncle’s eyes flash dangerously at the defiance. You look at Harwin and nod. He leaves.

You twirl your wooden sword. Daemon smirks.

“Commendable.” He gives a slow clap. “Very loyal guard dog, you have there.”

“You could learn a thing or two.” You answer, vicious. The human equivalent of an animal biting down and refusing to release its jaws. By the brief look of hurt on his face, you have touched a nerve.

But soon, his expression smooths down into a vicious little smile, to match yours.

“So this is where you have been disappearing to.”

“So?” You ask, all nonchalance.

“Feisty.” Your uncle kicks Harwin’s discarded wooden sword away and unsheathes his. Whatever this is, it’s long overdone, you realize. You are bouncing with pent-up anger and frustration.

Daemon strikes at you, hard. The flat side of his sword hits your ribs. It hurts even with the protections Harwin makes you wear, a dull sting on your torso.

“If this was a real fight, you would be dead.” His tone is smug. You cannot take it, and so, bang your wooden sword against his hip.

“And you would be unable to walk.”

Your uncle laughs, coldly. He is angry too, you realize. In that messy way he gets, sometimes. Teeth bared in a cocky grin, still high on the thrill of riding Caraxes and chasing Rhaenyra.

Despite your best attempts, you are no match for him. He is a seasoned warrior. He has been at war for the last couple of years. No amount of anger can match his technique. Soon, he has you disarmed and cornered, Dark Sister at your throat.

“Not bad. I might even bruise.” His tone drips condescension, but there is something odd going on in his face. His pupils are blown, his chest is heaving, and there is no way it’s with exertion. While you were panting and begging for a respite, Daemon hadn’t even worked up a sweat. “You need a real sword.”

“Perhaps. But then Rhaenyra gets one, and this is only mine.” It’s more honest than you would like, but you are still trying to decipherate what exactly he is feeling. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes glassy. You feel confused.

“Is that why you want a husband? To have someone only yours?” Daemon suddenly is much closer, twirling the end of your braid between his fingers.

You scoff, and push him away.

“That’s none of your concern.”

You storm inside the Red Keep, scowling. Finally, it seemed, Daemon and Rhaenyra had managed to run you off the castle’s grounds.

The encounter is barely given a second thought. You decide to keep yourself busy for the rest of Daemon’s visit to King’s Landing. Knowing him, he is due to get exiled soon. There is no point in worrying about it.

You fill up your days with activities, be it harassing some tutors, your Septa, or even visiting orphaned children in King’s Landing. That activity is one you and Ser Harwin particularly enjoy. It fills you with joy when you get to run around and play in the mud with your stern guard having no choice but to tag along. You have even caught him smiling when little girls ask to braid his hair.

Things are surprisingly calm. You would have expected your uncle to be involved in a scandal by now. Yet, there are no rumors of him bedding three whores in one sitting, nor there is an irate Otto Hightower asking your father to send him away.

Until one night, you find a jeweled sword resting on your bed. It’s small, but you can tell from the sharpness of the blade that it is made from Valyrian steel. You start training with it the next day, getting used to its weight. If Ser Harwin thinks anything of your sudden interest in doing more than hitting him, he doesn’t show it.

You are not surprised to find your Uncle waiting for you after your morning practice. At first glance, the courtyard is as empty as when you began your training. Despite it, you can’t shake the feeling that someone is watching.

Just as you are entering the Red Keep, sweaty and ready for a bath, Daemon steps out from the shadows.

“You look so grown up in riding attire.” He says, from beneath some trees. “Almost didn’t recognize you.”

“Almost didn’t recognize you, either. No scandal in nearly a month?” You start to loosen your braid, accelerating the process of getting into your bath as you walk. There is nothing you want more than to just soak in hot water and let the warmth wash away your soreness. “You must be getting old.”

“Youthfulness is in the spirit.” Daemons hurries to reach you, falling into step right beside you. You resist the urge to walk faster if only to see him struggle. Power play. Always. Push, and pull, and don’t let anyone else get the upper hand.

“Ah, that makes sense.” You slow down your steps because while you enjoy angering your uncle, you would rather not anger him too much. “You have the spirit of a child.”

“I’ll take that as the highest of compliments.” Daemon ruffles your hair, uncaring that’s matted in sweat. You make a face. “Did you like your gift?”

“Depends.” You give him a feral little grin. Your uncle looks at you, as if deciding whether he wants to bite or not. Knowing him as you do, you know he can’t stand the intrigue.

“On what?”

“How many of Rhaenyra’s necklaces you had to melt to get the sword.”

“That blade is worth at least five of her necklaces.” Daemon boasts. You give him an unimpressed look.

“Huh. Then I like it.”

“Not love it?”

“It wasn’t ten.” And with a cheeky grin, you are off towards your chambers.

You don’t see Daemon for a few days. You hear him, unfortunately. He is everywhere at once, yet never wherever you are. You know of him in the shape of rumors and hearsay.

When you go fetch yourself a tea tray in the kitchen, your uncle is in the middle of the servants. “I heard last night he was with four whores!” As you ask a maid about your sister’s whereabouts, he is her chosen companion. “Princess Rhaenyra went out to race your uncle, Princess.” And of course, when your father complains, Daemon is in the midst of it. “He insulted Otto and then walked out of the council meeting.”

Despite your wishes, your uncle starts to occupy more of your mind’s space than you would like. You keep wondering what he is up to, each rumor more outrageous than the last. You cannot help but wonder if it’s you who was prompted him to wreak such havoc. The idea of having such power over him, that an offhanded comment can cause such a reaction, makes something tingle in your stomach.

You find him next in the gardens. Alicent and Rhaenyra are fighting again, a nasty thing that soon turns into a screaming match. That's a dynamic you have stayed out of, since you had memory. While Alicent and Rhaenyra were friends, you never felt anything towards Alicent besides a slight sympathy. She seemed nice enough, but she was not your friend.

Rhaenyra and you loved in the same way, you see. Possessive, harsh. As Princesses, you never learned to share. You wanted your person to be only yours. Alicent was Rhenyra’s, and so, you stepped aside.

When she married your father, you weren’t exactly pleased. But you had the emotional detachment Rhenyra lacked, being too close to the situation. In time, you had come to understand that it wasn’t like she had a choice, either.

So, it wasn’t like you were going to break with tradition now. To avoid their screams, you had decided to pace the gardens. Daemon seemed to have the same idea because you find him sitting on a bench with a book in his hands.

“Came to join me?” He asks, voice smooth like honey.

“Rather to escape the screeching.” You sit by his side, curiously peering at the book he holds.

“A Cautionary Tale For Young Girls.” Daemon’s smirk is the only thing that gives him away, that, and the fact that the book is written in High Valyrian. “Most illuminating read. You should try it.”

You laugh, despite yourself. His lips twitch into a more genuine smile, less full of smugness and bravado.

“I was getting lonely.” You say, softly. The admission surprises even you. “You are with Rhaenyra all the time.”

Don’t go where I can’t follow, you wish to say. Don’t take her from me. My other half. But you don’t speak the words aloud, from fear of him repeating your confession. You don’t want to beg Rhaenyra for affection, not when you have been competing with her all your life.

Daemon makes a face, as if pained of what he will say next. He seems wary of hurting you. You wonder if that means he cares for you, in his own twisted way. It’s not often he worries about what others think.

“She has a dragon.” No matter how gentle the tone, it hurts anyway.

“I miss her. Not you.” But it’s a lie. You know it’s a bad pattern, and you shouldn’t miss him, but you are so used to competing for affection that Daemon has become both your rival and the one you crave. The weeks without him have been lonely and taxing. No matter if it was you who pushed him away and didn’t care to reach out after.

“I remember you two were close.” Something must change in your face because your uncle reaches toward you, gently squeezing your arm.

“We used to be. She is just… So angry, all the time. And has all these new people. Admires, prospects…” You feel like a fool. There is a deep sense of unfulfillment and being wronged yet at the same time, you know you are being unreasonable. This was always going to happen. You can’t share the Iron Throne, and she has always been your father’s favorite. Rhaenyra was always going to be the heir.

“Which one am I?”

You shrug.

“It's not like I care.” But you do. You do care, despite your best sense. Because you want to be his favorite. You have always wanted to be someone’s favorite, but Daemon has a special brand of devotion for those he cares about. You wish you could be counted on that list, lately. By the smile on his face, Daemon can probably tell. “And it's not like before she didn't have things that were only hers.”

"I thought you shared everything.” Your uncle tucks a loose piece of your hair behind your ear. You lean into the touch, closing your eyes.

“She has Alicent. Had. Still does.” You know when the time comes, Alicent will be there for Rhaenyra. They are tied together by destiny in ways Rhaenyra and you are not.

“The curse of the younger brother.” With your eyes still closed, his hand gently brushing your hair back, the words do not feel as if they are being spoken aloud. The gardens around you feel muffled, distant. Perhaps it’s the soothing touch, or the deep pang of sadness in your chest, but you do not understand what Daemon means.

“I beg your pardon?” You open your eyes, giving him a confused expression. Not only is he muttering nonsense, your uncle is much closer to you than he was before. Daemon’s forehead is nearly pressed into yours, his thumb now gently rubbing across your jawline.

“Viserys and Rhaenyra are the same.” He explains, tracing your cheekbone next. As if he is keen to learn your face from touch alone, carve it on his mind. It makes you smile slightly. The pain from mourning your innocence is very much still there, but it doesn’t feel like it’s tearing you apart. “Just as you and I are the same.”

“I…” You are not sure of what to answer. Naturally, it makes sense. You can feel it in your bones, but you can’t quite articulate the thought.

Daemon’s thumb presses against your lips in a downward motion, closing them.

“We could fly off tonight. Go to the Free cities, marry. No one would care.” His tone is fervent, urgent. Pleading with you. You keep quiet, and so does he. The silence stretches between the two of you. Your mind races.

Just as your lips flutter behind his thumb to answer the proposal, your uncle speaks again.

“We are free, you and I. But the Iron Throne chains them.”

It’s then you realize it was not a proposition, but rather an explanation of the thoughts you were unable to articulate. And perhaps it’s the sting of rejection or the deep sadness that has taken root on you since the death of your mother, but you cannot keep the words in. They come flowing, tumbling, rushing out of your mouth.

“I want to be a girl forever.” You say to him, starting to tear up. “I am not ready to be a woman.”

You are scared, you realize. No longer are you a girl playing to be a woman, dressing up in your mother’s jewels and dresses. Five years down the line, you will be married. Ten, it will be you who is a mother.

Your uncle gathers you into his arms, painfully soft. You would have never believed Daemon capable of such a tender touch.

“You can’t be innocent forever.”

“Everything is so complicated now. I just… I don’t want anything to change.”

You whisper against his neck. It’s a doomed wish. You know already it’s too late for it. No longer are you an innocent, no longer anything is the same. It will never be.

“Not all changes are bad. There can be pleasure in losing one’s innocence.” Daemon kisses your temple. “And I intend to show it to you.”

That night, the two of you sneak out of the Red Keep.

“I wanted to give you something only yours.” Your uncle says, as he leads you down the Street of Silk. Both of you are wearing rough cloaks, for discretion. You cling to his arm, afraid of getting lost in between the strange sights and smells.

There is so much to see and so much to hear. People laughing in the streets, singing, drunkards and patrons from the brothels mixing. While you are familiar with the streets of King’s Landing, you have never seen them at night. It’s both frightening and exhilarating, watching the city come to life in ways new to you.

There are no children in sight, only adults. The message that Daemon hoped to convey by bringing you here is loud and clear. You are no longer a girl, you are a woman. And so, instead of sleeping soundly in your bed as you have done all your childhood, you get to enjoy the wonders of the night.

The crowd gets even more rowdy as you pass the bigger pleasure houses and walk towards the ones that are at the end of the street. Secluded as they are, they spark your curiosity.

“Where are we going?” You ask your uncle, tugging at his arm. “Inside one of those? Why?”

“They cater to tastes that the rest do not.” Daemon comes to a stop in front of one, and takes off his hood. The woman at the doors takes one look at his hair and quickly ushers you both inside a room.

The room is bare except for a couple of chairs and a bed. You examine everything closely, noting the inferior quality of the furniture. These are not the kinds of chairs you are used to, at the Red Keep. After a while, and only when you notice no one else is hiding inside, you lower your hood. Being overly cautious never hurt anyone, after all.

“What tastes?” You squeeze Daemon’s hand. He gives you a puzzled look. “You said they cater to tastes…”

“You will see.” You are saved from the wait to know what he means by the door opening. Two servants, dressed in little clothing, step inside. Men, near your age. They are completely unique, yet similar. You get the feeling they are not simple servants, even though they serve you and Daemon goblets of wine.

You stare. You do not understand why they are not leaving.

Your uncle steps behind you, to whisper in your ear. His arms circle around your waist.

“Look at them.” He presses a chaste kiss just behind your ear. “Really look.”

So you do. One of the men is tall and strong. Almost wide. All bulging muscles. He has dark hair and light colored eyes. The other man is slightly slender, yet strong either way. He has lighter hair and a much sweeter face. They are both handsome, yet you do not understand what game Daemon could be playing.

“You wanted something only yours.” He mutters, kissing the crown of your head. He perches his chin on top of it. “Most girls, they don’t get to choose whom they lose their innocence to.”

It dawns on you then. He wants you to choose one of the men to… Well. It’s a nice thing to do, but so undeniably Daemon it hurts.

Feeling mischievous, you turn around in his grip.

“And I can choose any of the men in this room?” You smirk. Your uncle’s brows draw together, in disbelief.

“That’s the point, yes.” Daemon speaks slowly, as if explaining to someone particularly daft. Or innocent. “I’ll pay for it, don’t worry.”

“Good.” You smirk, and kiss him. You feel him smirk right back against your mouth.

[thegaysinmyhead]

Dead on Main Yandere PT 1 'Obsession'

(First part will now be labeled a prologue)

Jason had no idea what to do with the guy he saved from that warehouse-made lab. 

The white haired man was currently sprayed across the ratty couch of Jason's safe house as their chest rose and fell. The green blood had stopped falling the night before, and they hadn't even made it to the location before the skin was scabbing over. Jason watched the man sleep through the night (not in a creepy way) in shocked awe as the skin healed quickly. It was like watching a time-lapse at max speed, the skin knitting itself together and forcing Jason to remove his quickly-done stitches merely a few hours after he put them in.

Jason wondered if this man was a meta, but he knew that was wrong. No meta had ever activated the Pit, no meta especially ever talked to it. Because that’s what happened–this sleeping beauty spoke without words to him and the Pit.

The crime lord rubbed a hand down his face with a sigh, domino still placed firmly over his eyes but the rest of his face now clear. The white tuft of his hair flowed out between his still-clawed fingers, and the tips caught painfully onto knots. He had been trying to will away the sharp edges since he stumbled through the door, but his fingertips stayed stubbornly pointed. Jason let out a sigh as he turned his eyes to the unconscious angel on his couch.

Whoever this man was…he was like him. There was a warmth where the Pit sat that was calling to the freckled skin and warm green eyes. The green was like a breath caught in his throat, a chill going down his spine and forcing him to shiver. A rumble echoed from his chest, a cry to the being nearby who felt just as him. Dead on dead, like and like.

The white-haired man stirred with a groan, and Jason immediately shot up to his side.

RAGE-CONCERN-WORRY

The angel blinked like he was trying to get spots out of his eyes.

“Ancients–I feel like I got shot and run over by Skulker…” The man huffed as he slowly pulled himself to sit up, a hand clenching his head as he darted his pupils around. Jason squinted his eyes against the faint green glow now emanating from the waking meta(?).

“Didn't get shot, but you were pretty fucked up when I found you,” 

The man jumped as Jason came into view, green eyes piercing into his own blue. There was a tingle underneath his skin that was more pleasant than it wasn't, and the vigilante breathed out a sigh. The Pit churned in his chest.

“You a meta? It'd explain the floating and the green light show you're putting off,”

The man was now indeed floating, and he looked down as if he didn't even realize he was doing it. He slowly deposited himself back on the couch while eyeing Jason wearily, the green around him slowly dampening. It felt like a loss somehow. Like suddenly being pulled from a comfy blanket into the freezing cold. Jason shivered slightly, missing the warmth.

“...I'm not a meta,” The man said sheepishly, arms crossing underneath his pits as he shifted away from Jason. Shit, if this guy isn't a meta, what is he? Why were the Pits screaming down to his bones for this (unreasonably attractive) guy?

Green eyes turned his back to Jason with a flash, the tell-tale sign of heat behind his eyelids signaling his eyes mimicked the green of his guest. 

curious-safe-content

What was that? Why did Jason keep feeling things he could tell weren't his feelings? It was like the ever-present green was digging itself into his brain and translating things he didn't even know was a language.

RAGE-CONFUSION-SAFE

The angel audibly gagged.

“Dude—I've met some pretty janked liminals, but your ectoplasm is straight rancid,” The man said while dramatically sticking out his tongue.

“Like, seriously, it's like I'm sitting next to a sewer with a crocodile trying to bite at my ankles. How are you dealing with that much corruption?”

Jason blinked underneath the lenses. Ectoplasm? Was this another word for Lazarus Waters?  He feels like he should be more aggressive to someone who could supposedly smell(?) the Pit, but there was a steady stream of relaxation that had the Pit rumbling with warmth rather than anger. The Pit had never felt like this, so comfortable.

“Ectoplasm?” He murmured finally.

The man balked at him, “Ya know, the stuff I've been bleeding all over you and your couch? Very obviously green and glowing?”

Jason just continued to stare down at the white hair and freckled cheeks. There was a very obvious shuffle to move away from the glaring red lens of his mask.

“You're talking about the Pit,” 

There was a shrug.

“If that's what you guys call it on this side of the living.”

The green shifted from his chest into his throat, words on the tip of his tongue that he choked down. The fuck does this guy mean ‘this side of the living’?

RAGE-CONFUSION-WORRY

safe-comfort-hello?

Jason jerked backward as a feeling waved past him. It was like something was passing by the deepest parts of himself, gently brushing past him in his entirety –insecurities, regrets, hopes, dreams–and fully embracing them before pulling away. He suddenly felt vulnerable and stripped down; he bit back the urge to tear up.

“Dude. You have got to see a doctor about that. That cannot feel good,” The man was in front of him now, white fingerless gloves cupping his shoulder. There was the barest hint of scarring on the pale blue fingertips, and Jason wanted to simultaneously melt into the embrace and rip the hand off of him. Jason went with the safer option of ripping the hand off of him.

“I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, and if you don't start talking I'm gonna put a bullet between your eyebrows,” He growled. He pulled one of his guns from its holster and pointed it at the angel (meta? Pit Demon?). The presence around him didn't even stutter or feel afraid. 

The man backed up, but seemed more amused than anything. His hands shot up in a placating motion but he was obviously not worried. There was something like a laugh tickling in the back of his mind. A laugh that just pissed him off more, but made the Pit purr.

“That's not gonna hurt me, big guy,”

Jason snarled with barred teeth, gums aching with pain and an unfamiliar warmth that made him want to bite down into something. He was fighting with himself through the warm comfort the Pit wanted to nuzzle into, and the apprehension/anger of an unknown in his safe house. Why did Jason bring him here? Probably because less than a day ago this guy had the skin of his chest held open by pins. Also because the Pit was begging to get closer to the white haired stranger. 

“Listen, man, I really appreciate you getting me out of there. Being a lab rat is not fun, at least let me fix that rank stuff in your system as a thank you?” 

Jason raised an eyebrow through his domino, pointing the gun more forcibly in the direction of the idiot talking to him. The man just held up his hands slightly higher with a shy smirk. 

“Alright! Alright! No need to be Mr. Big and Scary. Don’t really wanna Ghost Brawl when my body is still healing, please put the gun away,” 

Jason just huffed but clicked the safety back on the pistol, placing it on the table within his reach in case things went south.

“Why do the Pit waters react to you? Who the hell are you?” The crime lord questioned with a hiss. He lowered himself into an old recliner next to the sofa, placing his elbows on his knees as he leaned toward the stranger. The white haired man seemed surprised for a second before giving him a bright smile.

“Danny, Danny Phantom at your service! Or Daniel Fenton if you’re asking for my identity. Not like I have one right now anyways, considering I’m legally dead,” there was a snort as the guy floated above the couch, arms crossing as he flipped stomach down.

“–And what about you?”

.

.

.

TAG LIST [Might or might not be doing this in the future]

@justwannabecat

@fuckingfaraway

@kittenline

Prologue, Part 2

Masterpost

[Please let me know if anything is wrong or not working!]

[fivestaralien]

i have a mingi request 🤗 x idol reader (secret relationship)who is missing mingi while hes on tour or smth and accidentally like thirst or cute tiktoks of him on readers main account and everyone goes crazy lol angst or lighthearted is up to u ty

better with you

-> mingi x idol gn!reader

warnings+": secret relationship, lil angsty, big time jumps?, reader shuts everyone out/depictions of a depressive episode (mingi also), lots of crying and sleeping, fluff towards the end word count: 1.8k notes๋࣭⭑ sorry this took me so long:( I hope you like this and thank you for requesting!! sorry if this wasn't as crazy as you wanted I tried my best but please lmk what you guys think!! comment/reblogs/asks help me out the most! I have a few things I'm still working on and I'm doing a semi big revamp to my layout soon bc I'm itching to change it. stay safe and be gentle with yourself<3

//

agony, agony, agony.

 this morning you had woken up as cranky as ever. wanting nothing more than to whine to your loving mingi and have him cuddle you until you no longer felt like shit. that wasn’t an option for you unfortunately as he is halfway across the world on tour right now.  

 you had already tried calling him but his voicemail was all you got. defeated, you pull up tiktok hoping to distract yourself until you feel tired enough to pass out. it sucked having to keep your relationship a secret but you loved each other too much to risk it. which is why you made a secret account to gush about mingi without the repercussions. 

 hours go by as you scroll and scroll. reposting, commenting and liking multiple videos about the guys on tour, funny moments and some spicy. you ended up scrolling on a video of mingi and wooyoung messing around on stage, throwing water at each other every chance they could. you couldn’t help yourself as your eyes wander along the now defined muscles showing through his soaked shirt. mingi not so subtly flexing even more now after noticing himself. 

 you roll your eyes with a soft smile as he turns to the crowd to show off. always the show off that one. you lean your head back against your pillow, letting out a sigh. why did he have to be so far away? you were tempted to try and call him again but it was well into the early morning for him so you didn’t want to disturb. 

 sleepiness begins to overtake your brain as you continue to scroll and before you even notice, your phone falls from your hand and you are fast asleep. 

 chaos was rapidly unraveling before the sun could even fully rise. as you step into the practice room you are met with a multitude of staff and your 3 members, staring at you with a mix of concern, hurt and anger. mostly by the staff and management on the latter emotion. 

 “what’s going on?” you hastily throw your bag on the couch nestled into the corner of the room. 

 your leader furrows her brows, “have you not checked your phone at all?” 

 “not yet, my phone is dead. you guys are starting to worry me.” 

 “were you on tiktok last night?” your manager asks in a tone that made your heart drop. 

 you think back to last night and all the tiktoks you interacted with, “i mean yeah but i was on my..” your eyes widen at the realization of your mistake, “no, no, no.”

 you sprint over to grab your phone, hastily plugging it into a random charger on the wall. the seconds tick by slowly as you wait for the little apple icon to pop up. the notifications that flooded in were insurmountable. your eyes couldn’t keep up. you catch a glimpse of mingi’s contact name and your heart drops to the pit of your stomach. 

 it was a simple text. telling you that no matter what is about to happen that he is here for you and he loves you. this causes you to let the tears you’ve been holding back slip down your cheek. 

 the youngest of your group is the first to run to you, wrapping her arms around your shoulders, cradling your head into her chest. 

 you couldn’t imagine the thoughts running through his head right now. what is his company going to say or do to him? how are the members of both groups going to be affected? how could you be so stupid and forget to switch to your private account like you’ve done every other time? 

 the questions never stopped forming in your head. the severity of the situation fully settling into your bones now and you swear you had never felt this amount of fear in your life. unfortunately because of how crazy strict the idol world is, something so small like this could cost not only yours but also mingi’s career. that’s what is terrifying you the most. 

 over the next few weeks your mind and body were on autopilot. you have yet to reply to a single message that wasn’t from your leader or managers. both companies decided to just write it off as a fan hacking the account to sabotage both of your groups' comebacks since they were so close together. 

 since the fans couldn’t specify who exactly was active on the account they were coming after all 4 of you. you also had no choice but to confess to your companies about your relationship, which led to being banned from seeing each other. at least until after your schedules clear up and the frantic talks about the situation go down. 

 more weeks passed and finally you were done with shows and promotions. you felt like you could breathe a little bit easier now that you could just lay in bed and never leave your room. the members had tried to get you to get some fresh air and feed you, but you never opened your door. the only reason you were able to go to the bathroom and shower without anyone seeing you was the convenience of having an attached bathroom. 

 once it had reached almost a whole week of you holed up in your room, they take the risk and call the one person they know would get you out of your head.  

 the sky had darkened significantly by the time you opened your eyes for the first time today. you look over at your clock as it displays the time, a little after 10pm. a knock echoes throughout your room and the specific rhythm makes you sit up on your elbows. there’s no way he would risk coming here, right? you wrap a blanket around you tightly and slowly unlock and open your door.

 “oh, baby.” the corners of mingis mouth turns down at the sight of your pale sunken skin and red, puffy eyes. 

 he’s quick to guide you back inside, shutting and locking the door behind him. even though it had been months since you’d physically seen each other, your brain still turned off the second it registered that he was actually here. no longer seeing a reason to function when your boyfriend had no issue helping you make those decisions for you. it was something you didn’t realize you loved about your relationship until it was taken from you. 

 mingi lays you both down, pressing his entire body against yours from behind. his arms squeezing your middle so tight you have to gently loosen his hold. 

 “sorry, i just missed you so much. i’ve been so worried about you and i’m so upset with myself that i couldn’t be here for you through everything at the start,” he nuzzles his face into your neck, “i’m here now and i don’t plan on leaving anytime soon. no matter what our management says.” 

 he feels the way your whole body shakes and sits up on his elbow to see you quietly sobbing into your hand. 

 “hey, hey, look at me baby,” mingi’s hands go to either side of your face after you turn towards him, “ it’s going to be okay. i’m not going anywhere.” his thumbs brush away the tears still streaming down your face.

 your sobs didn’t stop even after hearing his reassuring words. mingi lets you cry until your breathing evens out and only your soft snores and the standing fan can be heard. he feels a little bit of worry leaving his body watching you peacefully sleep but as he rubs his thumb against your dry tears he feels the pit of his stomach sink. 

 when he first saw all the tiktoks and comments left on them, he felt so giddy that you were openly gushing about him so much. it was obvious to him that you were the one to do it and once the situation sunk in all he wanted to do was fly home and attach himself to you forever. as the days passed everyone could tell that something was wrong with mingi. 

 when he tells his members that you haven't answered him in almost 2 weeks, they try their best to reassure him that it’s going to take some time and that you’ll come around eventually. they were very relieved to hear him talk to your leader about coming to see you and when he didn’t come back last night it lifted a weight off their shoulders. 

 “yeah, they’re still knocked out.” 

 “okay, we are gonna stay over at my parents place and let you guys have the day and night to talk and have alone time.” you recognize the voice of the youngest. 

 you crack your eyes open and turn your head to see mingi talking to her. you squeeze your eyes shut at the sudden sharp pain that shoots up the side of your head. the groan you let out catches both of their attention. they cut the conversation short, the front door closing and locking not long after mingi makes his way back into bed beside you. 

 you nuzzle your face back into his chest and throw your arm around him. a sigh passes your lips as he peppers kisses along your hairline. 

 “how are you feeling?” he mumbles against you. 

 “okay now that you’re here.” your answer filling his chest with a warmth he had missed so much these past few months. 

 a peaceful silence washes over the two of you and you both end up falling back asleep. by the time you fully wake up mingi had turned on the tv and was watching a random show. he had moved to sit up a little against the headboard, bringing you along with him to lay the top half of your body on his and rubbing up and down your back softly. 

 you rub your cheek against the soft fabric of his shirt causing him to pause his movements. he watches as you begin to sit up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. his hand resumes it’s comforting pattern and you find yourself in a deep conversation with mingi for the next 2 hours. talking about how both of you felt with the whole scandal, how sorry you were for not answering his calls and figuring out how you were going to navigate between your job and your relationship more carefully. 

 after your talk the energy felt lighter around you and mingi couldn’t help but pull you back down to him and smother your face and neck with loving kisses. your laugh makes his smile widen against your skin. 

 “i know that it’s late but can we order in some food?” you throw your arms around his neck as he hovers above you. 

 “of course we can baby. the usual?” 

 you smile and nod then pull him down for your first real kiss since you’ve seen him.

// all masterlists, ateez masterlist

[artist-issues]

okay SO

If I were to pitch a sequel for Rise of the Guardians I’d have the Pied Piper be the villain.

And he is introduced because Sophie (Jamie’s little sister, she’s about 11 now) has had a falling out with her parents.

Sophie Bennett is excited to finally join the super secret “Belief Club” that her big brother Jamie started when he was her age at their local school. The Belief Club, as you can imagine, are a gang of middle-schoolers who still believe in Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, and the other Guardians. They collect library books about folklore figures, make up fun stories about the Guardians, look for evidence of their work in their own town, and just generally try to keep belief alive. They’re mostly the younger siblings of Jaimie and his friends who got to watch pitch be banished from the first film.

Jamie went off to college, and Sophie misses him, which is part of why she’s so determined to get elected President of the Club, like he was. Aside from the club itself, Sophie hates school and all things learning. Her grades start slipping immediately. This is a big issue, because Sophie’s mom has recently been hired to be a teacher in her daughter’s school.

When stress levels boil over, Sophie’s mom declares that Sophie is too old to spend all her time daydreaming about fairies and rabbits. She signs Sophie up for after-school tutoring, which is devastating to the pre-teen, because that’s right when the Belief Club usually meets.

Sophie decides to run away and live as an explorer, together with as many of her “supporters” as she can from the Club.

All of this is what’s going on in the human world. But of course, it’s influenced by…

the Pied Piper!

The reason Sophie’s mom turns so cynical and even short-tempered with Sophie is, in part, because Piper has stolen her baby teeth (and therefore, childhood memories) from the Tooth Palace. While there, he also kidnapped the Tooth Fairy, herself. Because of this, tensions are rising between adults and kids around the world—they’re no longer able to relate to one another.

It seems inconceivable to the other guardians that she could’ve been kidnapped—after all, there are an army of baby-tooth-fairies that should be between their queen and any harm. Bunnymund smells rats—but the magical kind of rats that appear to have infiltrated the Tooth Palace can’t be controlled. They’re forces of chaos, and they never should’ve been able to organize themselves well enough to overcome the tooth army.

Unless. Only one person could control rats like this (it’s the best line in the script)

North calls a meeting of all the remaining Guardians together, and Sandman explains. Long ago, just after the Dark Ages, the Man in the Moon chose a new Guardian. Apparently, the children of the world were still having a hard time believing that it was okay to relax and stop jumping at shadows—Pitch was gone, but plenty of other monsters lurked in the shadows, trying to take his place. For example, the wicked Mouse King, a monstrous creature of chaos who appeared in the form of a sea of rats, was stifling the wonder and hope of the poorest villages.

The Man in the Moon selected Pit D. Piper, (a gifted young German musician who tried to educate the poorest children with his rhymes until the plague ended his life) to become the Pied Piper and help solve this problem.

He would become the Guardian of Fun.

The Man in the Moon, as well as the other Guardians, advised their newest member to fight the Mouse King by working together, the way they had done with Pitch. But Piper, who wanted very badly to be believed in, had another idea. He didn’t think the other Guardians’ setup of hiding in secret palaces and doing their work in secret was a good idea. He wanted to live among the people, and have them see him.

He played a couple of clever tricks, got the children of a nearby village to believe in and see him, and even convinced their mayor to let him stay and make their village his home if he could end their rat problem. Piper did this, but the suspicious leader of the town declared that there was nothing “blessed” or “magical” about Piper—he was a charlatan, who had brought trained rats into the town to extort them.

The lonely Piper tried to prove he could be trusted, but to his surprise, the next day, several of the children could no longer see him. They believed the mayor’s story; he wasn’t a fairy or a hero come to save them, he was a trickster. Desperate to keep the few who still believed, Piper told them they should come with him. He would set up shop in a secret place, like the other Guardians, after all. And these kids could be like his elves—or his fairies, or whatever. He wouldn’t have to be alone.

But the children chose to stay with their parents—they didn’t want to leave, even if they did believe he was magical. Desperate not to lose them too, the Piper played his flute, trying to enchant them to follow him. When he turned his magic against them, the Man in the Moon summoned the other Guardians, and the Piper was cast out.

Now he’s back, and, plot twist, he’s working with the Mouse King. They plan to drive a wedge between all the children of the world and their parents. For the Piper, this is revenge; he wants to teach children never to trust in anybody, not their teachers or their mayors or their parents. Just trust themselves. But for the Mouse King, any chaos is a chance for him to grow more powerful and feast on the world again.

The Guardians have to rescue Tooth and lead Sophie’s mom to he, despite the fact that she can’t see them, and they wind up going to college to get Jamie to do it with them.

And I don’t know, I slapped all this together roughly. But I just think it’d be cool to end it with a redemption arc. Then the Pied Piper can be the Guardian of Trust, which I think is greatly under attack these days, especially between kids and their parents.

Get it, because the Pied Piper trusted the villagers to do what they’d promised, and when they didn’t, he gained the kids’ unconditional, twisted “trust” with his music in revenge. Anyway. I know it’s messy, but I don’t believe Rise of the Guardians could ever sustain a sequel, anyway.

. I started out making him look way more willowy and triangular, but then I realized both Tooth and Pitch and Bunnymund are triangle-shaped, so I tried to do squares…

And then James Dean happened by accident. I don’t know, somebody better at this stuff try to do this.

[salparadiselost]

A random idea that I'm not ever sure I'm going to pick up and finish. AU is that everyone lives in a movie genre and the universe if governed by the rules of that genre. Bruce, fed up with being a failed lover interest, starts to adopt kids from other genres.

-----

"I don't get it," Dick says, standing at the top small set of stairs and looking down them. There's like six of them, hardly enough to actually call it a staircase. Dick could probably jump the full way down without hurting himself. It's definitely not a flight, just six steps to get from the raised dias of the bank's entry to the street. But Bruce is still hesitating at the top, staring at them like they are a snake curled up in the grass. 

The man who had assigned himself Dick's father (He doesn't need a father. He doesn't have parents. His parents are dead. Killed. For eight years, their case has gone untouched as cold as their corpses. He needs to solve it. He needs to find the killer. He has to. He has to. He has to...) drags his eyes from the stairs to Dick.

"You live in a *rom com*," Dick practically spat the words. He had been growing to hate this saturated colour, plastic world. There were too many people. None of the streets were ever empty. Movements from the corners of his eyes that his brain screamed could be someone pulling a gun, someone reached for a knife, someone passing a drug off to another, was usually just a woman dressed in LuLulemon pulling her yappy dog along. It was maddening the way that his brain wasn't built for this. He saw people doing things and his mind screamed that it was clues! It was evidence! You need to investigate it! You need. You need. You need.

But he doesn't. Because he doesn't exist here. The Graysons don't exist here. No one has been killed in this city for over 100 years apparently. The worse crime in the paper had been when Miss Betty accidentally stole cupcakes because her and Joe's orders got mixed up. They were getting married now apparently.

Dick shook his head trying to dislodge the part of him that was screaming that he was missing a clue. He tried to focus on the present. Him. Bruce. Stairs.

"This is a romantic comedy," he repeated. "It's all about love, so what's the fucking worse thing that could happen on the stairs."

"*It seems I've fallen for you*," said Bruce suddenly, his voice so devoid of emotion it startles Dick. Dick's eyes snap up to meet the other man's eyes, but Bruce is still looking at the stairs.

"That's the part of the script," he continues, his voice blank. It's disconcerting. Dick has only heard him peppy or bubbly or other words that paint him as a happy-go-lucky dog. He's never heard... this. "I fall down the stairs and I... I break something. I lay there until she's suppose to rush in. She's supposed to be a nurse or a doctor or maybe just someone with first aid training. She's supposed to treat me until the ambulance comes and I'm supposed to say *'it seems I've fallen for you'*"

Bruce finally looks at Dick and he can't even describe what's in the man's eyes. It's... he would almost call it haunted. The same glint that he has when he stares in the mirror.

"I've broken my leg from falling down stairs 48 times. I've broken one of my ankles 53 times. My left arm 18 and my right 26. Three times it's been my collarbone. One time after two flights, it was my back. I was paralyzed from the neck down. I couldn’t move a damn finger, so I just laid there in pain until the clock hit midnight and everything reset. And that’s just the staircase falls. There’s also the open manholes, the broken railings, getting hit by a car, a couple of times where a bridge gave out from under me. Any of them will do as long as I end up hurt and on the ground."

Dick stared. Coldness washed through his veins, fixing him to the spot. For the first time since he got here, fear settled into the pit of his stomach. The only thing he could think to say was: "I thought that nothing went wrong here?"

Bruce gave a harsh laugh that seemed more fitting for Dick's genre. "Everything works out if you actually have someone who wants to love you. If your love interest isn't interested or she just doesn't bother to turn up... well, the universe keeps trying to correct itself even if that means you have to lay in a crumpled, bloody heap at the bottom of stairs for a few hours."

He... he didn't know what to say. Say that he was sorry? That Bruce didn't have anyone coming to love him?

He looked back at the stairs and saw them how Bruce saw them. He tried to figure out what to say, but Bruce just turned on his heel.

"Let's go find the wheelchair ramp."

[halexxsam]

Mushy May: Day 8 - Subtle Affection

Thanks to @forlorn-crows for mushy may! Calendar here. Divider from @wrathofrats.

words: 895

characters: dewdrop/rain/swiss/phantom/mountain/cirrus/perpetua

The ghouls noticed it a few days after the tour began. Small things left in the bunks from the city they were in. They thought it was one of the roadies or crew members at first, but later it became clear that it was someone on their bus. The ghouls first thought it was Mountain, who always had a knack for sneaking out to go shopping, loving to explore the food markets in Europe. When the gifts changed from sweets to personalized gifts, the ghouls suspected Phantom, or even Cirrus, but they were just as surprised at the gifts on their bed. On traveling days, they would find their bunk bed all made up, or stripped and their sheets being washed on the small washing machine. It was odd, but loving. 

One night, drinking over a lovely bottle of wine that was left on Mountain’s bed, the ghouls got to talking. 

“I don’t know who it is, but I have been eating all the little snacks I’m left. They are so good! I swear I can’t ever find them again.” Phantom whined out, missing the small piece of walnut chocolate he was left earlier. He had searched the markets for more of it but came up empty handed. 

“Me neither! But I keep on being left funny socks or fresh bandage wraps. I even got a pin to put on my boot.” Dew adds, knocking back his glass, red wine falling slowly from the corner of his mouth. 

“Maybe whoever it is doesn’t want to be found,” Cirrus says, though everyone can tell she wants to know who left a small lavender soap on her bed last night. 

The ghouls sit in peaceful silence, glad another successful show is under their belt. The bus moves along the dark roads of France, onward to Portugal. Perpetua pulls back the curtain and heads towards the lounge, nodding at the pack. 

“Hey, wanna join us?” Swiss asks, raising a spare glass. The human nods, and Phantom quickly makes room, moving onto Mountain’s lap. 

Swiss pours his Papa some wine, watching the man intently as he settles back against the cushions. Unbeknownst to his pack, Swiss quirks an eyebrow, covering the label of the wine from Papa. He watches him take a sip, savoring its taste. “What do you think?”

Perpetua nods, swallowing, his tongue darting out to savor the last of it on his lips. “Beautiful,” he hums, “a Bordeaux, very nice.” 

At that, Swiss let out a gasp. “You’re the one, aren’t you? Putting things on our bunks, leaving us gifts?”

The whole pack watches as the man blushes, looking down at his lap. His wrist moving still to swirl the wine. He hums out an affirmation. “Thought you guys would never guess.” 

Cirrus is the first one to get over the shock. “Well, thank you, Papa. It is very sweet of you.” 

The man just nods, smiling a bit. “My brother mentioned how you all like gifts, so,” He trails off, finally looking up at him, a nervous look on his face. 

They all nod, looking at each other. “We do, thank you. Can’t really have any possessions in the Pit.” Dew says, a hand digging in his pocket to pull out every single chocolate wrapper that was once left on his bed. 

Papa just laughs at the sight. “I’m glad you all like it. I didn’t know what else to do.” 

At that, Phantom makes a noise. “What do you mean?”

Papa blushes again. “Well, my brother told me about how he was with all of you. But I know I’m new, and different, and you are missing another ghoul this time around. So I didn’t want to impose anything.” 

Rain finally makes himself known, smiling devilishly. “Oh, is that right? Does our Papa want something?”

The man in question makes an odd noise, almost like he choked on his spit. “You are all very beautiful, you must know.” 

They all laugh, grins adorning their faces. Swiss moved closer to him, placing a warm hand on his knee. The man jumped slightly. “You know, Papa, you can be close to us and touch us, we are your ghouls, after all.” 

“I didn’t want to assume anything. I wanted you all to come to me when you were ready, if you ever were going to be.” He admits, a hand coming up to Swiss’, holding it softly. 

Rain flashed his eyes, his water ghoul siren blue coming out. His gills fluttered, tail coming up to play with the belt on his Papa’s waist. “You should come to the dressing rooms before the show tomorrow.” 

“Oh, okay. Do you need help with anything?” Papa asked innocently, taking the change in subject as an end to the previous conversation. 

Rain just nodded, his tails beginning to touch at the soft skin of the man’s hip. “Yeah, I think we all do. We have a part of our costume that is quite hard to get on, actually.” 

Dew laughed, his head falling back against the cushions, his second glass of wine sloshing at the movement. Rain moved from his seat, finding home in Dew’s lap, a hand moving up to his bare neck and taking hold. Dewdrop just whined, pressing into the hold. 

“Want you to put our collars on for us.” Rain smiled, “Dew likes his real tight.”