#not only am i just scared of judgment

[ice-man-goes-bwoah]

Thank god someone else sees the potential of remmick’s sub side bc 👀 that man has been looking for connection for centuries - if you were kind to him I think he’d be putty in your hands and it would be glorious. I’d love for you to explore this in your writing - I know you’d kill it and leave me screaming into a pillow haha

Let me be soft with you||Remmick x reader

Summary — remmick has never known an act of kindness in his life until he met you.

Warning smut dom!reader sub!remmick p in v reader rides remmick

Word count—1017

A/n— I LOVE SUB REMMICK AND I NEED MORE

Tagging @abriefnirvana @fuckoffbard

The wind outside howls, brushing dead leaves across the rotting windowsill. The cabin creaks around you—old wood, brittle bones, shadows so thick they feel alive. This place is half-forgotten, sunken into the ribs of the forest like a wound no one wants to reopen. No one comes here. Not anymore.

Not since he made it his own.

You shouldn’t be here.

And yet, Remmick can’t look away from you.

You’re warm. Real. Grounded in a way that mocks the rotting walls and the ghost-thick air. You stand there like you belong, unshaken by the stink of old blood or the teeth of the cold. All soft curves, steady breath, and those kind, quiet eyes that haven’t flinched once—not even when you stepped over the threshold and saw him bare-chested, blood-drenched, wild-eyed.

“You should’ve run,” he rasps, back pressed to the wall like he thinks you might burn him. “Should’ve screamed.”

You tilt your head, like you’re studying a puzzle rather than a predator. “Why would I scream? You haven’t hurt me.”

His jaw flexes. His fingers twitch. There’s blood dried like rust across his collarbone, a streak of it trailing down toward the edge of his sternum. The chain around his neck catches the firelight—dull gold, heavy. Worn not for style, but like penance. Like ownership.

“You don’t know what I am,” he growls. There’s something raw under it. Not menace—shame.

“I do.” You step closer, slow and sure. “And I think you’re tired.”

He flinches like you slapped him.

It’s the kind of answer he doesn’t know how to fight. Not judgment. Not fear. Just truth, laid bare between you. And you, offering it so gently he could scream.

“I’ve done terrible things,” he mutters, voice fraying.

“I know.”

You’re right in front of him now. He could reach you. He could snap your neck. Drain you. Feed on you until the blood runs down his chin. But he doesn’t move. His hands stay clenched at his sides, trembling with effort, nails biting into his palms.

You press your palm to his chest.

His dead heart stutters. Not a beat, not life—but something. Recognition. Longing. Ache.

“You don’t scare me, Remmick.”

And something inside him—something old and ruined—breaks.

He doesn’t remember his knees hitting the floor. Doesn’t feel the pain of it. Just the cotton-soft thump of surrender as he folds, head bowed, hands gripping the hem of your shirt like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. His forehead presses into the warmth of your stomach, desperate, reverent.

“Please,” he breathes, voice so quiet it trembles. “Don’t be cruel.”

“I’m not,” you whisper. Your fingers find his hair, slow and soothing, and his whole body shudders like the simple touch is too much. “Let me be soft with you.”

He makes a sound—low, ragged, almost animal. A wounded thing trying not to bleed out in front of you. It tears out of him like a confession. Like a prayer.

You don’t stop. You hold him through it. You let him kneel. You let him need.

“I’m not good,” he says, mouth still pressed to your belly like he’s trying to hide in you. “Not clean. Not… worthy of this.”

“You don’t have to be good,” you say, gentler still. You tug on his hair, tilting his head up until his eyes meet yours—stormy, wide, afraid. “You just have to be mine.”

His breath catches.

God. He wants that.

He wants to belong. To be claimed, even if he doesn’t deserve it. Wants to forget every name he’s ever taken, every throat he’s ever torn open, every night he’s spent drowning in the dark and trying not to feel.

He surges forward, hands sliding up your waist like he’s starving for you—and you let him. You don’t flinch, don’t falter. You hold his face in your hands, and he leans into the touch like it’s holy.

Like you’re holy.

Like if he lets go, he might never find this again.

You guide him to the bed.

He goes willingly, crawling back on the creaking mattress while watching you with wide, desperate eyes. You undress without shame, your full body bathed in the flicker of firelight—and he stares like he’s witnessing a miracle. Not hunger. Worship.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes.

You smile. “You always look at me like that.”

“Because it never stops killing me.”

You climb over him slowly, pressing him down. His breath catches when your thigh settles between his legs, when your weight blankets him. He doesn’t feel crushed. He feels safe.

“Is this okay?” you ask, fingertips brushing his cheek.

He nods, too fast. “Please. I—I don’t want to think. Just tell me what to do.”

You kiss him. He sighs against your lips like he’s never been kissed soft before. Like the world always demanded he take, and you’re the first to give.

“You don’t have to do anything,” you murmur, grinding your hips just slightly. His head thumps back. “Just feel.”

He’s already hard beneath you, hips jerking helplessly, chain cold against your chest as you lean in. You drag your lips down his throat, over the metal links, to the spot above his unbeating heart.

When you rock your hips again, he moans.

“You’re so good for me, Remmick,” you whisper. “So sweet like this.”

His eyes flutter shut. “No one’s ever called me sweet.”

“Then they weren’t paying attention.”

You ride him slow, holding his wrists above his head, letting him tremble under you while his thighs shake and his whimpers fall like prayers. The praise is steady, like rain—washing him clean, softening him where he thought he was stone.

“You take me so well.”

“You’re doing so good.”

“You’re mine, baby.”

“Yours,” he gasps, tears slipping from the corners of his eyes as his orgasm builds. “Yours, yours, please don’t stop—”

You don’t. You stay with him through the high, through the cries and shudders and pleading. When he comes, he falls apart completely—back arching, mouth falling open in silent reverence, body shaking as you ride him through it, gently coaxing him to give more.

And afterward, when you lower yourself to lay on top of him, he wraps his arms around you like a lifeline.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs, voice hoarse.

“You deserve everything,” you whisper back. “Especially this.”

You stroke his hair until he falls asleep.

For once in his long, dark life, Remmick dreams of peace.

[genderqueerdykes]

interesting observation i've made: i'm a genderqueer intersex trans person who's been on T for 9 years. i wear a lot of elaborate makeup and dress in "women's" clothing most of the time. my body is very masculine and i don't hide my "masc" features like my facial and body hair when i go out, i don't try to pass as any given binary gender, i did in the past and it made me miserable, so i just go about my life as the genderqueer person that i am

whenever i'm outside in a skirt or dress and my beard and body hair are fully visible, i do get a lot of compliments from fem people and women, but i actually get a very large portion of my comments from masc people and men. i originally thought that men would be the most hesitant, but i actually get a lot of men who approach me saying things like "i really dig what you're doing" or "keep that up" or even things like "you dress like how i feel on the inside." that one really stuck with me.

if this many men and mascs are willing to approach me- how many more feel the same way and were too shy or scared to say it out loud for fear of judgment from those who may overhear?

we societally groom men and AMAB people to believe they don't want to wear dresses, skirts, and makeup- but they do. whether or not these people were all transfem eggs or gay is not for me to speculate on; what i want people to take away from this is that people of all gender identities want to wear dresses, skirts, and makeup. people of all gender identities want to dress in different ways. we teach each other that women only wear certain clothes and men only wear certain other clothes, but that's just not the reality of it.

people are way more nuanced than that, and i've seen it with my own two eyes. it's beautiful. the world is a lot more open minded than we're taught to believe. we need to start letting everyone dress as they please. it's clear that most people don't fit into this rigid binary we've created. humanity is just too diverse for that.

[kathaelipwse]

Worlds Apart | C.Seungcheol

Popular!Seungcheol x Scholar!Reader Trope: Angsty Lovers | Second Chances (kinda) | Push-and-Pull Romance Warnings: Heavy Angst | Emotional Hurt/Comfort | Intense Feelings | Mentions of Self-Worth Issues | NO PROOF READING WAS DONE Synopsis: You tried to walk away. You told yourself it was for the best. That Seungcheol’s world was too bright, too untouchable for someone like you. But when he kneels before you, hands trembling, eyes filled with a love you don’t think you deserve—you start to wonder if you’ve been running from the wrong thing all along. Word count: 4.2k Reading Time: 15-ish mins Author’s note: This is a heavy, emotion-driven piece that explores love, self-worth, and the struggle of letting yourself be loved. Hope you enjoy the angst- (I cried while typing- Got no idea WHY i am writing so much angst- It scares me haha) Have an amazing day/night y'll!!

--

You were fine being invisible. It was safer that way. No attention, no judgment, no cruel words whispered behind your back.

A quiet existence, a solitary path, a refuge from the harsh realities of a world that didn’t seem to have a place for you. You learned to blend into the background, to become a shadow, a whisper, a footnote in the grand narrative of the university.

And then Seungcheol noticed you.

He didn’t just see you; he saw you. He dragged you into the light, not with a forceful hand, but with a gentle persistence that chipped away at the walls you had so carefully built. He sat next to you in the bustling cafeteria, his presence a shield against the judging eyes, his laughter a melody that drowned out the whispers.

He fought for you, not in grand, dramatic gestures, but in subtle, unwavering ways—a quiet defense against the casual cruelty of his peers, a silent promise that you weren’t alone. He walked you home after your late-night shifts, filling the silence with laughter and stories, making you feel like you weren’t just a scholarship student working two jobs to survive in a private university full of people who would never know what it meant to struggle. He saw the fire in your eyes, the resilience in your spirit, the quiet strength that you kept hidden from the world.

He made you feel like you belonged. Like you were seen, valued, cherished. He made you feel like you were worthy.

But people like you? You don’t get happy endings. The world doesn't allow it. The universe doesn't permit it. You were a realist, after all. You understood the rules of the game.

Because someone—one of his rich, entitled friends—hurts you. Maybe it’s words, sharp and cutting, designed to wound. Maybe it’s something worse, a subtle act of sabotage, a calculated humiliation. Either way, it’s enough to break you, to shatter the fragile hope that Seungcheol had ignited within you.

It happened after the game. The roar of the crowd, the blinding lights, the electric energy of victory—it was a world you had only ever observed from the periphery, a spectacle you watched from the shadows. Seungcheol, the star, the hero, the center of everyone's attention, had led the team to another championship win. The arena was a sea of adoring faces, chanting his name, their voices a symphony of praise.

You stayed at the very back, a shadow in the corner, a silent observer. You were the stagehand, the unseen hand that ensured the show went on, the unsung hero who worked tirelessly behind the scenes. You were only here because you were in charge of managing the after-party setup, a duty assigned to you as part of your scholarship work, a constant reminder of your place in this world. You were just the nobody scholarship student working behind the scenes, running around with a clipboard while the real students—the ones who actually belonged here—partied like they ruled the world.

Seungcheol caught your eyes right before he was hoisted onto shoulders. For a fleeting moment, a foolish, reckless hope sparked in your chest, a dangerous flicker of belief. That maybe, just maybe, he would see you, would choose you, would break through the sea of adoring faces and come to you first. That maybe, just maybe, you were something more than a fleeting interest, a passing fancy.

But then a voice shattered that fragile illusion, a voice laced with venom and disdain, a cruel reminder of your place.

“You really thought he’d run to you?”

You turned, your heart sinking, your breath catching in your throat. A group of students stood there, their designer clothes and arrogant expressions a stark contrast to your worn uniform, their eyes filled with a mixture of pity and contempt. Seungcheol’s friends, the ones who always looked at you like you were an unwelcome guest, a stain on their perfect world.

One of them, a girl named Mina, with perfect hair and cruel eyes, stepped forward, her voice dripping with false pity, her words laced with venom.

“God, you really are delusional. You think he actually cares about you? You’re just a novelty, a distraction.”

You opened your mouth, but another voice cut in, sharp and dismissive, a cruel echo of your deepest fears.

“You’re embarrassing him.”

That one hit different, because this time, it was one of the guys from the basketball team, Jaehyun, one of Seungcheol’s closest friends, someone you had thought might understand.

“Hanging around like a lost puppy, acting like you actually have a chance with him,” he scoffed, arms crossed, his eyes filled with disdain. “Do you even hear yourself? Do you know what you look like? Pathetic.”

You felt your stomach drop, the air thick with humiliation, the weight of their judgment crushing you.

“I—”

“Do you know what people say about you?” Mina interrupted, tilting her head, her eyes gleaming with malice, her voice laced with poison. “That you’re his little charity case. His pet project. Something to amuse him.”

Laughter rippled through the group, a cruel, mocking sound that echoed in the vast arena, a chorus of disdain.

“Poor Seungcheol,” someone else mocked, a tall, lanky guy named Junho. “Always looking out for the underprivileged. Such a saint. So noble.”

You couldn’t breathe. The whispers, the glances, the subtle rejections—you had endured them all. But hearing it from his closest friends, from the people he shared his life with, was a different kind of pain. It was a betrayal, a confirmation of your deepest fears, a stark reminder that you didn’t belong.

“You should just disappear already,” Mina sighed, her voice laced with false concern, her eyes gleaming with triumph. “Save yourself the humiliation. Do him a favor. Just go away.”

That was the moment something inside you snapped, a fragile thread breaking under the weight of years of insecurity and self-doubt. You shouldn’t have let it get this far. You shouldn’t have let yourself believe, even for a second, that you and Seungcheol were anything more than a fleeting moment, a mistake waiting to happen.

So when you finally found him in the crowd, his eyes searching for you, a flicker of concern in their depths, you turned away. You walked past him like he was a ghost, a phantom, a figment of your imagination, a dream you had foolishly dared to believe in.

And when he grabbed your wrist, his touch warm and insistent, when he looked at you with nothing but pure concern, you ripped your hand free and whispered, your voice barely audible, a broken echo of your shattered hope,

“I just want to be invisible again.”

And the way his face shattered right in front of you, the way his eyes filled with a pain that mirrored your own, almost made you stay. Almost. But people like you? You don’t get happy endings.

So you left, disappearing into the shadows, and you didn’t look back, your heart a heavy weight in your chest.

You disappeared after that night.

No texts. No calls. Nothing.

A ghost in the machine.

Winter break feels endless. Cold. Empty. A barren landscape devoid of warmth.

Seungcheol spends weeks staring at his phone, waiting for your name to pop up, a desperate vigil.

It never does.

The silence is deafening, a constant reminder of your absence.

His friends try to cheer him up, but he’s not the same.

The laughter, the confidence—it’s all forced now, a hollow echo of his former self.

The joy has been leached from his eyes.

The basketball court doesn’t feel the same.

The thrill of the game, the camaraderie of the team—it’s all muted, a pale imitation of what it once was.

Nothing feels the same without you.

Every time he sees something you would’ve liked—a worn paperback, a cheap cup of coffee, a little trinket from a street vendor—his chest aches, a sharp, stabbing pain.

It’s a constant reminder of what he’s lost.

And at night, when it’s quiet, he hears your voice, a haunting melody in the silence.

"We don’t belong together, Seungcheol."

But he still refuses to believe that.

He clings to the hope that you’ll come back, that you’ll see that you belong with him.

The moment classes start again, you avoid him.

A master of evasion.

You’re a ghost, a whisper in the wind.

You change routes, take the long way around campus just so you won’t run into him.

A desperate attempt to erase yourself from his life.

He notices.

Of course, he notices.

He sees the way you duck your head, the way you pretend he doesn’t exist—

It destroys him.

A slow, agonizing erosion of his spirit.

Every time he gets close, you slip away, a phantom in the crowd.

Every time he calls your name, you pretend you don’t hear, a cruel denial of his existence.

The team notices.

His friends notice.

"Dude, what the hell happened over break?" they ask, their voices filled with concern.

But Seungcheol doesn’t talk about it.

He just clenches his jaw and keeps chasing after the girl who doesn’t want to be found.

A relentless pursuit fueled by love and desperation.

One night, you’re walking home, the streetlights casting long shadows.

And he finally catches you.

His heart pounds in his chest as he reaches for your wrist.

Not hard, not forceful—just enough to make you stop running.

A gentle but firm hold.

"Stop."

His voice is raw, broken, filled with a pain he can no longer contain.

You freeze, your back to him, shoulders tense.

You don’t turn around.

Your heart hammers against your ribs.

"Look at me."

His voice cracks—pleading, desperate.

"Please, just look at me. Give me a reason."

You swallow hard, trying to regain control.

But you don’t move, your feet rooted to the spot.

And that’s when he breaks.

"I spent the entire break waiting for you."

His voice shakes, trembling with emotion.

"Do you know how fucking empty everything felt without you? It was like the world had lost its color."

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying not to cry.

Trying to block out his words.

"You left, and I—"

He exhales sharply, his breath catching in his throat.

"I haven’t been okay since. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep. All I can think about is you."

Silence hangs in the air.

Thick with unspoken emotions.

Then, barely above a whisper—

"You weren’t supposed to wait for me, Cheol."

Your voice is filled with a sadness that mirrors his own.

That’s when he turns you around, his hands trembling slightly.

When he cups your face with both hands.

Forcing you to see just how wrecked he is.

To witness the depth of his pain.

"You think I had a choice?"

His eyes are filled with tears.

His voice is full of pain.

Full of love.

"I’ll always wait for you."

It’s a promise.

A vow.

A declaration of his unwavering devotion.

Your breath is shaky, your chest rising and falling rapidly.

His hands are warm against your skin.

His grip is so gentle, so careful.

Like he’s afraid you’ll slip away again.

Like he’s holding onto something precious.

And you should.

You should pull away.

You should tell him it’s over.

That he needs to move on.

That you’re not worth his pain.

But when you look into his eyes—

God, his eyes.

You see everything you’ve ever wanted.

Everything you’ve ever dreamed of.

And it terrifies you.

"Cheol…"

Your voice wavers, barely holding on.

A fragile whisper.

His thumb brushes over your cheek.

A tender caress.

"Don’t do this."

His voice is a plea.

A desperate attempt to hold onto you.

"We don’t belong together," you whisper.

Even though it hurts like hell to say it.

Even though every fiber of your being screams in protest.

His jaw clenches.

His eyes darken with a mixture of anger and pain.

But he doesn’t move.

His gaze unwavering.

"Why do you keep saying that? Why are you so determined to push me away?"

You force yourself to stay strong, to ignore the way your heart is screaming for him, to suppress the longing that threatens to consume you.

"Because it’s the truth."

A lie that tastes like ashes in your mouth. LIE.

You try to step back, to create some distance between you, but he doesn’t let you. He doesn’t tighten his hold—he just refuses to let go, his grip gentle but unyielding.

"Bullshit." His voice is rough, desperate, filled with a raw emotion that mirrors your own. "You don’t get to decide that for me. You don’t get to tell me what I feel."

You exhale sharply, trying to regain your composure, your mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

"You don’t understand, Cheol—"

"Then make me understand!" His voice cracks, frustration mixing with heartbreak, a desperate plea for clarity. "I’ve been chasing after you, waiting for you, and you won’t even tell me why you’re running! Just tell me what I did wrong."

Your throat tightens, the words caught in a knot of pain and fear, the truth too heavy to bear.

"Because I don’t belong in your world!" you finally snap, your voice shaking with a mixture of anger and vulnerability. "Because people like me—people who have to fight just to exist—don’t get to have things like this! We’re not meant for happy endings."

Seungcheol stares at you, his expression unreadable, his chest heaving, his eyes filled with something you can’t bear to face—a reflection of your own pain.

Then—he lets go.

Your breath stutters, your heart skips a beat. He steps back, creating a space between you, a chasm that threatens to swallow you whole.

For a second, you think—this is it. He’s giving up. He’s finally realized that you’re not worth the effort.

But then—he kneels.

Right there, in the middle of the dimly lit sidewalk, in the cold night air, he kneels in front of you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters, a gesture of humility and devotion.

And when he looks up at you, his eyes filled with a love that transcends words, you’re ruined.

Your carefully constructed walls crumble around you.

"I would leave everything for you." His voice is quiet, but it hits like a sledgehammer to your chest, a declaration of his unwavering commitment.

"Because you are the only one who has ever seen the real me. The me that I keep hidden from everyone else."

Your lips part, but no sound comes out, your voice lost in a sea of emotion.

"Where my money didn’t matter. Where my status didn’t matter." His eyes never leave yours, his gaze intense and unwavering. "All that mattered was us. Just you and me."

His hands find yours again, gently, carefully, his touch a lifeline in the storm of your emotions.

"Tell me that wasn’t real." His voice is a whisper, a desperate plea for reassurance.

Silence.

"Tell me you didn’t feel it too." His eyes search yours, seeking confirmation, seeking a glimmer of hope.

Your throat closes up, the words caught in a knot of longing and fear.

Because you did.

Of course, you did.

You felt it with every fiber of your being.

And Seungcheol sees it.

Sees the way you tremble, the way your fingers clutch his, the way your eyes betray your carefully constructed facade.

He has you.

Now all you have to do—is stop fighting.

Your pulse is hammering, a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

This is too much. Too intense. Too real.

Seungcheol, kneeling in front of you, holding your hands like you’re his entire world, his eyes filled with a love that both terrifies and exhilarates you.

His words replay in your mind, over and over—I would leave everything for you.

You can’t breathe.

You rip your hands away, breaking the connection, creating a space between you.

"You’re a fool, Seungcheol." Your voice is barely a whisper, filled with a mixture of fear and desperation.

His brows knit together, his expression a mixture of confusion and hurt, but he doesn’t move, his gaze unwavering.

"You don’t know what you’re saying," you whisper, your voice shaking, your eyes pleading with him to understand.

"You have everything. A future, a reputation, a life people would kill for. Why would you throw that away for me? I have nothing to offer you."

He stares at you, his eyes filled with a pain that mirrors your own, his expression a mixture of sadness and disbelief.

Like you’re breaking his heart right in front of him.

"Because none of it matters without you." His voice is firm, unwavering, a declaration of his love.

No.

No, no, no.

Your vision blurs, tears welling up in your eyes, threatening to spill over.

You take a step back, trying to create some distance, trying to escape the intensity of his gaze.

Then another.

You have to go.

You have to leave before you crumble, before you succumb to the longing that threatens to consume you.

Your body screams run, but the moment you turn away—

He moves.

And then—his arms are around you. Warm. Solid. Unyielding. And just like that—

You shatter.

A choked sob escapes your lips, and suddenly, you can’t stop. The dam breaks, and years of pent-up emotion flood out. Your hands clutch his jacket, holding on for dear life.

You hate him for not letting you go.

You hate him for holding you together when all you wanted was to fall apart alone.

"Why—why are you doing this?" you gasp against his chest, your whole body trembling, your voice choked with tears.

His arms tighten around you, his lips pressing to your hair—a silent promise of comfort and support.

"Because I love you, idiot."

His voice is thick with emotion, a raw declaration of his feelings.

Your breath hitches. Your heart skips a beat.

"And I’m not letting you go."

His words are a vow, a commitment, a refusal to give up on you.

Tears pour down your face, a torrent of emotion. Your knees go weak, but Seungcheol just holds you closer, keeps you steady—a human anchor in the storm of your emotions.

For the first time in forever—

You let yourself break.

You allow yourself to be vulnerable, to let go of the walls you've built around your heart. And for the first time in forever—

You're not alone.

You have someone to share your pain, someone to hold you through the darkness.

You cry until you have nothing left, until the tears run dry and your sobs subside into soft whimpers. Your sobs start sharp, gut-wrenching, a release of years of bottled-up pain. Your body shakes in his arms, fingers clenching into his jacket like he’s the only thing keeping you upright.

And maybe he is.

Seungcheol doesn’t say anything. He just holds you. Arms tight, steady, unshaken—like he’s anchoring you to this world, a constant presence in your life.

And you let him.

For the first time in your life, you let yourself be held. You surrender to his embrace, finding solace in his strength.

Minutes pass. Maybe hours. Time doesn’t exist in this moment—only the two of you, wrapped in a shared space of vulnerability and connection.

Your breathing slows, chest still hitching with the remnants of your breakdown, the storm gradually subsiding. Your face is buried against him, and his heartbeat is the only sound you hear.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

A steady rhythm. Strong. Safe. A comforting reminder of his presence.

When you finally shift, pulling back slightly, he still doesn’t let go. His grip remains firm, a silent reassurance.

Instead, he exhales softly—warm breath against your hair—and then tilts his head down, his eyes filled with tenderness.

And then—a kiss.

Soft. Gentle. Right on your forehead. A gesture of comfort and affection.

Your breath stutters. Your heart flutters.

Then—your nose.

You blink up at him, eyes still red, still glassy, but now filled with a glimmer of hope.

He’s watching you like you’re something fragile. Something precious. Something to be cherished.

Then—your cheeks.

One.

Then the other.

Then—your closed eyelids.

Like he’s kissing away the tears that remain, erasing the traces of your pain.

You don’t move.

Can’t.

You're lost in the moment, captivated by his tenderness.

His fingers slide against yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles—before he leans down and presses a kiss there too, a gesture of reverence.

And then—finally.

Your lips.

A whisper of a touch at first. Like he’s asking for permission, seeking your consent.

Then—

You press back.

And everything shatters.

The kiss deepens. His hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking the skin, a gentle caress. You tilt your head, open up to him, let him pull you in, surrendering to the moment.

And then it’s not soft anymore.

It’s raw.

Hungry.

Desperate.

A release of pent-up longing.

Because this isn’t just a kiss—

This is a confession.

This is Seungcheol showing you everything he can’t say in words, a language of touch and emotion.

And this time—

You don’t push him away.

You embrace his love, allowing yourself to be loved.

When you finally pull apart, breathing hard, lips swollen, a tangible reminder of your connection, Seungcheol still doesn’t let you go.

Instead, he rests his forehead against yours, his grip on your waist still firm—like he’s scared you might slip away again. Like he never wants to lose you. A silent promise of his unwavering devotion.

And then—

He smiles.

Not the cocky, teasing smirk he flashes on the court, a mask he wears for the world.

Not the polite, practiced grin he gives to the rich kids at school, a facade he presents to his peers.

No.

This one is soft.

Real.

Just for you.

"I am yours," he murmurs, voice low, steady, filled with a certainty that resonates deep within you.

"Since the day I saw you working at the café with your hair up and that adorable white and blue dress."

You suck in a breath, your heart swelling with emotion. Your eyes flicker up to meet his—deep brown, burning, full of something you can’t quite believe is meant for you, a love that seems too good to be true.

"You—"

Your voice catches, your words failing you.

His thumb gently strokes your cheek, a tender caress. "You don’t have to believe me yet." His lips twitch, a hint of his playful side returning. "But I’ll prove it to you, baby. Every damn day if I have to."

And for the first time… you think maybe—just maybe—you’re ready to let him. To trust him. To believe in his love.

You don’t pull away. You stay in his arms, finding comfort and solace in his embrace.

And Seungcheol? He notices.

A slow grin tugs at his lips, a little smug, a little too self-satisfied, a hint of his playful arrogance.

"You know, baby," he murmurs, voice dropping just enough to make you shiver, a seductive whisper. "If I’d known all it took to get you in my arms was making you cry, I would’ve done it sooner."

You gasp and smack his chest, a playful rebuke. "Cheol!"

His chuckle vibrates against your skin, a warm and comforting sound. "Too soon?"

Your glare is weak at best, your lips twitching despite your efforts to remain stern. "You think?"

But Seungcheol just tilts his head, still smiling, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "At least I made you forget about crying, huh?"

You huff, but he catches it—the way your lips twitch, the way your eyes aren’t as clouded anymore, the glimmer of a smile that threatens to break through.

So he leans in, just a little, lips brushing your ear, his voice a low and intimate whisper.

"And for the record, you looked hot as hell in that dress, but you look even prettier like this."

Your breath stutters, your cheeks flush. "Like what?"

His arms tighten around you, pulling you closer, his embrace a comforting haven.

"In my arms."

His voice is filled with tenderness and love, a promise of safety and belonging.

Seungcheol barely has time to react before—

Flick.

His head jerks back slightly as your finger snaps against his forehead, a playful act of defiance.

"Ow—hey!" He pouts, rubbing the spot like you actually hurt him, his expression comical.

You just smirk, a genuine smile gracing your lips for the first time in what feels like forever.

"You are such a flirt."

His grin starts creeping back, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"You love it."

You tilt your head, pretending to think, your eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Mmm… maybe."

Then—

You lean in just a little, just enough to make his breath hitch, a playful challenge.

"But you’re my flirt."

Your voice is soft, intimate, a declaration of your feelings.

Seungcheol? Absolutely wrecked.

His ears go pink, a blush creeping up his neck. His smile falters for a split second, his usual composure momentarily shattered.

Then—

He groans, throwing his head back, overwhelmed by your words.

"Baby, you can’t just say stuff like that!"

You laugh—light, breathless. And it hits you.

You haven’t laughed like this in a long time.

And Seungcheol? He’s looking at you like he knows. Like he’s the reason why.

Like he’s gonna make sure you never stop being happy after all of the troubles you went through alone.

[xislyns]

DO AGE GAPS BOTHER THEM?

Marco , Shanks , Rayleigh , Mihawk

❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ asks are open!

op masterlist : 𐙚🧸ྀི

how i think the One piece DADDIES would react to having a spouse who has a big age gap with them ? would they be insecure or secure about it? (Reader is from water 7 but honestly it doesnt rlly matter )

a/n : i am obsessed with the dilfs of one piece , istg im going to make a whole series just on hcs for these men 😩😩

AKAGAMI NO SHANKS

it bothers them at first.

Shanks usually is carefree, and during all of his trips across the grandline ofc he would often have flings, it might also be possible he has flings on every island his crew has landed on. but the moment he realized he had serious feelings for you , he grew unusually uncomfortable . It wasn’t like him to overthink, but he found himself wondering if he’d be holding you back.

“you know ____ I’m not exactly the most stable guy, im a wanted pirate,” he said one evening, swirling his drink in his hand as you can hear the crew celebrating their victory in the background . “And I’m older. You could do better ____. you would definitely be better off settling down with a shipwright in the city."

You rolled your eyes, “Stop underestimating me, Shanks. You wont scare me off with those type of words. im here with you, and im here to stay.”you said to him with utmost confidence

His grin returned, sheepish but genuine. “Guess I can’t argue with that.”

From then on, Shanks embraced the relationship fully. He’d grown comfortable about the age gap, capable of saying things like, “See ____ would still pick me even if im an old man” this whole thing will and has become one of the key points that makes him love your relationship more.

When anyone dared to comment on the difference, he’d laugh and throw an arm around you. “Jealousy’s not a good look for you, mate!” he’d sneer, brushing it off .

To Shanks, life was short, and love with you? it was worth any risk.

...⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻...

DRACULE MIHAWK

Not Bothered.

Dating Dracule Mihawk is not an easy task, age gap or not. He is known to be the best swordsman alive and not only that but he is a man of few words.

his piercing gaze often leaves you guessing his thoughts. When the topic of the age difference came up, it was you who bought it up.

“Does it bother you that I’m younger?” you asked one night, standing in the library of his castle.

He regarded you with his usual flat voice, setting down his glass of wine. “Do you really believe me to be someone who concerns myself with unimportant things like age?”

You blinked, unsure if that was an awnser you wanted to hear

Mihawk sighed, walking to approach you. “Age means nothing to me, nor will it ever matter in my life. What matters to me is compatibility, trust, and respect. Do you doubt that we share these things?”

“No,” you murmured, your cheeks warming under his intense stare.

“Then stop questioning it, Love ” he said, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “You’re my spouse, no matter what the world says.”

And that was that. Mihawk was a man who lived his life on his terms, and he could care less about how people perceive him. whats matters is he had you in arms reach.

...⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻...

MARCO THE PHEONIX

Somewhere in between.

Marco had always lived on the Moby Dick, his priorities are split between his crew and his duty as Whitebeard’s right-hand man. But when he met you a lively spirit a decade younger , he found himself intrigued.

At first, Marco hesitated. The age gap wasn’t an issue to him personally, but he was wary of the gossip and judgment it might bring to you. He was scared it would make you insecure and uncomfortable in your relationship. He spoke to you carefully, like he was testing the waters between you two.

“You’re sure about this?” he asked one evening as you sat on the docks together, the sun setting behind you.

“im sure marc,” you replied, placing your hands over his. “Age is just a number to me, Marco. What matters is how we feel. and i feel amazing when im with you"

His lips twitched into a smile, a rare but genuine expression. “You’re too wise for your years, yoi.”

From then on, Marco grew more comfortable with your relationship. He is protective in his own way, always making sure you felt supported. When anyone questioned the relationship, he’d brush them off with his usual calm demeanor, saying,“As long as we’re happy, nothing else matters, yoi.”

To him , as long as you are okay with it, then it wasnt a big deal for him. He just wants you to have the upmost comfort.

...⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻...

SILVERS RAYLEIGH

Not Bothered.

Rayleigh had seen and done it all. In his golden years, he thought his days of love and romance were behind him. Then you came along, a ball of youthful energy and charisma that reignited a spark he thought was long extinguished in his old life.

“Age gap, hm?” he chuckled one night as you teased him about his silver hair. “I’ve been living long enough to know that love doesn’t follow rules,and neither do i.”

Rayleigh adored your youthfulness and the fresh perspective you brought into his dull life. He wasn’t insecure about the gap though , if anything he found it amusing. When others raised eyebrows, he’d wave them off with a laugh.

“Let ‘em talk what they want” he’d say, pulling you closer. “We’re happy, and that’s all that matters.”

He values your presence and he was always there to share a story or give advice when you needed it. To him, the age gap was just another adventure for him.

[raven-dor]

i wanna be yours

in which gwayne hightower is entranced by his sister’s best friend

PAIRING: gwayne hightower x fem!reader, alicent hightower x PLATONIC!reader, rhaenyra targaryen x PLATONIC!reader

WARNINGS: fluff, young love, obliviousness, denial, delusion, low self esteem (slight angst), FLUFF ENDING

WORD COUNT: 6.4k

🎶 : i wanna be yours - arctic monkeys

AN: 🩵💗 - so sorry for how long this is (also here is the unofficial part two to this fic - fall back into place)!!

“Come along, Y/N!” Rhaenyra yelled. “The flowers will still be there when we return.” 

“Very well, Your Highness.” She sighed, hooking her arm through the princesses. “They only bloom once a year. I am simply taking in their beauty before they wilt.” 

“I understand. Unfortunately for you, I now need a chaperone to walk my own halls, as every lord in the land vies for my hand.” 

“Oh, poor poor Rhaenyra.” Y/N teased. “I can only imagine.” 

“Rhaenyra, Y/N!” The girls turned around, Alicent running toward them with a young man in tow. 

Y/N leaned over, whispering in Rhaenyra’s ear. “It seems even your own friends are playing matchmaker.” 

Rhaenyra laughed, coughing to cover it up. Alicent looked suspiciously at Y/N. “What have you done?” 

“Nothing, Alicent, nothing at all.” 

“Oh, never mind.” She pulled the man forward. “May I introduce my brother, Ser Gwayne Hightower of Oldtown. He’s just arrived for the tourney.” 

Alicent’s brother was handsome: tall, with auburn hair and deep blue eyes. One could tell from a single glance he and Alicent were related. Freckles adorned his face, and Y/N could only assume it was from his ample time outdoors. She curtsied quickly, staring at the ground. 

Rhaenyra smiled politely. “Ser Hightower.”  

Gwayne bowed, kissing Rhaenyra’s hand. “Princess.” 

Protocol regarding courting was odd and often confusing. With different social statuses came different rules. The Princess was the highest ranking of the two girls before him; thus, he would kiss Rhaenyra’s hand last. It was an honest mistake, a lapse in judgment, Y/N was sure. Odd, she’d thought to herself, she assumed that Gwayne was taught these sorts of things. 

Her eyes drifted back to his, holding back a gasp as he extended his hand to her, after Rhaenyra. She placed hers in his palm hesitantly. He bowed once more, his hold gentle, like he was scared to break her. His lips were soft, and her cheeks turned bright red from the touch, eyes wide with shock. 

She realized, amid her thinking, that Alicent and Rhaenyra had been taunting her, much too entertained by this simple encounter. Y/N ripped her hand away; any passerby would have thought it was on fire. 

“My lady.” 

She’d almost frowned. “I am no lady, Ser.” Entertaining the thought of him would only come back to haunt her, she told herself. The entire point of the tourney was to field potential suitors for the Princess, none were here for the ward of the crown, an orphaned bastard in her own right. He was attractive, there was no denying it. The way his eyes twinkled, or the way his hair fell over his eyes, or when his smile- 

“Oh?” The young man frowned, his voice snapping her back to life. Her cheeks were still flushed. This avoiding business would prove to be harder than she previously thought. “My mistake. You are the very picture of a lady, I must say.” 

Their spectators gasped. Y/N scoffed. “Do not think you can mock me, Ser.” She tightened her hold on Rhaenyra’s arm. “If you will excuse us…” 

Not bothering to wait for a response, she turned around, dragging the princess along with her. Rhaenyra whispered, nudging her friend. “I believe he was smitten.” 

Y/N shook her head. “And I believe it was all a game, most likely a way to make you jealous.” Her heart clenched at the thought. “Just a game.” 

Rhaenyra’s room was a disaster, but when had it not been? 

For as long as either of the Princess’s companions could remember, her suite had been covered with gowns and riding suits thrown haphazardly on the floor. 

Not that either of the other girls cared, they were happy to lay on the Princess’s plush cushions, taking in the sun as it filled the room. Y/N’s head hung off the sofa, laughing as her friend ran through her closet. “If it were any larger, you would get lost inside.” 

Rhaenyra stuck her tongue out. “I would be content with just my riding suit, thank you very much.” 

Alicent laughed. “You know you’d rather die than look simple. You live for fine silks and designs-” 

Y/N nodded, doing her best to imitate the Princess. “Oh Y/N fetch the purple dress, will you? Fetch the red dress! No, not that one. The one with the jewels. No not that one, the other-” A pillow slammed against her face, and she giggled, holding her hands up defensively. “Mercy, I beg of you!” 

“You could have had all this.” Rhaenyra sat beside the girl, whispering. “If my father simply acknowledged-” 

“That my mother gave birth to me out of wedlock? No amount of Targaryen blood can excuse that dishonor.” Y/N sat up, frowning. “It does no good to dwell, Rhaenyra. Besides, I am content with the life I lead, spending time with my favorite cousin.” 

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. “I am your only cousin.” 

“Not true.” She laughed. “There is Daemon and-” 

“My brother seems rather taken with you, I must say.” Y/N’s heart broke at the thought of Gwayne being smitten with Rhaenyra. 

Why, she could not quite place. “Hear that ‘Nyra? I told you I was-” 

“I was talking to you, Y/N,” Alicent smirked.

Her cheeks grew hot, her hands itching to cover her face. “You must be mistaken.” 

“Do you truly think so little of him?” The auburn-haired girl reached out, grabbing Y/N’s hand comfortingly. “I assure you, he is honorable and loyal to a fault.” 

“I am sure he is.” Y/N smiled. “He must be leaving soon, now that the tournament is nearly over.”

Rhaenyra smirked. “I must say, it was not as extensive as I would have liked.” 

“Really?” Y/N laughed. “It has already been a fortnight since its beginning.” 

“And if the Princess feels it is not finished…” Rhaenyra wiggled her eyebrows. “The Princess will announce an extension.” 

Alicent giggled. “Or rather your father.” 

“My lady.” 

She’d almost escaped. Y/N sighed, turning around. “My lord.”

She had seen the man following her for quite a while, hoping that he was merely visiting the library. She bowed quickly. “How may I be of service?” Lord Frey’s scent could make a man grown faint. She felt the bile rise as he took a step closer, whispering.

“I was wondering if you could put in a word with your Princess.” 

She nodded. “What would you like me to relay?” 

“Well-” His ‘kind’ facade was cracking. If he could barely handle a simple question, she doubted Rhaenyra would enjoy him. “If you could-” 

“My lady.” Her heart fluttered at the sight of Gwyane Hightower, his hair bouncing as he walked toward her. “I’ve been waiting. We agreed to meet in the gardens.” 

“I am sorry.” She smiled, genuinely smiled. “I was simply talking to Lord Frey.” She looked back to the older man, urging him to continue. “You were saying, my lord?” 

He gritted his teeth. “It is of no consequence. I shall take my leave.” He bowed. “My lady. Ser Hightower.” 

“Lord Frey,” Gwayne replied, waiting until he had rounded the corner. “Always a pleasure.” 

Y/N fought the urge to laugh. She walked past the young knight, her heart beating faster as he diligently followed after her. “Do you not have somewhere to be, my lord?” 

“As I said, I have been waiting for you.”

She scoffed. “I must say, you are the very picture of a knight. Saving a damsel in distress? How chivalrous.” 

He smiled, bowing sarcastically. “Thank you, my lady.” 

“I am not a-”

“A lady. You have said.” He grabbed a book from the shelf, pretending to read it before throwing it over his shoulder. She rolled her eyes, walking around him to pick up the book he’d discarded. The maester would have her head if he found it lying there. “I must say, a lady has never been so-” He laughed as she opened her mouth to correct him. “So unmoved by my advances.” 

“I’m sorry to disappoint. If you’ll excuse me-” 

“What are you doing with the remainder of your day, I wonder.”

“Why?”

“I would like a proper tour of the castle, and my sister has been too busy as of late.” He looked too eager, too eager to spend time with a mere lady in waiting. “Would you care to show me?”  

“I would not.” 

“Wonderful. I will-” He stopped. “I beg your pardon?” 

“I said, I would not.” She put the last book away, climbing up the ladder. “It is quite cruel, this game you are playing.”

“I am sorry?” He tilted his head. 

“I know this is a ploy to gain Rhaenyra’s favor, to win the tourney, and possibly win your father’s approval.” She scoffed, eyes watery at the thought of yet another man using her to gain advantage. “This is by far the cruelest way, I must tell you.” 

He laughed, actually laughed at her, which only angered her further, tears falling as a result. He stopped his laughing, reaching out to comfort her, frowning when she stepped back. “Do you really think I am using you for your lady’s hand?” 

“I do.” She climbed back down from the ladder, ignoring the way he held it from wavering beneath her. “There is no reason for you to be interested in me.” 

He shook his head as if he’d misheard her. “Are you aware you are beautiful?” 

Y/N ignored that comment, facing him with pleading eyes. “Please spare me from your taunts. I understand that you may- you may find it amusing-” 

Gwayne was confused, extremely, and utterly confused. He had just complimented her, why was she asking him to spare her? “I must make this clear and simple, as you seem to get the wrong impression from me. I am not interested in your lady. I am interested in-”

“Every suitor I have encountered has gone through either myself or Alicent to gain Rhaenyra’s favor. By the gods-” She flailed her arms. “Some even go to me inquiring about your sister!”  

He practically growled, her heart leaping from the sound. “Then they are cowards.”

“Yes, well…” She had to leave before her resolve broke. “My lord.” 

“Do you let anyone other than yourself speak?” 

Y/N gasped, whipping around. “Excuse me?” 

“I have been trying to explain myself to you, to tell you that-” He stopped himself. “So far every attempt has been overpowered by you.” He crossed his arms, a smirk gracing his lips. “Now…” His voice was practically a whisper. “May I speak?” 

“I-” She swallowed, nodding. She did not trust her voice when he looked at her so… so longingly?

“The outing I suggested earlier, would simply be a tour, nothing more.” He took her hand in his. “Nothing untoward will come of it, I swear to you.” 

He looked sincere. So sincere that she began to consider it. “We will need a chaperone. The king would not allow me to go off alone, even with a knight.” 

“The king?” Gwayne was intrigued. “Exactly why would the king care?” 

“Because I am a ward of the crown. I have been since I was born. My mother was a-” She stopped herself. “She was a close friend of King Jaehaerys, and he took me in. King Viserys has been gracious enough to let me stay.” 

“Well, then I shall have to thank him.” 

“For?” 

“If it had not been for him…” He reached out, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “We would have never met.” 

She rolled her eyes, pulling herself out of his hold. “I shall see you tomorrow, my lord.” 

He grinned, calling after her. “I look forward to it!” 

Gwayne smiled as he watched the woman in front of him. She was glowing in this light and practically skipping through the gardens with joy. It was funny, seeing a woman he had often seen as melancholy at best so energetic. “Do you often find yourself at peace here?” 

“I do.” Y/N nodded. “I was told my mother loved the gardens, I suppose I feel she is still with me when I am here.” 

“Did you know her?” Gwayne inquired. “Your mother, that is.” 

“She died when I was a babe.” She leaned forward, taking in the scent of the roses in front of her. “I have glimpses of her. She had bright eyes, bright hair. Her laugh was the most beautiful melody you could ever hear. At least…” She drifted off, staring at the ground. “From what I can remember.”  

“I have the same.” His voice was quiet. “Although, my mother died when I was eight years of age.” 

“That’s awful.” She frowned. “Alicent told me she had died, but not how old you’d been. That must have been worse, I suppose. Having known her, and then in a moment, gone.” 

He shrugged. “My mother was… less than maternal. She had always been one for court and fashion rather than her children.” 

“Ah.”

“Still, it hurt. Me more than Alicent, I suppose. She’d only been four years old.” 

She ached to reach out and hold him. “I am sorry.” 

“For?” 

“Reliving the past.” 

“If I remember correctly…” He plucked a nearby daisy, placing it behind her ear ever so delicately. “I found this topic of conversation.” 

“Yes well…” She smiled, leaning into his touch ever so slightly. “Still…” 

He leaned forward, his breath hitting her nose. “I am sure your mother would be proud.” 

To that, Y/N laughed. “She was always the adventurous sort, at least, that is what I’ve gathered from the stories. She was highly admired too, beautiful…” She looked down, picking at the skin around her thumb. “I hope to be half the woman she was.” 

“You are.” He whispered, holding her hand. He had noticed, much to his dismay, that she’d adopted the habit of picking at her skin. It hurt him, to see her do that to herself. 

His sister did the same.

Her heart stopped, looking up to meet his gaze. He was beautiful. Staring into his eyes, she began to realize how inappropriate of a position they were in. 

Where was their chaperone? She took a step back, forgetting the rose bush behind her. Yelping, she jumped forward, falling into his arms. 

Gwayne laughed, throwing his head back. “Have I startled you?” 

She scoffed, pushing him away. “Not at all. I simply remembered we have much more of the tour to get through.” She darted around him, leading the way out of the garden. “Now, come along.” 

“Yes sir,” Gwayne muttered, mockingly saluting. 

She looked behind her, a smile gracing her lips. “What was that?”

“Nothing.” His pace quickened until they were side by side. “Simply admiring your hospitality.” 

She shoved his arm, rolling her eyes. “Ever the jester.” 

The remainder of their day passed quickly, much quicker than Y/N would have liked. By the end, she came to realize that the noble knight was a near-perfect companion. Serious when required, a jester when the moment called for it, he was kind, and a good man. 

Their last moments had been silent, soaking in the dull roar around them. Every so often, their hands grazed, neither daring to reach out. The sunset with the perfect blend of orange and pink, the waves crashing against King Landing’s rocky cliffs. It made Y/N smile, the way it brought out the red in Gwayne’s hair. She whispered, the words barely leaving her. “You’re hair is the most perfect shade. Have you noticed?” His cheeks turned red, and she smirked, taking his silence as a no. “If only it were transferable.” 

That had made him laugh. “Have you just given me a compliment?” 

She laughed. “We are friends, are we not?” The night was coming to an end, her door just a few paces away. “Friends compliment each other.” 

His shoulders visibly deflated, but he smiled nonetheless. “Yes. Friends compliment each other.” Silence fell over them again, neither daring to speak until she’d reached for her door. His hand grabbed her wrist, holding her just so. 

His voice was raspy, quiet enough the breeze itself could have carried it away. “You are perfection itself.” Her cheeks were bright red, and she grew grateful he could not see her, knowing that she would surely become the subject of his jests if he saw her blush. “As your friend…” 

She nodded, smiling to herself as she pushed the door open, his hold releasing her wrist. “Goodnight, my lord.” 

“My friends do not call me my lord.” 

She turned around, curtsying ever so lightly. “Then goodnight, Gwayne.” 

He bowed, kissing the back of her hand. “Goodnight, Y/N.” 

“Are you not terribly tired of reading?”

“If I was tired of it, I would not still be doing it, now would I?” 

Gwayne groaned, rolling over on their shared blanket, staring at the sky. “One should not confine themselves to a book when the whole world is sitting in front of them.” 

Y/N rolled her eyes, setting the book down in her lap. “I will have you know I am not confining myself.” 

“Oh?” He laughed, his eyes closing. “Then what exactly are you doing?” “I was trying to relax.” She murmured. “Something I can never seem to do when you are present.” 

“What was that?” His smirk was growing increasingly mischievous, and she knew that he had heard her. 

“I will not repeat myself. You heard me.” Grabbing her book out of her lap, she opened its pages once more. “Now hush. This is the best part.” 

“Read it to me then.” He closed his eyes, laying beside her. “I would like to hear what is so interesting it has taken you away from me.” 

“It was you who suggested the picnic, Gwayne, not I.” She laughed. “They are supposed to be tranquil.” 

“Maybe in King’s Landing.” He muttered. “In Oldtown, they are supposed to be fun.” 

“Well, I am not from Oldtown, nor are we there, which could imply why I was unaware of your customs. Which could also explain how we have reached this argument.” 

His eyebrows raised. “Is this an argument?” 

She ignored him, mumbling to herself. “This is fun.” 

“Well, it would be.” He teased. “If you read to me.” 

“You jest.” She mumbled. “Now let me sit in peace.” 

He stood up, walking behind her just to sit down once more. “May I?” 

“May you what, exactly?” Her cheeks felt hot, he had this effect on her. 

“Alicent once taught me to plait hair, when she was young.” He smiled to himself. “I assume it was a self-serving act, but still.” He leaned forward, his voice causing goosebumps to run up her spine. “At least let me pass the time this way.” 

“Fine.” Y/N could never say no to him, no matter how hard she tried. “Do not make me look hideous.” 

“That…” He pulled out the pins that held her hair elegantly. “Is not possible.” Her cheeks flushed, ignoring that compliment. “Are you attending the tourney tomorrow?” 

Y/N nodded. “I must. Rhaenyra has insisted I attend as her lady-in-waiting.” She laughed. “It is quite odd.” 

“How so?” 

“She has never required that of me before.” 

Gwayne grinned. “Well, I shall enjoy knowing you are watching.” 

“Really?” She laughed again. “I thought you would enjoy it more if I had not attended. Then you could recount the story as outlandishly as you pleased.” 

“Y/N…” His voice sounded desperate, and her heart skipped. “If you do not wish to attend, I’m sure the Princess will understand.” 

“No!” She practically yelped. “I want to.”

He smiled, his blush growing darker. “Then I shall do my very best.” His fingers grazed her neck, a gasp leaving her lips before she could silence herself. Gwayne made no comment of it, simply finishing the braid and standing up, extending his hand. 

She glared playfully, standing up of her own accord. She knelt, picking up the blanket and folding it haphazardly. 

“Let me.” Gwayne took the blanket and basket from her arms, carrying them back up to the castle. “A lady should never carry such things.” 

“A basket and blanket?” She raised an eyebrow. “I am not weak.” 

“I know.” He smiled, enjoying the fire in her eyes. “You are decidedly, not weak.” 

She nodded, puffing her chest. “If we walk any slower, you shall be late.” 

He groaned. “Why must I attend this soiree?” 

“Because it is meant for you. For knights participating in the tourney, that is. Rhaenyra will be there, as will her father-” 

“And will you?” Gwayne interrupted. “Be in attendance?” 

“I shall.” She smiled brightly. “Now come along and follow after me closely.” 

He tilted his head. “Where are you taking me, exactly?” 

“Maegor’s tunnels.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “They were made as an escape plan. Now the servants use them to move around the castle unseen.” The corridor was dark, the lanterns doing little to illuminate the path. 

Gwayne felt a chill run down his spine, and he reached out, grabbing her hand. “Are you quite sure this is safe?” 

“I have used them my whole life.” She placed a hand on his cheek. “Trust me.” 

He smiled, all fears of imminent doom leaving him as her skin touched his. “Lead the way.”

“You are going to break my hand.” Rhaenyra hissed. 

Y/N smiled guiltily, releasing the Princess's hand. “My apologies, Princess.” She straightened the fabric of her dress, sitting tall. “I am simply excited. I love tourneys.” 

“You do not. You have not been to a tourney since we were ten years of age.” 

“Untrue,” Y/N muttered, looking over the edge of the box for her knight. “I am simply busy.” 

“With what?” Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow. “Who are you looking for anyhow?” 

Alicent sat on the other side of the Princess, leaning forward and wiggling her eyebrows. “I believe she is looking for my brother.” 

Rhaenyra grinned. “Has that-” Alicent elbowed the Princess, widening her eyes. 

Y/N tilted her head. “What was that?” 

“Nothing,” Rhaenyra muttered, holding her side. “Nothing.” 

A knight approached the royal box, and Y/N grinned, waiting for Rhaenyra to stand first, as was customary. Rhaenyra smirked, looking at Alicent quickly before approaching the ledge. “Ser Hightower.” Alicent and Y/N approached second, arm in arm. Curstying quickly, she smiled at Gwayne brightly. The knight nodded his head. “Your Highness.” He turned to Y/N, his eyes softening. “My lady.” 

“Ser Hightower.” Y/N greeted. “This is quite the tourney. I’m impressed.” 

He grinned. “May I-” He swallowed. “May I have the honor of wearing your favor?” 

Her cheeks grew bright red. “You-” She looked at Rhaenyra. “Do you not-” 

He laughed. “I believe it is quite obvious I do not.” 

Rhaenyra laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. She leaned over, whispering in her cousin’s ear. “This is when you give the man your favor, Y/N.” 

“But, I-” She turned back to Gwayne once more. “Are you quite sure?” 

He nodded, cheeks slightly flushed. “Yes, my lady.” 

She turned around, pulling her arm out of Alicent’s. As she was a bastard, her house colors were unknown, opting to simply decorate the ring with her favorite flowers. 

Of course, Rhaneyra and Y/N had known, but to blatantly defy the order of the king… she locked eyes with King Viserys, who was gazing at her curiously. Her eyes darted to the floor, turning back around.  “May your luck bring you to victory, Ser Hightower.” 

“As long as I have you to think of…” He looked positively giddy. “I shall never lose.” 

Y/N was sure her cheeks were bright red. She rolled her eyes, ignoring his compliment. 

Her heart twisted, knowing that they could never marry, as who would allow their firstborn son, their heir, to wed a bastard? She pushed his lance playfully, pulling herself out of her thoughts. “Go on, then.” 

“You look stunning.” Alicent smiled, placing her hands on Y/N’s shoulders. “The very picture of a lady.” 

Y/N’s cheeks flushed. “I cannot name a time I have dressed so…” She smiled. “So elegantly.” 

“It is a ball,” Rhaenyra interjected. “I will not have my dear friend in something drab.” 

Alicent glared, and Rhaenyra stuck her tongue out. “She knows I do not mean that she is drab. I was simply-” 

“It is alright, Rhaenyra.” Y/N laughed. “I was not offended in the slightest.” 

“Red is most definitely your color.” Alicent grinned, spinning her friend around.

Rhaenyra smirked. “Your knight shall not know what to do with himself.” Alicent gasped, smacking Rhaenyra’s arm. The Princess winced, glaring at her friend. “You cannot keep hitting me whenever you are disappointed.” 

Y/N tilted her head. “My knight?” 

“It is no matter.” Alicent stopped the Princess from blabbing anymore. “Shall we?” 

The ballroom was filled to the brim with nobility from all over the Seven Kingdoms, the Hightowers, the Tullys, even the Starks had come to participate in the tourney and celebrate its results. 

Y/N stepped back, watching as her friends entered. The squire stomped his cane, effectively silencing the ballroom. “The Princess of Dragonstone, Rhaenyra Targaryen, heir to the Seven Kingdoms, accompanied by the Lady Alicent Hightower.” 

They looked elegant, lighting up the room as they walked. Y/N walked up to the squire, smiling lightly. “No need to introduce me, Orvyn.” 

He nodded, smiling kindly. “As you wish, my lady.” 

The ballroom had not paid attention as she walked, not that she minded. It was better that way, she convinced herself as she glanced around the room. She smiled, waving at Gwayne, who was already staring back at her, rather intensely. His eyes… she shivered, ripping herself away from his gaze as she curtsied before the King. “Your Majesty.” 

Viserys smiled, eyeing her royal red dress with curiosity. “Y/N.” 

She rose; she could still feel Gwayne’s eyes fixed on her. Sitting beside Rhaenyra, she took a large gulp of her wine. “Is Gwayne still-” 

Rhaenyra nodded, laughing to herself. “He is walking over.” 

“What?” Y/N’s eyes widened, her heart pounding. “Why?” 

“I assume…” She whispered, Gwayne now mere inches away. “He is going to ask you to dance.” 

“He-” 

“Your Highness.” The knight bowed. “My lady.” 

Y/N avoided eye contact and took another large sip. Rhaenyra smirked. “Ser Gwayne, congratulations on your victory.” 

“Thank you, Princess.” He smiled. “Would you mind terribly if I stole your lady for a dance?” 

Rhaenyra shook her head. “Not at all, my lord.” She looked at Y/N, enjoying this situation too much. “Y/N?” 

“What?” Y/N whispered. 

“He is asking you to dance.” Rhaenyra hissed. “Now get up.” 

“I-” Y/N looked at Gwayne for the second time that night, feeling as if she could faint at any moment. “I would be delighted.” 

His hand waited for hers, as it had so many times before. He whispered, placing his arm around her waist as they stood on the dance floor, his touch shocking her to her very core. “Is something the matter?” 

She shook her head. 

“Then why, pray tell…” His voice sounded desperate. “Have you refused to meet my eyes? I have missed your company.” 

She raised her gaze, falling for the trap he’d set. “I saw you but two days ago, Gwayne.” 

“There you are.” He grinned, pulling her closer as the dance began. “Now tell me, what is the matter?” 

“You are leaving soon.” 

“I am.” He replied as if this were any normal conversation. And perhaps it was, but Y/N would not say so. No normal conversation made her heart beat as fast as this. 

“And I-” She sighed. “I did not want to bother you while you prepared for your journey back.” 

“Back?” He tilted his head. “And where am I journeying to?” 

“To Oldtown, of course.” His eyebrows scrunched, and Y/N fought the urge to burst into laughter. “I assumed-” 

“Well, there’s no good in that, is there?” He whispered. “Assuming is a dangerous business.” 

“But why would you stay?” She felt entirely confused. He had won the tourney and now would go home to tend to his duties. “There is no-” His eyes sparkled as she spoke, halting her momentarily. “No reason.” 

Gwayne leaned down, his breath hitting her cheeks. “There is one reason. A very compelling one, in truth.” 

Her heart stopped. “Is there?” 

He nodded, eyes fluttering down to her lips. 

Oh. 

She was the reason. 

Before she could fall for his spell, she pulled back, disrupting the dance. His eyes widened, reaching out to hold her hand. “Y/N?” 

She ripped her hand back, staring wide-eyed. “I am not feeling well.” 

His tone was gentle, it made her stomach flip. Gods, he had to stop being so- so perfect. “Would you like me to-” 

“No!” She yelped, slapping a hand over her mouth. Nobles from around the room curiously gazed at the couple. “No, I shall go alone.” 

“Y/N-” 

She whipped around, stalking out of the ballroom. It broke her, to walk away from his hold. She knew she could no longer be around him; she was fighting her very soul to leap up and attach her lips to his. 

There was only one solution to this problem, this vexing complication - she would have to avoid him entirely. No more traipsing around the halls waiting for him to see her, no more walking by the stables or the training yard.

No, she would have to stay confined to her and Rhaenyra’s rooms. 

That was the best course of action, for both her and Gwayne. 

Little did she know, Gwayne would not stand for it. 

“They say-” Rhaenyra spoke carefully as she addressed her cousin. “That your knight is leaving today.” 

“Ah.” Y/N nodded, staring off into the distance.

“Y/N…” The Princess sat beside her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Punishing yourself because of your birth… You must stop refusing any sign of affection or love simply on the-” 

“Who said it was love?” Y/N scoffed, walking out to the balcony. “Certainly not I.” 

“Anyone with eyes can see it. He is mad for you, as you are for him.” Rhaenyra muttered under her breath. “Even if you refuse to admit it.”

“I cannot admit something false, Rhaenyra.” Her lips curled into a twisted sort of smile. “I am content with my life, serving you.” 

“All perfectly fine with me,” Rhaenyra reassured. “But you have a chance with Gwayne. Swear to me you will not waste it.” 

“I-” She sighed. “I must retrieve your dinner, my lady.” Y/N curtsied before racing out of the room. By the gods, she couldn’t breathe when Rhaenyra lectured her. It was horrible enough that Alicent had begun to look upon her as if she was a kicked puppy, now Rhaenyra had began to do the same. 

She pushed open the servant's door, twisting through Maegor’s tunnels with ease. It was odd, she told herself, at the lack of maids in its halls. Normally, she was dodging servants left and right. This felt strange, unnerving in a way. 

Footsteps echoed behind her, and her heart lept when a hand wrapped around her wrist, pulling her into a dark corner. She gasped, flailing her arms around, anything to beat this intruder off her. Gwayne’s familiar voice ripped her from her panicked cries. “It’s me! It’s me.” 

She rolled her eyes, pulling her arm out of his grasp. “What possessed you to drag me-” 

“You will not talk to me.” He crossed his arms, staring at her intensely. “I am sorry if I scared you.” She turned around, walking back to the hallway. Gwayne followed diligently. “My party is set to leave today.” 

Y/N nodded, ignoring the way her heart clenched. “So I’ve heard.” 

“I wanted to say goodbye before I left.” His voice wavered. “I will miss-” 

“You’ve said goodbye.” She cut him off, whipping around. “Now you may leave.” 

He closed the space between them, eyes running wild with confusion. “Why must you be like this? Have I truly upset you?” 

“Will you not respect a lady’s wishes?” She took a step back, scoffing. “I thought you were a knight, Lord Hightower.” 

“Don’t.” 

“I must attend to my lady. Her dinner is past due.” She continued her walk through the tunnels, ignoring his overwhelming presence. 

“Damn her dinner.” He hissed, walking a pace behind her as he whispered. “I have been trying, for weeks, to court you, and you’ve denied me every step of the way. Just as soon as I-” 

She scoffed. “Court me? Did Lord Tyland put you up to this?” 

He shook his head, laughing. “Is it so hard to believe that I am interested in you? That the very thought of you consumes me?” 

“Yes, it is.” 

“Why?” 

She could only imagine his expression, his beautiful face creased with shock. Her cheeks flushed at the thought. “I am a bastard, you a lord’s son. By the gods, your father is hand to the King, and I am merely a lady in waiting.” She frowned, eyes watering. “It is not proper-” 

“Then damn propriety!” He yelled, grabbing her wrist and halting her in her tracks. Her back was pressed against his chest. “I- I am mad for you, you must see that.” 

Her shoulders shook, tears falling down her face. “Gwayne, it is for the best.” 

“No!” He twirled her around, his hand gently caressing her cheek. “You- you make me think, and feel, and act as none have. Your laughter- it brightens my day. Your wit makes me proud. I am-” He sighed, smiling brightly at the mere sight of her. “How?” 

She tilted her head. “How?” 

“How can I show you?” Her back collided with the wall, her breath leaving her, her heart thumping at their proximity. “How can I make you believe?” 

“Gwayne…” 

“Damn it to hell…” He leaned down, colliding his lips to hers. She gasped, eyes fluttering shut as she instantly pulled him closer. “I am not deterred by your status, nor do I care. I will have you, regardless of what the court thinks is proper.” His forehead leaned against hers, his hand resting at the bottom of her neck. 

“We cannot-” Tears continued to fall down her face. “Gwayne it cannot happen-” 

“Do you want it to?” He remained steadfast. “Is this what you truly feel, or merely what the lords and ladies of Kings Landing shall say?”

“Gwayne, your father will never approve.” 

“By the gods woman…” He laughed. “Do you love me?” 

“Love?” She choked on a sob. Her body felt as if it could burst into flames at any moment. He was standing close, closer than what was deemed appropriate. “Do I-” 

“I do.” He whispered, nudging her nose with his, lips barely touching. “I love you.” 

“Gwayne, just listen to me.” She was fighting every bone in her body not to kiss him senselessly. “I am not good enough for you. There are hundreds of ladies-” 

“You are, you are good enough. Perhaps too good. Besides…” He whispered. “I want you. Only you.” His eyes were intense, his thumb caressing her collarbone. By the gods, he was trying to make her burst into flames. “Only you.” His lips collided against hers, her eyes fluttering shut once more. 

Her hands found their way to his chest, slowly pushing him away. “We cannot.” 

“Oh?” He looked around the hallway. “I do not see anyone.” 

“You know what I meant, Gwayne Hightower.”  

“Would you like to stop?” 

“No!” Her eyes widened, and she slapped a hand over her mouth.

His eyebrows rose, laughing to himself. “So eager.” He nudged his nose against hers. “Whatever shall I do with you?” 

“Why have you stopped?” Gwayne’s voice was but a murmur. “I did not know you were listening.” She smiled. “You appeared to be sleeping.” 

“Merely basking in your presence, my love.” His eyes fluttered open. “I must say, you look radiant in this light.” 

She laughed. “As opposed to?” 

“You know that I find you impossibly perfect.” His eyes shut again. “How long has it been since you began this book?” 

“Hard to say. Possibly half an hour?” She squinted suspiciously. “Why?” 

“No reason.” He smirked, finding comfort in her lap once more. 

“Well, there must be.” Her laughter filled his heart, his soul. “You never ask for the time.” 

“May I not ask the beautiful woman, whom I love, what the time is? I simply want to know how long I have been lying in the garden.” His eyes peeked open once more, her eyebrows raising in amusement. “If you must know, I  have an appointment at half past three.”

“An appointment?” She shut her book, running her hand through his hair. “Whatever for?” 

“It is a secret.” 

“Really?” She pulled her hand away from his hair, laughing as he sat up, obviously disappointed by the sudden lack of touch.

“Really.” He stood, extending his hand. She smiled, placing hers in his gladly. “It is with the King.” 

She laid her head on his shoulder, smiling as they walked. “Has something happened?” 

“Yes.” 

Her heart dropped. “Is it serious?” 

He nodded. “Deadly.” 

She groaned. “Now you must tell me.” 

He sighed, stopping by the fountain. “Fine, fine. But you must not tell.” 

She nodded, interlocking their pinkies. “I swear.” 

He leaned forward, whispering in her ear. “I am asking the King for your hand.” 

Her eyebrows crinkled. “My hand?” 

“In marriage, my love.” She stood there speechless. He laughed, kissing the back of her hand gently. “I cannot be late.” 

He had been halfway down the trail when she’d been brought back to life. 

“Gwayne!” 

He turned around, laughing at the sight before him. Y/N was racing toward him, skirts in hand and book discarded, grinning wildly. “Gwayne, you come back here this instant!” 

He shook his head, running away. “This is highly unladylike, I must say!” She glared, almost tripping over a tree root, his laughter cascading through the garden. “Almost makes me rethink my question!”

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[bahablastplz]

Battleground: Minho x Reader

Prompt: "Hii, i was wondering in you could write a one shot of alpha!minho x Alpha!afab. They met through their friend/roommate Jisung who is an omega, and they are enemies and Jisung has to break up their fights, but this one time they end up having sex while fighting for dominance." Content: Smut, angst, omegaverse, enemies to lovers, switch/dom Minho, switch reader, alpha reader/alpha Minho, afab!reader WC: 5000 Note: hi yes I got carried away with this but this was super fun to write. enjoy!

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You should have never trusted Jisung. This is often a motto of yours, actually, seeing as he’s responsible for nine out of every ten instances of trouble you find yourself in. But he has big pleading eyes and he can be so convincing that you throw caution to the wind every time he speaks. 

You needed a new roommate. Your old one bailed on you (thank god, because she was actually the worst). She was filthy and never cleaned up after herself. She left dishes in the sink, piles of trash for you to take care of, and was blatantly rude. You let out a sigh of relief when she told you she was moving and it took all of two days for her to fuck off for no apparent reason. She left your life as violently as she entered it, however, leaving piles and piles of her junk for you to take care of as well as half of the rent once again. 

You wish that you could lie and say that you could afford it by yourself but you simply couldn’t. It was just too far out of your spending limits and so… you needed to find a new place to live. 

When Jisung suggested you come to live in his spare bedroom, it really didn’t seem like that bad of an idea. You knew the omega well enough; he wasn’t the cleanest in the world but he’s a step up from your old roommate for sure. Plus he was one of your closest friends. If anything, you knew you would feel comfortable around him. The only reason you had hesitated at first is because everybody always tells you not to live with your friends. Somehow you doubted this would be an issue with Jisung though. 

It would be fine, right? You’ve heard only good things about his other roommate, Minho. Jisung jokingly refers to him as his platonic soulmate sometimes but you don’t really know anything else about him. You were a little weary about sharing a living space with two omegas and all, being an alpha yourself, but you were no asshole alpha. They would have nothing to worry about. 

Once again, you should have never trusted Han Jisung. 

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“What are you doing? You’re going to scare her away!” You hear through the door of the apartment. You’re a little unsure when you hear muffled shouting and you feel an uneasiness in your stomach that you ignore but you can’t help to continue to listen. “Why are you acting like you don’t want her here?” 

“Because I don’t. We don’t know her!”

“You don’t know her. I know her perfectly well and you should trust my judgment.” You use this as the opportunity to knock on the door which swings open to a wide-eyed Jisung. He looks guilty of something and you’re confused before it hits you all at once. 

The apartment reeks of cinnamon. Every crevice and corner is dripping of the strong smell to the point you can hardly smell Jisung’s vanilla, even if you really focus. That’s when you come to the realization that Jisung’s roommate isn’t an omega… He’s an alpha. One intentionally covering the whole apartment with his smell before he even gets to know you to assert his dominance. You fight back the urge to roll your eyes at the stereotypical alpha behavior and you resist the urge to cover your nose at the smell. Just because Minho is being rude doesn’t mean you need to be rude in return. 

And before you can even say anything to greet him, he’s walking away and slamming his door shut. You give Jisung a look and he’s already looking at you apologetically. 

“I’m sorry,” he winces. “I really am. He’s not usually like this, I swear. I don’t know what’s going on–” 

“Jisung,” you interrupt. “You never told me he was an alpha in the first place!” 

His mouth opens slightly in a small ‘o’ shape. “I didn’t?” 

You sigh at him and take a deep breath. “Just help me with these boxes, okay?” And as if he’s eager to be back on your good side, he helps you without a fuss. 

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It’s two entire days before you even see Minho again. It agitates your own alpha, really, knowing that there’s someone else in your living space you haven’t gotten a proper chance to meet and scope out. But you’ve finally gotten yourself settled into your space and you have to admit it’s nice being so close to Jisung all the time. 

You stumble out of your room after an afternoon nap to find him cooking in the kitchen. It takes you by surprise, honestly, because for someone who has already tried to be so stereotypically alpha, it just seems like a very… omegan activity. You tell yourself it’s not polite to pass judgments on someone you hardly know, especially regarding their secondary gender, so you don’t say a word about it. You do, however, make an attempt to properly introduce yourself.

“Hello,” you say lightly. Minho’s shoulders tense up for a second before they relax. “I’m Y/N.” He doesn’t turn around and he doesn’t say anything. You make a face from behind him, where he can’t see you. What is his deal? You lean against the wall, trying to think of a way to make conversation. If this were anybody else, you wouldn’t bother but… you’re doing this for Jisung, after all. This is supposed to be one of his closest friends aside from you. “How long have you known Jisung for?” you try. 

“Longer than you,” he scoffs. This catches you off guard as you’re not quite sure what to make of the statement. Is he trying to be possessive over the omega or is he just trying to show you that he’s winning whatever competition this is? 

“Oh. How long would that be? I’ve only known him for two years or so, but we’ve grown really close–” Minho finally spins around and you make eye contact for the first time. His harsh gaze is the first thing you really notice about him, his feline eyes sharp as they stare daggers into you. He’s very pretty, you note, and it almost pisses you off even more. How can someone so attractive be such an asshole? 

“You’re not my friend,” he says, pointing a wooden spoon at you threateningly. “This was my space first and you have no right to intrude and try to be buddy-buddy with me. I don’t know you.” His words are blunt, to the point. He turns back around and… god, he’s trying to assert dominance again by shutting you up and ending the conversation here! Better yet, his cinnamon scent spikes and swirls around the room, haunting you. 

You won’t retaliate with your own scent. You’re better than that. But that doesn’t mean you’ll let some alpha think he’s better than you and shut you up without a fight. “Who’s fault is that?” you spit. Minho freezes so you continue. “Who’s fault is it that you don’t know me, hmm? I never asked to be your friend, Minho. But I’m not here to intrude and I’m not here to take over your territory and become the new head-alpha, okay? I’m here because Jisung invited me. I’m here because I need a place to live! Is it really so fucking bad to think that maybe you can be civil with me? Instead you’ve been defensive since the second I walked through that door!” Your anger is spiking and you need to get control of yourself before you explode on him. You turn around and slam your door shut before you can say anymore. 

Once on your bed you fight the urge to punch something. You certainly let yourself get riled up fast. It annoys you that someone you don’t even know has this sort of effect on you. But you close your eyes and will the anger away, telling yourself that maybe, just maybe, it’ll get better. 

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It doesn’t get better. It gets a whole lot worse, actually. Your first movie-night in with Jisung you actually get nauseous with how much he reeks of Minho. 

“Jesus, Sung,” you tell him. “It smells like you rolled around with him right before you came into my room.” 

“Sorry,” he says apologetically. It’s so hard to be mad at him. It really is. “He’s been extra clingy lately for some reason.” 

“For some reason,” you grumble. You know exactly why. “He’s trying to intimidate me to stay away from you, probably.” 

“What? Minho would never do that!” he says. You glare at him and he cowers down immediately. “I don’t know what’s going on with him,” he admits. 

“I’m tired of him making me feel like I’m the crazy one here! Everyone I talk to shoots praises out of their ass for him and meanwhile, I’m public enemy number one. I seriously don’t know what his issue is with me and I’m getting sick and tired of everyone telling me what a great person he is!” you rant rather loudly, ending with a great sigh. 

“Have you tried talking to him?” Jisung asks. You feel like you’re going to explode. 

“Yes, I have,” you tell him. “Multiple times. Each one ends in an argument or one of us storming off. I just can’t figure out what his deal is.” 

“Maybe–” 

“Sung, let’s just watch the movie, okay? I’m starting to get irritated and you’re not the one I’m upset with.” 

He concedes and snuggles in a bit closer to you, pressing play on the laptop. If you discreetly try to cover him in your own ginger scent? That’s between you and the moon goddess. 

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You find yourself in the midst of some sort of war and you’re on the losing side. Lee Minho has made it his life mission to inconvenience or irritate you in any way he can. 

Exhibit A: One morning you find yourself running late for class and you open your door just to trip over a conveniently placed pile of his shoes. Cursing his name in your head, you grab your backpack and run out the front door, just narrowly making it in time for the professor to start talking. Fast forward to the end of class when you pull out your folder just to realize that said folder is nowhere to be seen. Your homework which you spent over an hour on the previous night has vanished, gaining you a zero on the assignment. You’re sure you’re seeing red when you get home and your folder is on the kitchen counter.  

“I don’t know what game you think we’re playing, but sabotaging my grades is going too fucking far, Lee!” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says as he sips on a cup of coffee. You fight the urge to throw it in his face. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t try to make me late for class and hide my folder!” you say, waving the folder in his face. He looks irritated but it’s no match for how you feel. 

“Your belongings are not my responsibility,” he says with an eye roll. “Next time maybe don’t misplace your stuff.” You leave because you’re not confident in your ability not to punch him. 

Exhibit B: Poor Jisung has tried to set up an apartment movie night. It’s a good idea, in theory, to try to get some supervised bonding. Jisung even sits right in the middle, anxiously picking at his nails the entire movie. That’s only after Minho accuses you of burning the popcorn and fighting with you over which movie to watch. Jisung ends up picking it. It was going well until he stretched his legs out over Jisung’s lap and into your space. You shove his feet off of you faster than he put them up. The action makes him almost fall off the couch and spill his soda all over himself and Jisung. 

The omega stands up covered in soda and huffs. “I give up!” he cries out in exasperation. 

“It’s her fault for pushing me–” 

“Give it a fucking rest!” you cry out. 

Everybody ends up in their respective rooms that night. 

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 You didn’t want to go to this party. You really didn’t but you figured that you owe Jisung big time for turning his apartment into a warzone. The omega already has social anxiety and doesn’t love parties himself so you promised you would tag along. 

Minho is here too. You tell yourself you won’t interact with him but you keep catching his eyes from across the room. Deep down you hope that maybe the alcohol will mellow him down a bit and make him more tolerable. And maybe you use alcohol as a coping mechanism this one night. You’re stressed and a walking ball of tension every second of each day, not even able to relax in your own apartment. 

You always have an eye on Jisung when you party together. But you indulge in some tipsy flirting for once. This guy is super cute, after all… freckled face, long blond hair that frames his face, and a deep, sensual voice that makes you giggle and fawn over him. You amp up the usual techniques, touching his arm and laughing at all of his jokes. And when he leans in close enough that you feel his breath on your neck you don’t stop him. 

But somebody else does. 

One second you're bracing yourself for a drunken kiss and the next a hand is wrapped tightly around your arm, pulling you away. You smell burnt cinnamon before you even realize what happened and the anger that bubbles in your chest is unlike any you’ve ever felt before. You retaliate just as fast with an overwhelming mix of ginger that smells so strong it burns your nose. Before you can yell you’re being pushed out the door and into the cold of the night. 

“What the fuck was that,” you spit at Minho. You yank your arm out of his grip. 

“We’re leaving,” he tells you. 

“Like hell we are! You don’t get a say of who I spend my time with or when I decide to leave.” 

“I get a say when you’re making idiotic choices,” he answers, voice low. He spins you around until you’re pinned against the wall and his skin burns hot against yours. 

“No, you don’t. You’ve made yourself loud and clear that you don’t give a fuck about me. My bad choices are mine to make, Minho, not yours.” 

“You’re not thinking straight,” he tells you once he finally lets go. He looks like he’s trying to convince himself more than you. “Felix… he’s… I know him from my dance studio, okay? Just.. trust me and don’t go home with him. You can’t kiss him. Not Felix.”

“From your dance studio? Wow, ladies and gentlemen! Lee Minho has revealed exactly one thing about himself! He’s a dancer!” you say with mock surprise. You stumble a bit and Minho steadies you by your waist. It only serves to piss you off even more. 

“Let’s go home, yeah?” he asks. It’s probably the softest you’ve ever heard his voice yet. 

“No. I think I’m going to go kiss Felix and you can go fuck off,” you protest. You cross your arms and you look away from him because his cheeks are also flushed from drinking and he worries his lips between his teeth so you can’t stand to see it. 

He takes a deep breath. “Y/N, I swear to god you’re going to walk home with me or I’ll throw you over my shoulder and bring you home myself.”

Before you snap back at him about how ridiculous he’s being, the door opens and Jisung steps out. “Guys?” he questions, looking back and forth between the two of you. You’re breathing heavily and your fists are clenched but your anger dissipates the second you see the disappointed look on Jisung’s face. He wanted you here to keep him company. To soothe his social anxiety and to prove that you could be there for him, to show up for him like old time’s sake. And just like that, the adrenaline high slowly fades when you realize you’ve let him down. Anger turns to sorrow and guilt and god, no you won’t let Minho see you cry but you bury your face into Jisung’s neck. You whisper an apology and tell him you want to go home. 

You can’t help but feel like Minho has won this round, in some roundabout twisted way. 

｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚

You avoid leaving your room for the next day. You don’t really feel like you’re deserving of wallowing in your own sorrow, especially since the one who is impacted here is Jisung, not you. You’ve let him down. You don’t get to mope. So… what you’re doing is avoiding. Avoiding Minho and therefore avoiding any more conflict. 

It’s the next day you leave your room. You notice the scent of vanilla a little more sweet than normal and when you knock on Jisung’s door you notice he’s nesting. A mixture of your clothes and Minho’s are piled in his bed and you feel a pang of guilt in your chest. 

“You okay?” you ask. If Jisung is in preheat and you’ve avoided him for the past 24 hours, he’s probably feeling pretty antsy. He does let out a breath of relief when he sees you though and brings you in for a hug. 

But of course your timing is unfortunate because Minho unlocks the front door at that very moment. When he sees you in Jisung’s arms he growls, causing you and the omega to stiffen. Minho crosses the room in seconds and the smell of cinnamon behind you gets stronger. 

“Off,” he says low into your ear. You have half the mind to snap at him but Jisung’s vanilla scent burns. You back off, giving Jisung a small nod before disappearing to your room. The last thing you want to do is distress Jisung further just before he starts his heat. This needs to stop. It needs to end. 

Jisung leaves the next day to spend his heat in a hotel. Despite the apartment being more comfortable for him, the unit isn’t equipped to deal with the overwhelming scent of heats and ruts. You couldn’t afford a scent complaint fee. Jisung doesn’t complain as you help him pack his bags and you even help him into the hotel room. You offer your best support in helping him rebuild his nest though you don’t have the same omegan instincts as he does. 

“I’m sorry again,” you tell him before you leave. “For everything. With Minho. It’s… we’ll work it out. Okay? Love you Sung.” 

He gives you a sad smile. His heat should start by the morning, you would guess. You just hope he can be comfortable and not worry too much about you and Minho. 

｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚

Minho is standing anxiously by the door when you get home. You half expect him to crowd you against the wall but he doesn’t, eyes glued to the floor instead. 

“You smell like him,” he tells you. 

“Yes Minho,” you reply sarcastically. “It’s like I’ve been trying to tell you this whole time. Jisung is my friend too. You don’t have to act all possessive of him all the time.” 

He hums. You feel your blood boil again. How does he get you so worked up to the point of your heart pumping a mile a minute every time you see him? 

“Minho. Be honest,” you start. He finally looks up at you. You can’t read his face. Your alpha goes back and forth between wanting to pounce on him and run away in fear. You need to do what you think is right. “Do you want me to move out?” 

You aren’t expecting his reaction. You expect him to laugh in your face. You expect him to be overjoyed. But instead he seems shocked. 

“What?” 

“What do you mean what? Don’t act like this isn’t what you wanted from the very beginning. You win, okay? I concede. You want your space? You want to be the only alpha again? This is it. This is your opportunity. I’m offering you a way out now. No more fighting. No more upsetting Jisung. If you want me gone, just say the word. Please. I’ll leave.” 

“Don’t.” 

“What?” You almost think you’ve misheard him but he takes a step closer and he looks at you with pleading eyes. “What is your gameplan then? Why make me miserable since the second I move in? Argue with me, tell me who I can and can’t kiss, for god’s sake make me fail a fucking assignment? If you don’t want me fucking gone, Minho, what the fuck do you want–” 

You’re cut off by his lips clashing against yours so hard your head would have hit your head against the wall if not for Minho’s hands holding you as if you’re something precious. Your teeth clank together but you’re breathing him in and reciprocating his affection just as violently as he gives it. When his tongue enters your mouth and you taste cinnamon you realize you’ve never hated the smell, never hated him… He kisses into you like he needs you to breathe, like he’s been in the desert and you’re his oasis. 

You’re not sure that a kiss has ever felt like this before. You think for a moment that you might not be able to kiss anyone again after this, everyone and everything lacklustre compared to Minho. Minho. Minho. Nobody has ever and will ever make you feel this burning, boiling… hatred? lust? desire? Whatever it is you feel, you’re not sure it could be replicated. 

When you wrap your leg around his waist he grabs under your knee, hoisting you against the wall. His mouth is all over you and he explores every inch of your mouth, your neck, your collarbone. Your hands take purchase on his shoulders, in his hair, you’re not sure but you want to feel every inch of him there is to explore. Cinnamon has never smelled so sweet.

Minho brings you into his bedroom and it’s the first time you’ve stepped foot into his space but you don’t take the time to look around. In fact, the only thing you notice is that his comforter is soft, soft against your back as he throws you onto his bed. Your clothes are all but shredded from your body and if you had claws you would have used them to get every inch of useless fabric off of Lee Minho’s body. It makes you angry that he’s still clothed, so angry that you forgo pleasure in replacement of ripping the clothes off of him harshly. He grins. He has that smug fucking grin on his face you want to wipe off and you kiss his stupid lips again. This time when you kiss you’re both completely naked and every part of your body that touches his is scalding. 

When you sit on his lap your bare pussy slides along his cock and you both groan. His hands are on your hips and in desperation you both move back and forth. Every time his cock catches on your entrance you both let out a hitched breath but neither of you can stop. 

“Fuck. I’m gonna knot you, you know that? I’m gonna fuck you so full and then knot you so that everybody knows you’re mine,” he pants as he ruts his cock against you desperately. Is this just another way for him to stake his claim over you? To show that he’s the true alpha? Oh hell no.

“You’re such an asshole,” you tell him with a hiss when he finally slides into you. He’s big. You already knew this from the (not so) dry humping just moments ago but it still pisses you off when he stretches you nice and full. “Stupid asshole alpha with a stupid big cock.” 

When he looks up at you it’s with adoration and it throws you off. His eyes gleam and his teeth are caught against his bottom lip in a sultry grin. He plants his feet against his bed and thrusts up into you hard and fast–you almost fall because you have no time to plant your hands anywhere for balance. But the almighty perfect Minho catches you before you fall because of course he does. His hands on your waist only hold you in place to give him the opportunity to fuck up into you with more force and the wet sounds that come from between your bodies are filthy… but only serves to turn you on even more. 

“You were saying about me being an asshole?” he asks. His voice is breathy and low and you fucking hate how much you love it. 

“If all you wanted was to fuck me this bad you didn’t have to act like such a dick,” you say through tight lips. Okay. You’re trying not to moan, to give him that satisfaction. Who could blame you? “You only made me hate you more.” 

“Fuck,” he says, throwing his head back. “It wasn’t on purpose… didn’t like you at first but all of a sudden it turned to lust and… can’t you feel what you do to me?” He punctuates his point with a harsh thrust and fuck, you vaguely remember him mentioning he was a dancer. Perfect body, perfect hips and thighs made just to fuck you like this. 

“How you treated me wasn’t fair,” you tell him. You need him to know and you’re lowering your hips, trapping your legs under his so he can’t bounce you up and down on his cock anymore. Your hand snakes up to his throat and takes purchase there, watching the way he gulps and his eyes turn heavy at the action. You feel a burning satisfaction at the way his hips buck into you involuntarily when you squeeze slightly. “Say it,” you coo. “I want to hear you admit to me that you know you treated me poorly.” 

You expect a fight from him because, let’s be honest, Minho always puts up a fight with you. But any ounce of opposition leaves his body the second his eyes meet yours. He looks regretful. He looks small. “I treated you poorly,” he tells you. His eyes never leave yours. “I acted like a child because I had feelings for you that were misplaced. I liked you from the beginning and I… fuck, I didn’t know how to deal with that and I pushed you away. I wanted you to hate me.” 

The confession that spills past his lips is the last thing you’re expecting him to say. Your grip on his neck falters and he uses his stupidly impressive core strength to sit up, bringing your lips into a kiss. It isn’t explosive, it isn’t word-changing, but it is sweet and apologetic and very Minho. 

He places you on your back and resumes his pace, bringing your legs up to rest on his shoulders. At this angle he reaches deep inside you and the first time you gasp he resumes his brutal, relentless pace. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna knot you, please let me knot this pretty pussy,” he pleads. The first time he said it it was a demand; this time he asks from his soul, baring it to you and giving you ample time and opportunity to reject it. 

“Yes,” you moan. But if he’s going to claim you as his from the inside out, the least you could do is return the favor. And so you scratch Minho, raking your nails down his back until they’re sure to leave a mark. And when you’re both on the precipice you bite down onto his shoulder hard, just inches away from his scent gland. It’s not a mating bite but it is a mark, a claim. You suck hard into the bite just as he finishes, his knot expanding and catching on your entrance. You don’t release your mouth from his skin until he’s done pulsing inside you but to your surprise, he doesn’t stop moving his hips. Despite his knot locking you in place he grinds his hips into yours in small circles, putting pressure right onto your clit with his pubic bone. It’s too much, the stimulation of your clit, his knot, and the thick head of his cock hitting that spot deep inside you causing you to cum around him hard with a cry. 

You feel as if you’ve been electrocuted, little shocks going through your whole body with every wave of your orgasm. You almost wish he was bad in bed, if just to keep your dignity and tell him that he wasn’t all that. But with the gutteral noises he dispelled from your body, lying would just be a farce. 

When you’ve both finally calmed down and his knot finally deflates, you half expect him to kick you out of his room. You’ve built up your walls so high around him that it’s hard to imagine him treating you any other way. You’re anxious for sure, moreso at yourself for allowing yourself to be so hopeful. But Minho rolls over and grabs you, holding you close to his chest. Even when you squirm he doesn’t dare to let you go. 

“I really am sorry,” he tells you. A murmur into your hair. “I don’t want you to move out. I’m sorry for treating you the way I did. My alpha thought… that because we like you that maybe asserting our dominance would make you like us more. I know that’s illogical and just sounds  like an excuse but…” 

“I forgive you,” you tell him. “Well… maybe I don’t forgive you just yet. But I can if you prove to me that you’re done with the macho asshole alpha act. No more being possessive over Jisung. My friend by the way! Still haven’t gotten over that. And no more sabotaging my grades.” You shoot him a glare and he only looks at you sheepishly. Harsh looks turn into soft stares and all of a sudden he’s kissing you again. Your tension has already begun to melt away. You begin to see the charm of the Lee Minho everybody has told you about and you think, maybe… just maybe everything will be okay now. 

“I think we owe Jisung a gift,” Minho whispers into your hair. 

“I think we owe him a hundred gifts,” you wince. 

“He’s not going to believe his fucking mind when he gets back.” You laugh so hard your stomach begins to hurt. You think maybe you like the way Minho looks when he smiles. You think maybe you really like the way cinnamon and ginger smell together. You think maybe you could get used to kissing Minho and that burning, bubbly feeling in your stomach agrees. 

｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚

[staytrueblue]

AO3 is now making people agree to a privacy policy before being able to access their content. What does that mean?

This is not something to be scared of. Knowledge is power so I encourage you to do research, especially if you're concerned about your privacy as a reader or writer on AO3. Please do your own research and come to your own conclusions. I can only provide the information, and I also do not have a law degree so I am not the person to speak to about this lol

Here are some relevant links, information, and full screenshots of that privacy policy that hopefully can help explain what it is and what you're agreeing to:

"Any Personal Information you include in your Content (including Special Categories of Personal Data and other types of Personal Information) may be accessible by AO3 administrators. It may also be accessible by the general public if the Content is made public, or by AO3 users if the Content is made available to AO3 users."

Definition of, ‘Processing of special categories of personal data’.

(we won't share your information at all unless one of these very specific and probably legal situations happens)

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"You may have other rights regarding your Personal Information under the laws of the jurisdiction in which you are located. We will not discriminate against you for making a request under the data privacy laws of applicable jurisdiction."

Link to rights under data privacy laws in the UK, EU, and some US states. (I encourage you to also do your own research for your country/state)

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"We will not share your Personal Information with any third parties without your prior consent, except for the following cases:

For external processing: We may use third-party services to store, process, or transmit data, or to perform other technical functions related to operating AO3. For example, we may use third-party email services. A list of third-party services is provided in our Subprocessor List. We cannot guarantee other services' technical performance. We or the services we use may store or process your Personal Information in data centers which may be located in the United States or elsewhere."

Link to what subprocessors are and what that means. (Again I encourage you to do your own research.)

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This has no links but it is just helpful to know.

"For legal reasons: We may share Personal Information if we:

are legally compelled to do so;

have a good-faith belief that such action is necessary to comply with a current judicial proceeding, court order, or legal process served on the OTW; or

are cooperating with law enforcement authorities. We will cooperate with all investigations conducted by law enforcement authorities within the United States when legally required to do so. Cooperation with law enforcement authorities from other countries and cooperation when it is not legally required are at our sole discretion. Our discretion looks favorably on freedom and justice, and unfavorably on oppression and violence.We will attempt to notify you any time we disclose your Personal Information to a third party for legal reasons, unless legally prohibited from doing so or if, in our sole judgment, notification might hinder an ongoing investigation. In some cases, the Personal Information we have, such as an IP address, may be insufficient for us to notify you."

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"If you have any questions, concerns, or complaints about this Privacy Policy, or would like to submit a data request, please contact the Policy & Abuse committee."

Link to the Ao3 Policy & Abuse Committee

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Final links that I believe could be of benefit:

Which AO3 features collect, process, retain, and/or display my content or personal information, and how do they use it?

The full AO3 Terms of Service

The AO3 Terms of Service, including the Content Policy and Privacy Policy, are licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

The screenshots of the full Privacy Policy are below for those who want to read it.

After reading it I personally think it just means that legally they are now required to inform us that our information is being stored in 3rd party sub-processors (because they’ve gotten so big) and how our information is being stored therefore having to explain how and when it would be used if at all. again this is just my personal opinion from reading the information.

[wendichester]

OKAY HEAR ME OUT FOR AN ANGST DRABBLE

Reader with heavy religious trauma x Castiel. I'm curious how their dynamic is and how reader deals with the resurfaced memories

｡𖦹°‧ sanctuary isn't a place,

summary. the lord, heaven, belief... these aren't exactly good terms within you. that is until you meet castiel. he changes everything.

pairing. castiel x reader genre. soft angst

wordcount. 674

notes / warnings. heavy religious trauma themes, memory flashbacks (non-linear), mentions of childhood emotional abuse tied to religion, feelings of unworthiness, internalized fear of divine punishment, anxiety/panic, crying, confrontation with faith

You don’t mean to flinch when he enters the room.

But you do.

It’s small—barely perceptible—but he sees it. Of course he sees it. Angel of the Lord and all that.

“Are you alright?” Castiel asks, voice low like a prayer too afraid to echo.

You force a smile. One of the fake ones. The kind you used to wear like armor back in Sunday school when the pastor’s wife asked how you were and the only honest answer would’ve gotten you grounded for a month.

“I’m fine.”

You're lying.

There’s something about him—always has been. The coat, the eyes, the presence. It's not him specifically. It's what he is.

Divine.

Holy.

Everything that used to haunt your nightmares, wrapped in trench coat and blue eyes and sincerity so pure it makes your skin itch.

You sit on the edge of the motel bed, fists clenched in your lap like a kid in confession. The room is too quiet. Too heavy. The silence carries weight, like incense in an old church—cloying and choking, perfumed with expectation.

He doesn’t sit. Not right away. He just tilts his head, studying you in that quiet way of his. No judgment. Just concern.

“You’re uncomfortable around me.”

It’s not a question.

You don’t deny it.

“I’m not... trying to be,” you whisper. “You’ve never done anything wrong. It’s just... complicated.”

Castiel steps closer. Slowly. Like approaching a wounded animal. Like he knows. And maybe he does.

“Is it because of what I am?”

You nod.

Your voice wavers. “You remind me of them. Not you—but the way they talked about angels. About God. The way they made me believe I was broken. Dirty. That I had to earn love or I’d burn for eternity.”

Your breath hitches. The words taste like old fear, dragged up from the pit of your gut.

“They used God like a weapon,” you continue, voice cracking. “Turned prayers into shackles. I used to be so scared all the time. Scared to think the wrong thing. Feel the wrong thing. Be the wrong thing.”

You’re crying before you realize it. Quiet tears that slide down your cheeks without drama. Just… grief. Old and rusted but still sharp.

And Castiel—he doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t offer some holy fix-it speech or throw out scriptures like bandaids.

He sits beside you. Carefully. Leaves enough space so you don’t feel caged.

“I was told once,” he says softly, “that angels are warriors. Messengers. Instruments of God’s will. But... I’ve learned that we can also be witnesses. To pain. To injustice. To humanity.”

He glances at you then—so gently it hurts.

“You deserved love. Not fear. Protection. Not punishment.”

Your lip trembles. “I used to pray so hard. Every night. Begging God to fix me. Or at least answer me. Tell me I wasn’t going to hell. That He didn’t hate me.”

A long pause.

Then: “Did He ever answer?”

You shrug. “Not until now, I guess.”

Castiel looks almost startled. “You think I’m the answer?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “Maybe you’re just the first one who didn’t make me feel like I had to be perfect to be worthy of love.”

That cracks something open in him. You can see it—in the softening of his features, the way his shoulders dip, like even he can’t carry the weight of what’s been done in the name of Heaven.

“I am sorry,” he says, and it sounds ancient. Like he’s apologizing on behalf of every divine being who ever let you down.

You believe him.

You look at him then, really look. Not at the angel. Not at the vessel. Just him. The one who’s chosen over and over again to stand with humanity. With you.

“You don’t scare me,” you whisper. “Not really.”

His gaze is steady. “Good. Because I would never harm you. Not in the name of Heaven. Not in the name of anything.”

And when he tentatively reaches out—offering, not taking—you let him hold your hand.

Because this time, the touch isn’t a chain.

It’s sanctuary.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[damnfeelings09]

Animals AU - Shadow's version

A.N: Hello! Chapter 1 is finally here and I'm really proud of it. I decided to use the inspo from the video I posted days ago and this is what I got. I'm planning around 10 chapters for this one. Also RED PARTS ARE STALKER THOUGHTS, and GREEN ARE YOURS. With that I'm out and don't forget to lock your windows at night, he might be watching.

NFSW: blood, stalking, fear, weapons, fighting, bad lenguage, smut. +18

“Baby I'm preying on you tonight

Hunt you down eat you alive

Just like animals…”

“So... you got a boyfriend?” said the voice on the other side of the phone. You had no idea who you were talking to. Stupid? Probably. Exciting? Hell yes!

“Why? You wanna ask me out on a date?”  you asked in the most captivating tone possible.

“Maybe…” he said, a smug, seductive smile forming on his face. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No.”

“You never told me your name.”

“Why you wanna know my name?” you laughed. This conversation had been the most interesting part of your week. You had no idea who you were talking to; it was a stranger. An unknown number, written on the front page of the psychiatry book you had checked out from the library, along with a note that said, "Call here to have fun." Too tempting not to try. You were in your last year, your grades were perfect, and you had been accepted for an internship at the GUN Hospital next year. Everything was going grat, a little fun couldn’t hurt, right? Mailo had tried to convince you that it was a bad idea to call, but in the end, your curiosity won over your good judgment. The first time the call came in, you hung up after a second. Scared, your heart racing, before you could do anything else, the incoming call screen appeared. Soon, you found yourself trapped in his deep voice. Damn, anyone with that voice had to be fucking hot, and if not, you could always close your eyes and listen to his voice until you came.

“I wanna know who am I looking at” You froze, cold sweat dripping down your neck. Quickly getting up from the bed, you looked out the window. Outside, darkness reigned, only the trees and the other side of the sidewalk were barely visible. It was impossible, but when your skin tingled, you knew it was real—there was someone out there. He was out there, watching you. You heard laughter coming from the phone and immediately hung up. With your heart racing, you ran through the house, making sure all the doors and windows were shut, all alarms and lights on. Going back to your room, you locked yourself in the bathroom. This would be a long night.

The alarm woke you up, sore and with a swollen face from the bad night, you got ready for the day. You hated Mondays, but this Monday, in particular, was terrible. You hadn’t slept at all and had hidden like a coward in your bathtub. You had allowed the psycho phone man to gain power over you, and even more, secretly, you’d enjoyed it.

“Someone didn't have a good night,” said Mailo as you both were walking down the main hallway.

“I slept in the tub” you mentioned as you craned your neck to the side trying to find that sweet spot that would make your vertebrae settle or end your life, whichever came first.

“Ouch why?”

“Ah...” You couldn't tell him what had happened. You'd be branded stupid, and scolded by your best friend, it would be a humiliating “Let a friend crash last night” you lied.

“Which friend bunny? The imaginary one?” you heard as he laughed at you walking into the gym, slamming the door in your face. Stupid, sexy Shadow.

“Fuck you sombrita” You abhorred the day your paths had crossed. 2 years ago Shadow had arrived, with a glowing recommendation letter from Commander Maisland they let him enroll in any course he wanted because he would be “the salvation of the world”. Yeah right, that moron couldn't save anyone.

According to gossip, he had been on the resistance team back in Angel’s Island. Surprising to many, even to you until you met him. You were coming back from vacation, in a hurry to get to your anatomy class, you missed breakfast and had to run from the parking lot to the classroom in less than 10 minutes. When you arrived you sat next to Mailo, but during the whole class you could not pay attention, the class was too boring and your attention could not focus on the vascularization of the femur. You settled into your seat and taking advantage of the fact that the light was off, you closed your eyes, heading for dreamland. A hand wrapped around your hair pushing you, causing you to knock onto the table and woke up. You turned around, behind you was a hedgehog with jet black fur and red tips, looking at you with amusement, covering his mouth to keep from laughing.

“You have something on your forehead,” he said, letting out a laugh. You raised your hand and took your pencil; it had stuck to your forehead after the blow you had given against the table. That day you had earned a scolding, an extra job and an enemy.

Shadow was a bastard, with airs and graces. Taunting you whenever he could, pissing you off and competing with you every chance he got. It wasn't like there was much of a chance, he was the ultimate lifeform, at least that was what every professor called him. You hated the moment you found out you would be together once again. The self-defense and advanced martial arts class had run out of instructors, so they had put the two groups together and now you were forced to see him 3 times a week. “It will only be 6 months” you said to yourself as you and Mailo walked in.

Your group consisted of 12 people. 7 for self-defense L1, including you, Mailo, Grant, Susane, Alissa, Roger, and Dalia. The other 5 were supposed to be from advanced martial arts. The instructor, Agent Rios, called them to the center of the gym where the mats were. Quickly, you took off your shoes and tied your hair in a high ponytail. "Listen up, the university doesn’t have the budget to hire more instructors, so I’ll be teaching both levels. However, you’re not the only groups I have, and to make things easier for me, I’ve decided to pair one advanced person with the level 1s. I’ll call out your names and you’ll pair up with your partner on one of the mats, then I’ll tell you what we’ll do next."

"Oh hell no…," you thought. “Alissa and Rene, Roger and Rouge, Dalia and Ivana.” "Hello, God? It’s me again. I know I haven’t been very good, and I really don’t care what you think, but please, don’t let me..." You begged. You really didn’t want to be with him. Anyone but him.

“Susane and Richard, Miss Moon and Shadow, Mailo with me. Alright, that’s everyone. Now, pair up and start warming up. I’ll be back in 10 minutes."

“Excuse me, professor, is there a possibility of changing my partner?" you said, walking behind him. "It’s just that Mailo and I…” “Listen Miss Moon, I saw you last semester. You’re terrible and have no strength. That hedgehog is your best option if you want to pass the year, now if you excuse me" Agent Rios walked past you. Now you had no other choice but to try. The self-defense class was mandatory for all students, even if you weren’t planning to pursue a career in the battlefield there was no getting out of it.

“Great, now I’ll have to worry about two psychos.” You thought as you walked back to the mat where Shadow was waiting for you.

[ayrtonswnna]

hello there!

Can I request a Franco x reader? But where Ayrton Senna is alive in this universe and the reader is Senna? If not, then fine. It's up to you. Thanks in advance 😊😊

ʚɞ a/n: that is my moment!!!!!!!! i often imagine how would it be to have ayrton in contemporary scenarios it's unhealthy lol. i really think he'd be full of jokes and a fun guy just like he was off track. thanks for the request, it was a real nice one to write! (and if anyone has any senna request, i'll be more tham happy to take it! (i'm even willing to write stuff with senna himself))

ʚïɞ "you got me good" FC43

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀↳ masterlist ↳ drop a request! ↳ more franco fluff!

✧₊⁺ franco colapinto x cecília senna (senna!female oc)

✧₊⁺ word count: 1,6k⠀⠀⠀⠀✧₊⁺, gender: crack, fluff.

✧₊⁺ summary: franco and cecília kept a secret relationship and when they decide to come clean, her father was ahead of it and he's a total menace.

✧₊⁺ warnings: alternative universe where that may 1th 1994 didn't happen and ayrton grew old like he deserved to, my hyper focus on that man shown in references, a bit of portuguese properly translated, kinda short and poorly contextualized, curse words, franco is a baby, just soft and light content for the win.

"What do you mean he doesn't know about it?"

Franco took a deep breath, massaging his own scalp as his friend and co-worker continued talking, a mix of excitement and judgment in his words.

"You are not making this any better," he mouthed.

"You are dating his daughter! You are da-ting. The man's daughter. Like... The man's daughter. The hell haven't you met her family!?"

"I am scared, okay!? If I get rejected by her family... It's not just my girlfriend's family. It's simply Senna himself! Should I what!? Drop the job? Hide in a cave?"

Alex laughed, the words and the tone easing the tension. The guy was worried to death and things might be simpler than he thought. Everyone knew Senna was a fun person.

Dating Cecília Senna felt almost like marrying into royalty. It's a good feeling, though. Bagging Cecília Senna could easily be added to one of Franco's big achievements — and he's a former F2 driver called in last minute to fill a Formula One seat — and he's doing great.

But still, it's Cecília Senna, the only child of a legend, someone he looked up to growing up, someone he saw in the paddock many times before ending up in his daughter's sheets.

"Hello, everyone!"

God, his heart might have dropped to the floor just now. The retired driver walked into the garage happily, with his daughter attached to his arm and waving familiarly.

Everyone gathered around them immediately, though Cecília's eyes instantly met Franco's. She knew he was scared and had made fun of him until she couldn't anymore, teasing him in every way she could.

"I've heard the news on the Argentinian! You guys are lucky you got away easily!"

Alright, it's time to pray. What news? That he's fucking his daughter? That they meet every week? That she wanted a Williams' box pass so badly just because of him? Or... That they hid it from everyone just to gain a bit more time?

"We got quality, mate! That's it." Vowels took his cue to fill in the blank, the people dispersing and going back to their work. "Found the kid sparring and made him a beast."

"Yeah, of course," the Brazilian laughed. "What's up, buddy! Feeling the pressure?"

Franco mentally cursed Cecília for raising her eyebrows and doubling the meaning of the question, but he managed to stand up and dry his sweaty hands on his pants.

"I try not to, honestly. Not... think about it a lot," he said, feeling he could have worded the sentence a bit better as they shook hands.

"That's the spirit! I heard a lot about you, little man. Do you know my daughter? Cecília?"

Tricky question. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Tricky question.

If he had heard about it, then he knew about them. Franco could say "yes" and end up with a lecture, or say "no" and be caught in a lie.

"You guys think you are smart, huh? Fooling around, hiding from cameras..."

Oh, it's over. It's over for him. The "drop the job and hide in a cave" plan was almost running in his veins right now. Maybe he should Sebastian Vettel his way around, retire early, and move to a countryside home in Switzerland. Yes, that's a good plan.

"Pai... Para com isso." Cecília shoved her dad's side, rolling her eyes. (Dad... Stop that.)

"What? You guys thought you got away with it?"

"Pai! Ele tá ficando sem graça!" she insisted. (Dad! He's getting uncomfortable!)

Franco thought of speaking up, but the nerves were all up and maybe he should let it be.

"Yeah! He should!" Ayrton still had a serious look on his face, making Franco shiver.

"Pai, sério." (Dad, I'm serious.)

"Sir, I know it—"

"Come on, Franquinho! I'm fooling around, take that scared look off your face!" In a matter of seconds, Ayrton's grin turned into a playful smile, and his arm was hooked over Franco's shoulder, messing up his hair and leaving him even more confused. "Did I scare you? You should have seen your eyes!"

Franco laughed, still a bit dulled. That was a big one.

"You're a bastard," Cecília rolled her eyes once again, aware of the father she had.

The man was a natural jokester, full of little jokes and loved making uncomfortable scenarios in the name of fun. He was a handful.

"And you guys should have told me about this before! You lost it all, Franquinho. Angra, the travels... You need to be introduced to the family!"

He had heard about Angra; the beach house Cecília went to every now and then, how much she and her father loved the place. He even saw an old interview where Ayrton said that his retirement plans included being "Angra's nature inspector."

"Yeah- Yeah, sim." Franco risked some Portuguese, patting Ayrton on the back before they both stepped apart. "Sorry for... for taking too long to meet you, I was- Damn, you got me good."

"I could see!" Senna didn't waste a single laugh. "Don't worry, little boy. You're a good investment. And Cecília is pretty happy, so... you got my support."

"I'm even happier to hear it." Franco chuckled. "Thank you, very much. Your daughter also makes me really happy."

"Of course! Her bad jokes make everyone laugh." Ayrton kept the teasing going. "Now you better show me some racing! I've been in your place and to keep the daughter you need to be as good as dad!"

"You should have seen your face, baby!"

Franco glanced at his girlfriend as he turned his head, their first alone time since the morning's humiliation session.

"I don't wanna talk about it," he mouthed, shirt off and focus switching. "That was traumatizing."

"I told you he's a clown." Her shoulders went up a bit. "But he wasn't lying at the end! He likes you!"

"I got that part. Now I know where you got that dark humor from." The blue-eyed boy stood in the middle of his room, hands on his waist as he let his girlfriend use her eyes.

"What can I say? I am my father's daughter." She smiled mischievously. "He wants you to spend some time, though. Before Vegas, maybe?"

"I could've Max Verstappen my way around and have stayed for the week... But we waited until your dad could scare me to death in the middle of the box so... Yeah, it can be next week." He started simple, voice steady.

But then Cecília approached and her hands liked to touch. All over his torso while she traced a good way for his hair.

"You ain't seen nothing yet." The smile was still on her face, lips coming closer and closer to his. "But I am really happy, you know? Now we can just be and enjoy some time... I can take you to Angra, and I don't need to hide in your driver's room. I was done with pretending I was investing in Williams just so I had a reason to watch the races here."

"Told you about it... You could afford my seat."

Another joke. Ever since he got into F1 as an emergency call, she did say she only had to call her dad and his 2025 seat would be secured.

"You're gonna get it because you deserve it, I am not affording that." She flashed her eyelashes, rimming a single syllable as his hands also started to travel.

Inside her expensive shirt, up and down her back in good pressure before they found room at her waist.

"You know what else I deserve?"

"You freak! Go shower and I'll be waiting for you outside. My dad is around!"

It took them no time. Within weeks, Ayrton and Franco became partners in crime, and suddenly, Cecília was having a taste of her own medicine.

"Turn it off! Now!" Ayrton whispered in a screaming tone, the last signal Franco needed before turning off the power for the whole house.

Cecília had just come back from the beach and Franco finally knew the Angra house. It was dark, and the prank was not very well planned.

"Porra." (Shit.) they heard the Brazilian swearing. "Que inferno, de novo? PAAAAI?" (What the hell, again? DAAAAD?)

He knew some words in Portuguese and it only made it funnier. Him and his father-in-law were hiding in the small laundry room as Cecília searched for them.

"Ready, kid?"

"No, but I'll do it anyways."

"Good kid. You're a great one." The old man, as a new custom, messed with the Argentinian's hair, before opening the door and waiting for him to leave.

"Eu juro, se vocês estiverem armando pra cima de mim eu— Ah— FRANCO! NO!" (I swear, if you guys are planning something against me I—)

He's fast even with his limited knowledge about the furniture in the house, walking in the dark before he could lift her and throw her over his shoulder.

It's the fourth time she's thrown in the pool and she just knows it's her father opening the glass door for the exterior area before she's sinking in cold water.

"I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU ALL!" Cecília screamed. "I JUST WASHED MY HAIR! OH MY GOD! PUTTING YOU TWO TOGETHER WAS THE WORST THING I EVER DID!"

"Não reclama, princesinha..." (Don't you complain, little princess...) her father played, now standing besides her boyfriend. "Bate aqui, you passed the test. Welcome to the family." (High five,)

"I hate you guys. Eu odeio vocês, los odio. Whatever. Don't ever talk to me again." Cecília stomped her way out of the pool, walking straight past them.

"Don't get mad, baby... It's just a joke!"

"Well, boy... It's your girlfriend. Go ease her nerves. You're called Colapinto for a reason."

ʚïɞ ayrtonswnna, 2024. check my masterlist or drop a request (: reblogs and feedback are always welcome (:

[sparklystarrrr]

No Chance, No Way!!

Synopsis: In which (Y/n) falls in love with none other than Idia Shroud, but is scared to fall in love because of her freshly broken heart.

Contains: Idia S. x Fem! Megara! Reader, set in a garden in the Island of Woe, Idia & reader are hopelessly in love, Ortho our fav wingman who's sick of the two being hopelessly in love, Idia in Hades' toga and Reader in Megara's dress... I need that (I'm Greek, I want the rep), told from the reader's perspective, YES THIS IS BASED ON THE ACC SCENE WHERE MEG SINGS I WON'T SAY I'M IN LOVE it's gonna be so cliche and cheesy but WHATEVER

It was a rather warm summer night, the moon was shining and all seemed peaceful. That was until I got lost in my thoughts, walking and picking a delicate blue flower and landing myself on a bench in the garden of the Island of Woe. This was the perfect night to get lost in my thoughts. The only thing accompanying me was the cool breeze and the ruffle of leaves. I twirled the fragile flower around between my fingers, noticing how the flower's petals faded from a dark blue out to a light yet bright blue and all I could think about was him. A small grin formed on my face.

Oh, him... It felt so fleeting to feel this way, as if I was jumping on clouds with the wind in my hair... That was when I felt that feeling I was all too familiar with. I was in love... Ugh no.. I am not in love! I learned my lesson from the first guy this cannot be happening! I crossed my arms over my legs, propping my head up on my hand, I grumbled to myself "What's the matter with me... You'd think a girl would learn..."

I got myself up and walked around the garden. It seemed to be decorated with little cupids and statues of lovers, this was certainly an icky feeling... I sighed hopelessly while turning the little cupid from pointing its arrow at me to the other direction"If there's a prize for rotten judgment, I guess I've already won that..." I sauntered around aimlessly, passing a hedge of bushes"No man is worth the aggravation, that's ancient history... Been there, done that!" I flung the blue flower behind me in frustration.

As if on queue, a pair of big bright yellow eyes poked out from inside the bush. Suddenly, a determined Ortho popped out and caught the flower I tossed. He seemed to be giggling to himself, "Who do you think you're kidding! After doing a few scans on you, my databases tell me that big brother's the "Earth and Heaven" to you!" My cheeks flushed at his sudden interjection. I grunted as I plopped down onto a bench, holding my head in my hand's as I pouted... I can't really be feeling like this after just getting broken up with a few months ago, could I? "Don't try to keep it hidden (Y/n)! My scans can see right through you!" Ortho's child-like robot voice broke me out of my thoughts. "Oh no..." I moaned out while covering my face with my hands.

"You can't conceal it forever (Y/n), I know exactly how you're feeling and who you're thinking of!" He floated above me and dangled the flower beside my face in hopes I would catch it and just confess to these heavy feelings. I ignored the flower tickling my cheek and brushed it off of me. Ortho made a "hmph!" sound like he was determined to get me to say it. I stood up, feeling slightly ashamed for these not so new feelings,"No chance, no way! I won't say it, nope!" My frustration easily got to me. Why can't these feelings just pass!

Once again, Ortho kept pushing, "You're swooning, sighing, and your dopamine levels skyrocket when you're around Idia, all signs of being in love! Why deny it?" He had a point... but I won't say it!,"It's so cliche, Ortho! I just can't say i'm in love!" I walked away holding my arms close to my body. These feelings were so warm yet so uncertain... Ortho sighed and followed me to the path full of statues of lovers "I thought my heart had learned its lesson... It always feels this good when it starts out." I grumbled and looked up at all the statues while feeling a pang of loneliness I didn't know I felt until now.

My head was practically screaming 'Get a grip, girl! Unless you're dying to cry your heart out!' at me! I then felt Ortho's mechanical hand pat my shoulder and he looked up at me with those adorable big yellow eyes of his"You keep denying who you are and how you're feeling, but I'm not buying it! You practically hit the ceiling whenever the two of you talk!" I turned away from him and pouted, was it really that easy to see my feelings towards Idia..? "Facing it and owning up to these emotions will release a weight off your shoulders. And my databases are 101% sure you won't get rejected!" That comment made me feel... hope? Why was I feeling hopeful about this?! I can't believe myself!

"No chance! I won't ever say it!" I say stubbornly as I hop across pedestals that stuck out in the clear blue water of a pool. On the last pedestal I trip and nearly fall into the cold water! That's when a male's hand reaches out to me. I grab on and he pulls me onto the ground before I could fall. I looked at the hand. It was pale, bony and was larger than my own. I looked up at the man who owned this warm hand and it was none other than Idia.

"..Hey... Y-you good?" His awkward sharp toothy grin was really cute and I couldn't help but smile when I saw the pink tips of his blue hair going wild and crazy. 'Wow.. he looks really good in this outfit he was wearing though, I see his biceps and everything...I knew he had a sleeper build...' Shut up mind! I can't think like this... I smiled gently up at him and muttered a small, "I'm fine..!" I said as we both giggled awkwardly. I turned away, trying to hide my blush and he did the same. My hands brushed through my long (h/c) locks and I saw Ortho who seemed to be ushering me to confess because the Seven know Idia won't. He created a small hologram that had the words "Give in!!" "I can see that smile from here, (Y/n)!" He shouted at me. He put up a thumbs up for me to confess.

I covered my ears and shut my eyes as if I was trying to shut the whole world out. "This scene won't play Ortho! I just won't say it, get off my case!" I yelled back to him as I ran off to the fountain to sit and be irritated. I plopped down with a scowl and put my hand down on the cement to lean myself on my arm. The feeling of a stem was under my palm and I suddenly knew exactly what it was... the blue flower. I picked it up, smiling to myself in content as I put it up to my nose and smelled the fragrance. It smelled almost sweet, but perfect.

I touched the petals delicately with my free hand "Well, at least out loud I won't say I'm in love..." I held the flower to my chest and sighed, my body going to lay down on the edge of the fountain when suddenly I felt someone beside me. I heard a small "Eep!" from the person my head had bumped into and I turned around in surprise. "I-Idia?" We felt close.. too close for us to just be friends. "Uh.. Ortho sent me here.... Sorry... I-i can go if you need me too." And with that he started getting up, his hair going a bit more crazy than usual with the pink tint still there, even his ears were a light pink, his cheeks too.

I opened my mouth but nothing came out. All I did was suddenly grab onto his arm. I'm so gonna be embarrassed for this later... "Sorry... but don't go. Sit with me, Idia..." I felt my face heating up a bit, him clearly turning pinker as seconds passed. I pulled him to sit down next to me. "So... clearly Ortho wanted the both of us to be here." I mumbled. "Yeah..." He said while nervously playing with his hair that was glowing a brighter pink. There was an awkward silence for a moment. We didn't really have anything to talk about in this situation. I sighed. "I'm sorry for... being in love with you, I guess." My hand wrapped around his hands which were still busy fiddling with his flaming locks. My other hand sat in my lap, twirling the blue flower.

He choked on air for a moment at my sudden confession. Obviously he wasn't expecting it. "N-no! It-it's fine it's just... Idk.. I'm not used to this stuff..." At this point all his hair had been colored a bright fuchsia. "Well I am you could say... I'm just scared of being in love." He looked at me, then away from me, at my flower, then back at me. "... Why? You seem like that girl everyone wants... like some normie... couldn't ever be seen with me..." He muttered the last part under his breath.

I scoffed at myself," If you really want to know, I got my heart played with." I looked away as my shoulders slumped and I looked down at my hands. His silence made it awkward but I knew he didn't really know how to respond. "That's stupid of him...." I heard him quietly whisper to himself. I looked at him with a smirk, "Yeah, really was stupid of him. Glad you think the same, Shroud..." He squeaked and his face turned almost as pink as his hair.

"But you know, I'm past him." He looked at me with his bright yellow eyes that I adored so much. "I don't think I could be scared of love when I'm with you..." I said while smiling up at him. His deep blue lips parted as I got closer to him, our hands still touching as they went down together and leaned on the stone fountain. He picked up the flower laying in my other hand, and feeling bold, he tucked it behind my ear."...You know... (h/c) looks mega cool with blue..." I smiled at his words.

Without a second thought, my now empty hand went up to his jaw and I dragged him down to get closer with me. I crashed my rosy lips against his icy blue ones. Suddenly the whole world seemed to disappear. His hands froze in their spot but as the kiss deepened, his hands went to my waist, his thumbs rubbing against my sides while he pulled me closer.

We pulled away to catch our breath. I smirked at his now bright red face. "I love you, Shroud. Don't break my heart.." I said in a breathy tone. I already knew he wouldn't, I trust him with my life. "I wouldn't dare, πριγκίπισσα." We crashed our lips together once more, grabbing onto each other like our lives depended on it. And the rest was history~

(queue lil Ortho celebrating in a bush and watching them, then covering his eyes when the two start getting a little steamy)

I've had an Idia hyper fixation for the past 2 days, I NEEDED THIS

Edit: πριγκίπισσα is princess in Greek<333

[terraswallows]

You know, trans girls aren’t inherently freakier or kinkier than cis people.

But sometimes, we carry a little extra nervousness when it comes to sharing our desires. Not because they’re strange, but because we’ve spent so long being seen as different—picked apart, misunderstood, or even judged just for existing.

That fear sticks with you...

Like, I’ve had kinks and curiosities that I’ve been too scared to talk about. Some of them go back to before I started transitioning—back when everything felt blurry and I didn’t fully understand myself yet. And yeah, some of those things faded as I grew into who I really am, but they still shaped me. I can’t erase where I’ve been. I can only move forward, softer and stronger.

It’s not about being a “freak.” It’s about safety. Trust. Feeling seen. Sometimes, it takes another kind, curious soul to gently ask, "What do you like?" and mean it. Not with judgment, but with genuine care. With maybe a sly smile and a little sparkle of interest in their eyes.

Because being trans doesn’t make us less deserving of pleasure, of exploration, of joy. It just means we sometimes need a little more time to believe we’re safe enough to share it.

And when we are? That’s when the real magic starts.

[tinyshyteacup]

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TW: cussing, tension, loki is still villainous, creepy vibes.

Part 3

Touch that Takes - Part 4

The Quinjet hums steadily through the clouds, but inside, the air is thick with tension.

You're unconscious—your body is still, save for the occasional twitch in your fingertips where dark veins pulse faintly beneath the skin.

No one wants to say it, but everyone sees it.

Bucky sits closest. Gloved flesh hand resting lightly over yours. Not gripping. Just there. Anchoring. Protecting. His eyes never leave your face.

Your skin is warmer now, more alive, though your breathing is shallow.

You look almost like you again.

Almost.

Tony paces, his voice is sharp, his expression harder.

“Alright, I think we all need to talk about the sentient Lovecraftian tentacle monster we just stuffed into my Quinjet like it’s a rescue mission and not a containment op.”

Clint exhales, rubbing his temples. “Yeah, not exactly the kind of reunion I thought we were having today.”

Sam leans forward. “She drained Thor, man. You all saw that. Guy looked like his arm aged fifty years in what two seconds.”

Thor sits at the back, shirt torn, arm swathed in a bandage. His tone is low, not angry—just wary. “I could feel it. No Midgardian should be able to do that.”

Tony’s voice cuts through the tension like a blade.

“So. Not to be that guy—except I am that guy—but are we just gonna pretend Little Miss Tentacle Torture isn’t still a threat, what happens when she wakes up ... she tired to eat point break ?”

He’s pacing. Irritated. Sarcastic. Scared in the way only Tony Stark can be—by throwing up verbal flares to mask the panic.

Steve glares. “She’s not a monster, Tony.”

“No? Could’ve fooled me with the whole ‘soul-sucking-girl-from-the-ring’ routine.”

Wanda speaks, low but firm. “That wasn’t natural. What I felt… it wasn’t magic. It was pain. Endless pain.”

“Agreed,” Vision adds, arms crossed behind his back, but his tone lacks judgment—more curiosity than condemnation. “Her energy signature was chaotic."

Peter speaks from the corner, voice small. “She didn’t seem evil. Just… gone. Like she was hollowed out.”

Sam lets out a breath. “We’ve seen people come back from worse.”

“Have we?” Clint mutters. “Have we really?”

Bucky doesn’t look at them. His thumb gently strokes over the pulse point on your wrist. His voice is calm, but his shoulders are tense beneath his jacket.

Everyone turns when Bucky stands.

He does it slowly. Deliberately.

His metal hand flexes once before hanging at his side.

He doesn’t raise his voice—but it lands all the same.

“You’re all talking like she’s an enemy. But when I was nothing but a weapon. She sat next to me. Humming. Brushing my hair like it mattered. Like I mattered.”

He glances down at you, brushing a stray piece of hair away from your face.

"She brought me pasta. Didn’t ask if I wanted it. Just said I deserved kindness.”

His eyes flick up—steely, resolute.

“That’s who she is. Not this… thing Hydra forced her to become.”

Steve nods slowly, backing him. “I trust him. And I trust her.”

Tony scoffs but doesn’t argue. His silence says more than words might have.

Thor flexes his left arm, wincing slightly. The black, withered necrosis once creeping up from his wrist has started to fade, revealing gradually restored gold-bronzed skin beneath. New, healthy tissue.

“It heals,” he murmurs, surprised. “Not quickly—but it does.”

Wanda, watching closely, lets out a slow breath.

“Then it’s not true necrosis. Something… drawn out of you. Drained. But not destroyed.”

Tony immediately keys in, grabbing a tablet and typing furiously.

"Okay. So, maybe our creeper-possessed Sunshine doesn’t leave permanent handprints of death. That’s… less apocalyptic than I feared.”

He gestures toward you vaguely.

“Still doesn't mean she shouldn't be locked up.”

Steve frowns from where he stands, arms crossed over his chest. He hasn’t taken his eyes off you.

“We’re not treating her like Loki.”

“She almost killed me,” Thor counters, not unkindly. “She called me delicious, Captain. That’s usually reserved for a feast, not a friend.”

“Something is wrong,” Tony says, voice sharp. “That thing that grabbed Thor wasn’t the receptionist who sings in the kitchen.”

“She didn’t choose this,” Natasha says flatly. “None of us did, really.”

Clint nods. “We’ve all been weapons before. Some of us still are.”

“Your not putting her in a cell” Bucky says, voice low. “You throw her in a box next to Loki, you’re not containing her—you’re condemning her. You think she’ll feel safe like that? Or even human again?”

"You didn’t see what I saw back there,” he continues, stepping forward, one gloved hand rising to point. “She was gone. Or something else had taken hold. But even then… when I said her name—when I said Doll—she hesitated.”

Tony's expression falters. For a second, he does remember. The late-night chats. The quiet laughter.

The woman who gave him as much of his own sass back.

Vision floats closer, serene as always.

“There is merit in both perspectives. Containment may provide safety—but at the risk of further psychological trauma. If the force within her is parasitic or symbiotic, connection—not imprisonment—may be the key.”

The med bay is quiet, lit with a cold, sterile blue glow from the overhead LEDs, the only sounds the steady beeping of a heart monitor and the distant hum of air filtration.

Outside, night has blanketed the upstate facility, and most of the compound is still. But inside this room, the tension is sharp as glass.

You're still unconscious—hooked to an IV, electrodes along your temples and collarbone, a soft blanket drawn up over your waist.

Despite the stillness, your body occasionally twitches—tiny jerks of your fingers, slight shifts beneath the eyelids—echoes of whatever storm is still happening inside.

Bucky sits beside the bed, a chair pulled close. His forearms rest on his knees, posture tense.

He's watching you with hawk-like intensity, but there's a gentle sorrow in his eyes. His metal fingers occasionally twitch—as if aching to reach for you, but unsure if it's safe.

Behind glass, Tony and Bruce hover over a bank of monitors in the lab connected to your room. A series of blood vials—your blood—are lined up in a small cooling tray, each labeled and cross-referenced against dozens of compounds and serum profiles.

“This isn’t a variant of super soldier serum,” Bruce mutters, running a hand over his scalp. “There’s something else. Some kind of mutagenic binder… but it doesn’t behave like any synthetic compound I’ve seen.”

Tony’s arms are crossed, brow furrowed, lips pressed into a grim line.

“You think it’s alien?”

“Possibly. There’s an organic code embedded in her cells—like a language. Like… instructions.”

He clicks something, and a 3D render of your blood appears, strands of DNA interwoven with something dark, foreign, pulsing in unnatural rhythms.

Tony mutters under his breath:

“We need answers before another god gets gift-wrapped with a side of soul-suck.”

The light down here is dim and clinical, buzzing fluorescent panels humming overhead. The walls are reinforced vibranium-polymer, etched with faint sigils from an earlier Asgardian consultation—a patchwork of Earth science and mystic paranoia.

Along the far side of the corridor, a single transparent cell glows faintly blue, suppressing magic and abilities alike.

Inside, Loki lounges like a bored cat draped over velvet, a book open in one hand and a smirk playing across his lips. His eyes lift lazily as Thor enters, his boots heavy against the stone-tiled floor.

“Well, well,” Loki purrs, closing the book. “If it isn’t my ever-loyal brother come to visit the prisoner in his gilded cage.”

Thor doesn’t respond at first. His face is drawn, unusually solemn.

One hand rubs absently at his wrist—still slightly discolored from when your tendrils had latched onto him. The healing magic he'd tapped into restored his skin, but the memory of the decay lingers.

“We need to talk… about Barnes' Lady” Thor says, voice low.

Loki’s eyebrows lift, amused. He swings his legs down, leaning forward like a teacher preparing a lesson.

"Ah. The creature with the black eyes and sweet voice. I remember her. Such a delicate thing. Smelled of ash and heartbreak.”

Thor’s jaw clenches.

"She’s not a creature. She’s our ally. Or she was.”

Loki shrugs one shoulder, eyes glinting with something calculated.

“You saw what she did to you, brother. You’re lucky you’re a god. That kind of draining, it doesn’t leave the soul untouched. She feeds. And I’m telling you this as someone who knows monsters, it's only a matter of time before she’s hungry again.”

“She’s not a monster,” Thor snaps, stepping close to the glass.

“Oh?” Loki tilts his head, lounging back again. “Then tell me, why is she shackled in the medical wing, unconscious and still radiating death like perfume?”

Thor breathes deeply, muscles tense beneath his armor. Then, quietly.

"What are you suggesting?”

Loki grins.

Slow.

Sardonic.

Catlike.

“Feed her.”

Thor stiffens.

“You've gone mad brother.”

“Even a chained beast will lash out if starved,” Loki says silkily. “Give her something to feed on—ethically, of course—before she decides the next source is one of your little midgardian friends.”

The words hang in the air like a curse.

The first sensation is not pain.

It’s silence.

Deep and velvet-dark, the quiet folds around you like a cocoon. Your eyelids twitch, then flutter open, sticking slightly before your lashes release their grip.

The fluorescent lights overhead hum faintly, soft blue shadows pooling beneath the medical equipment.

You don’t remember fainting.

You don’t remember the room.

You don’t remember you.

Sensors beep quietly beside the cot, their rhythmic pulse syncing too slow to match a human heart.

The restraint bands once holding you to the bed are unbuckled now—whether forgotten or intentionally released, you don’t know.

But the absence of tension on your wrists feels wrong. You move a finger, then your hand.

Each motion feels like a puppet’s string being tugged.

Heavy.

A hiss of hydraulic pressure breaks the silence as one of the air vents sighs to life. That’s when your body reacts—instinctual, feral, programmed.

Tendrils slide silently from your hands, dark like shadows peeling free of the walls. You don’t make a sound as you rise—crouching, feral, back arched in defense.

There’s no one else here.

You slink off the cot.

Feet don’t touch the floor.

You move like liquid shadow, tendrils anchoring you upward, curling along cold metal beams and paneling. You slip into the ceiling structure like a spider disappearing into its web.

From the rafters, you hang upside down, tendrils curling around a support beam, body drawn in tight like a folded ribbon of muscle and caution.

The world looks different from up here.

Below, the med bay is still.

Cold.

Sterile.

A dozen IV bags hang motionless. Your own charts sit open and disorganized on a nearby tablet.

Monitors still track your vitals—flickering a few seconds behind reality.

You watch chittering softly to yourself.

Your breathing slows, becomes almost imperceptible. You cling there, still as death, not because you plan to strike—but because you don’t know who you are.

And you don’t trust anyone else to tell you.

Then—footsteps.

Fast ones.

Peter Parker, in a hoodie and sneakers, is sprinting around the corner. Breathless. Darting into the room with a tablet in one hand and a half-eaten granola bar in the other.

The door hisses open—Peter barrels in.

“Mr. Stark! I figured out the—”

He doesn’t finish.

In a blink, he’s gone from the floor—yanked upward like a marionette, legs flailing.

Your tendrils coiled like muscles made of shadow, lifted him high into the ceiling—secure in your grip but clearly watching him.

Peter hangs midair, tablet dangling from one hand, granola bar smushed against his hoodie. Wide-eyed.

“Uh. H-hey! Hi. Hi there,” he breathes nervously. “Okay. Um. I’m not dangerous. Promise. Just Peter. Friendly neighborhood—uh—me.”

You don’t say anything.

You’re in the very center of the medical bay’s ceiling—curled into a half-perch, half-hang, your tendrils wound tightly around both yourself and the struggling teen now hoisted beside you. Your head is tilted at a sharp, unsettling angle as you stare at him.

Unblinking.

Silent.

Your pupils are dilated, tracking his every twitch. You hang there silently, your body relaxed but alert, toes barely brushing the ceiling panel.

Your breathing is slow. Steady. Your hair floats faintly around your face, as though gravity’s grasp on you is optional.

Peter’s voice cracks slightly.

"C-cool ability. You, uh, you have some amazing spatial awareness. Definitely not creepy or terrifying. At all. Haha.”

You blink.

You lean in. Closer to Peter’s face. Nose almost touching his. Your breath is audible now—shaky, inhuman. But your eyes… they’re still just eyes.

Human.

Your eyes scan him—not just visually but bio-energetically. You can feel his heart beating fast.

Adrenaline.

Spiked blood sugar.

Warmth.

Life.

Food.

Your lips part slightly.

At first, just a rasp.

Then a cracked, dry whisper.

"Hungry"

Peter tenses, he doesn’t want to hurt you. Or get hurt.

"Okay. Uh. Do you want—? I mean, I’ve got a—”

You don’t wait.

Your hand snakes out, snatching the granola bar in one fluid motion.

You devour it like a starving thing, crumbs falling in slow motion toward the sterile floor.

Peter watches in stunned silence.

Then your expression shifts—small, almost imperceptible.

Your eyes narrow—not in aggression, but focus. Your body adjusts, muscles easing subtly now that the gnawing ache is a bit quieter.

Then, after a long pause—so long it starts to feel like eternity—your lips part. And from your throat, hoarse and unused.

“No running.”

The tendrils flex—just slightly.

“Dangerous,” you add raspily.

The team arrives in a rush Tony skids to a halt, followed by Steve, Sam, Bruce, Wanda, and—of course—Bucky, who’s already halfway into a sprint.

“Shit” Steve pants, breath short.

“Peter?” Tony blurts. “You alive kid?”

"Yep! Yep. Uh-huh. Totally fine. Not gonna wet myself or anything.”

You glance down.

Your tone, though low, carries easily.

“He smells young.”

A beat of silence.

Peter chimes nervously.

"Y-your not gonna eat me, right?”

You blink slowly, expression almost offended.

"You’re... a child.”

Your tendrils ease. Peter slides down toward the floor, lowered rather than dropped. He lands with a thud, rubbing the back of his neck.

You blink again and lean down from the ceiling, watching Peter like you’re still figuring him out.

You remain overhead—your posture like a guardian creature perched in her nest.

Wanda frowns, looking from you to Peter.

“She didn’t hurt him. She's … protecting him.”

“Because she thinks he’s a kid,” Bruce realizes aloud. “Just like a caretaker.”

There’s a long pause.

Then Bucky steps forward, his voice low but steady.

“Doll,” he calls softly, eyes tilted upward toward you. “He’s just excited. That’s all. No threat.”

Your eyes shift to him.

Bucky steps beneath you, holding out both arms—flesh and metal.

“Come down, Doll” he says. “You’re safe. Let me bring you back.”

Your head tilts— and you blink as if realizing something.

“I’m still hungry.”

The mood shifts again.

Bruce sighs heavily. Sam mutters a quiet curse.

Steve gestures for Peter to leave the room.

Peter bolts, still pale.

Bruce mutters, "that's not good"

[vamptarot]

Ten Things That Are F### Cool About You | PAC

pile one pile two pile three

how to choose a pile . . . choose which picture you are most drawn to or close your eyes, breath and read the one your eyes land on! ᡣ𐭩

— ⭑.ᐟ today I saw a pick a card that not only pissed me off but also disgusted me due to how mean the reader was in every single pile. I checked. their egoistic approach annoyed me. instead of spreading hate, I wanted to remind you why you are an awesome person. not proof read.

pile one : - cold drink !

𐙚 : the high priestess, eight of wands, nine of wands reversed, death

bottom of the deck: five of wands

♡ ⢷ why you are so cool

1. You always research about a topic before talking about it! I think this is very cool because a lot of people spread misinformation without even knowing it and that’s why fake fun facts exist. You are not like that though! You feel a sense of responsibility and thirst for knowledge, which in itself makes you a reliable person. - and source! -

2. You protect those who cannot stand up for themselves and I think that is very cool! Usually, you might have a hard time standing up for yourself but if it’s someone more vulnerable than you then you will give your all. You will raise your voice, yell, make valid arguments and even fight if necessary. - This differs person to person but the imaginary I am getting is protecting children, animals, women and young teens (from creeps to be exact) -

3. You work on yourself and enter new beginnings even if it’s scary at times, it can be hard and scary but that doesn’t make you back off from actually trying your best to become someone that you can be proud of. There is always a sense of hope within you that is very admirable.

4. You know how to keep privacy! A lot of people don’t, and don’t value it as much as they should. Having a healthy boundary with privacy is a privilege not many realise they have.. also, if you happen to share an intimate moment with someone you don’t run your mouth but rather treasure it as a memory as a form of respect.

5. Some people in this pile have temper issues, obviously, don’t take it if that doesn’t apply to you but I am seeing that for those of you who can resonate with that you are doing a really good job keeping it under control. You are not a hot headed person.

6. You are very experimental with looks! I do think this makes you a very beautiful person, because there are several things that suit you and look cool on you. If you like taking pictures I hope you know that you look beautiful and gorgeous in each one of them, one day you will look back at them with a smile even if you didn’t like that one thing because at least you gave it a try.

7. Zero judgment detected in your soul. Seriously, you could be the sort of person that never freaks out at people’s ‘hear me out’s but rather just go ‘yep, I get why you are into that’ even though you have no attraction to whatever character or person they said. You get their point, it’s just not one that you will make.

8. My fashion babies in this pile are slaying each and every time! You could take dressing fashionable in a seasonal manner mildly seriously. You don’t expect everyone to do it, but it’s most definitely something you take a lot of joy in. It’s really cool, your style is a 10/10. - Yes, even if you change it up often. -

9. Even if you are anxious you can do things so incredibly well. You remind me of a video I once saw of a girl with anxiety making a phone call, her hands were shaking uncontrollably the whole time but she didn’t stop being polite and kind. I think that’s you. Even in moments of being scared, you are kind to people.

10. You have such a beautiful voice. I mean your singing voice, but if you are not confident in that this could of course mean your regular speaking voice too. There is something comforting and yet bittersweet about your voice. It makes people feel home at times when they are sad.

— ✮⋆˙ die with a smile - bruno mars & lady gaga , ‘good luck babe’, 2003 , enha photoshoots , guitar injuries (from the string breaking) , white dahlias , glitter videos (those 2021 ones) , ‘good luck, charlie!’ , wavy hair , not well known ethnicity , taurus , capricorn , pisces

that’s all my beautiful pile one! I do think you happen to be very shy, but I do hope that you know that you genuinely have so much love to offer. there is much more to you than what you show the world, but I think you already know that. thank you for reading

paid readings

pile two : - peace sign ! ✌🏻

𐙚 : page of pentacles, eight of swords reversed, queen of wands, five of pentacles reversed, page of cups reversed, the star reversed

bottom of the deck: judgement

♡ ⢷ why you are so cool

1. YOU THINK YOU ARE SO COOL AND MYSTERIOUS BUT YOUR HEART IS FULL OF LOVE AND KINDNESS 🫵🏻 YOU TREASURE YOUR LOVED ONES AND WOULD RATHER SACRIFICE YOURSELF THAN TO EVER SEE THEM SUFFER !!YOU ARE SENSITIVE AND LOVABLE !!!!!!!!!

2. After all that you have went through you are still here and you are still standing. All that happened but rather than it destroying you completely or bringing you down you allowed yourself to heal and I am very proud of you for that.

3. Your judgement of people are very great! Of course if you don’t like someone of have mean thoughts of them you will keep it to yourself in order to not upset anyone, but you are still really good at telling their personality by their behaviour. Other people might not know but you do.

4. You are a secret little romantic! I bet it makes you shy to express your emotions outward and so freely. Truth to be told, you want to experience so much romantic things and wish to think of them without experiencing negative emotions. This makes you cool because even though you have a hard time with it, you know it’s a part of you and accept it.

5. You are so kind to animals, take care of them and most people reading this pile have a pet too. I think animals are just naturally drawn to you regardless of what they are. - as in pet, stray or wild animal. - It’s like they know they can be safe with you.

6. ‘You can slap a bitch if you need to’. Literally, that’s what I heard.. and I think most people here take pride in it too right? Just make sure to not get into unnecessary fights. It’s not what makes you cool though. It’s that you keep to your word. If you say you are gonna do it, you really will.

7. A lot of you find comfort in the stars and moon. In an aesthetic sense, but also there is a deep sense of appreciation for them that not many people have. They just put you in awe. If you are into astrology you have such a deep and profound understanding of it. One that not many people have.

8. Honestly, your view of life is sort of clouded and not completely “whole” but that’s alright. Exactly because day by day you do your best to learn and never turn an opportunity to see life from a wider perspective down, even if you might have done this in the past.

9. You are sooo talented, and you don’t even realise that. You are amazing in creating things; anything that is physical. This is especially true if you like jewellery, as I think designing or just making your own craft is something that you would/could enjoy doing if you put your own unique twist into it. It’s just something that makes you feel alive.

10. You are so confident! Even if you might not always feel like it, on the outside you always appear confident and aware of your surroundings. Someone composed who wants to present themselves in the best way possible. - You probably pay a lot of attention to your posture. -

— ✮⋆˙ ‘I don’t even wanna do this anymore’ , homework from 1 am ‘til 4am , 9 to 5 , jean purses ? , ditto - new jeans , a bent photocard (of whoever) , 7 - JK , stars , something about the four seasons ? , fave colour = red , ‘letta’ , cappuccino & frappuchino , friendly banter , 111 , 1212 , 2011 , sagittarius , aries , leo

i am sorry for yelling at you at the first point my pile 2 but some younger people in this pile - esp teenagers - like to put on a mean girl persona when that’s not them at all. what’s the point of that? you can’t please people with someone you are not. I sincerely wish that’s something you will remember my sweethearts. thank you for reading

paid readings

pile three : - megaphone !

𐙚 : three of wands, six of swords, knight of pentacles, justice, king of swords, the lovers

bottom of the deck: five of pentacles reversed

♡ ⢷ why you are so cool

1. You know when to walk away from a situation, which is unironically awesome. Like sure this could be considered a negative trait but you aren’t toxic with it. You just simply know your worth.

2. You have a person you are in love with for several years now right? At least, most people in this pile do. You have unwavering loyalty and love in your heart that no one can take away from you, no matter what. I think that’s very cool.

3. You treat children really well! Which should be a given, but many people are way more mean and cruel hearted than what children should deserve. After all, they are humans too and fragile ones at that. You are very responsible and a safe space for them. I wholeheartedly believe that’s cool.

4. When you call people out, you do so with evidence. I do like that a lot, you don’t just accuse people but rather keep collected and calm even if you are angry or despise the situation that you were put into.

5. Did you ever take a look at your side profile? You are quite ethereal, you have such an unique beauty to you. I do also believe that you look beautiful in your home country’s traditional clothing style:

6. You are stubborn, but not in a sense of annoying people or being selfishly caught up in your desires. This is a stubbornness that is found in people with leader like qualities, that people can rely on. You are stubborn in a sense of wanting to create a better future for yourself and those around you who you deem to deserve it. - bc let’s face it, some humans suck. -

7. I am sorry if this sounds weird, but your hand is always occupied with something. You are a very busy person, even if you might not believe so. You gotta do this, and you gotta do that. You have many interests, hobbies and responsibilities too. Yet you manage to juggle them so well, it’s hard to guess when you are stressed out.

8. Whenever you are around you light up people’s day and mood. You are such a sunshine child, people love to have you around. Even if you believe that’s not the case, people do appreciate you a lot more than you realise.

9. If you have a love for photography I hope that you know that you have a beautiful talent. You are amazing at taking pictures, making them pretty and seeing the beauty in every single little thing even if other people might not be able to do so.

10. You are really good with finances and saving up despite the anxiety it causes you. Give yourself a pat on the back because that is not something many people are able to truly say about themselves. Many people in this pile were raised in a way to appreciate money but not let it consume you, which I think you nailed pretty good!

— ✮⋆˙ somewhere over the rainbow - israel kamakawiwo’ole , early 00s & 10s hawaii , crying at night , daydreaming for hours , ‘thank goodness ‘ , my little pony , new hyper fixation , heat , ten to five , hair being washed by someone else , flamingos , pimples ? , papaya - sorry, ik gross to mention right after , pink skincare bottles , 555 , juliet , lucifer , 10th house

my dearest little lamb your energy was the calmest, sweetest and most welcoming out of all the piles. I am truly happy that you decided to read my pac / participate in it. it was truly a pleasant experience to channel for you 🫶🏻 thank you for reading

paid readings

[on-leatheredwings]

Co-Conspirator

Yandere! Bruce Wayne x Yandere! (Fem!) Reader 

> romantic > summary: Ever since you asked him to help with your… reconnaissance, he’s been nothing but a great help. And judgment-free. Batman is as paranoid and insane as you are, and that is why he is quite possibly your best friend. > word count: 1285  > [ a/n: just something short, something cute, something for the Girls. i think mutually yandere relationships are a fun dynamic not very explored!!! Still, its pretty mild yandereism here. Trying to warm up to writing bitches who are Actual Freaks . uhhh lmk what you think. hope i communicated the reader's backstory well. the fact she's only a little crazy is amazing, all things considered. i'd love to make a whole fic of this but alas, i am Not Very Good At Plot]

You are dating Bruce Wayne. You bite your lip at the thought, hoping it disguises your shit-eating grin. You have been told you look like a total cheeseball when you daydream. 

It’s a month-long relationship that’s still currently under the radar because you don’t have the luxury of a dual superhero-civilian persona. First, getting trapped in a pocket dimension for 10 years because something-something-Speedforce; next, being booted back into your home dimension and falling out the sky; then, wreaking havoc in Gotham City with your new, uncontrollable powers unmasked and in clear view of Gotham City choppers and news cameras… These things secretive identities do not make. No matter.

Hence why you tend to stay holed up in the Justice League’s Watchtower or your apartment, and rarely go out otherwise. But a month ago, you were bored. Neurotic. You decided to help your good buddy Batman. Fly to Gotham with your power and surprise him on patrol. And, well, you ended up saving Bruce Wayne (and hundreds of other socialites) after a three ton bowling ball careened into a gala at Wayne Tower, courtesy of the Riddler. Your telekinesis kept the whole building from collapsing. You guess that must’ve really turned Bruce Wayne on, because he was shortly afterwards chatting you up and won your phone number. 

On your first date with Gotham’s Most Eligible Bachelor, you blurt out, flustering, that you don’t want to overshadow his charity and all the good work he’s doing. Bruce Wayne dating anyone makes headlines – let alone a superhero. Yes, yes. You simply didn’t want to cramp Bruce Wayne’s philanthropic style. It wasn’t that you were utterly unprepared to have that level of media scrutiny on you and were insecure about dating a man completely out of your league. 

Bruce thanked you for your concern and then kissed you deeply, expertly, for your trouble.

You replay that night’s events in your head, and– goddamnit– cheeseball. You clear your throat and clear your mind.

“I think I’ll want a copy of his birth certificate from Gotham General.”

You glance at Batman, who is seated beside you, and see the corner of his lips quirk. 

“Because you’re going to pull up his birth chart.” Batman knows astrology is an enduring interest of yours. You pout, pulling up Gotham General’s files and sifting through the database. 

“... Maybe.” 

You pause from your search on one of the Justice League’s supercomputers, sneaking a sheepish glance at your co-conspirator. Ever since you asked him to help with your… reconnaissance, he’s been nothing but a great help. And judgment-free. Batman is as paranoid and insane as you are, and that is why he is quite possibly your best friend. 

You flush. “You know– I– Thanks, Bats. Really. I’m glad you aren’t acting all weird about this.”

Batman doesn’t say anything, but you know that he’s giving you his full attention. 

“Like, I’m not a freak or anything. I just have to make sure I know what I’m getting into.” You puff your cheeks. “Know he’s… you know. Good.” 

What a lie. You’re just scared and don’t want to get caught with your pants down. Despite being an actual living, breathing, metahuman and superhero… Bruce is the one with the power in this relationship. He’s… everything. Encapsulating. Towering. Anyone would want him. You think of the lingering looks very, very beautiful women give him. Everyone does want him. 

You feel a pang of violent loathing and nausea that is tided over when Batman speaks.

“... I know plenty about Bruce Wayne. He’s… good.”

Your brows rise. You’ve only known the man for a few months but even you know that’s a glowing compliment coming from Batman. His highest praise on most people is usually neutral at best. “Hmm… okay.” You turn back to your work, laughing. “Well. I also just think he’s kind of interesting to learn about. What other celebrity has this much lore? The prodigal son… Prince of Gotham… Collector of orphans… Gotham’s Most Eligible Bachelor...” 

You worry your lip, gnashing your teeth. Bachelor. That’s what everyone thinks he is, right? You blink and curiously turn to Batman, whose hands are flying across a keyboard, hard at work. You hope you’re not bothering him. W-well, he’d say if I were, right? you think.

“Is it weird if I put cameras in Wayne Manor?”

Batman stills and your throat dries. Damn.

“... Um… Too weird…?” 

After a tentative silence, Batman responds.

“... No. You’re just covering your bases.”

Your cheeks fill with color as being vindicated – a view you don’t know makes his heart race marginally quicker.

“Yeah!” You cough, composing yourself. “I mean, yeah. You can learn a lot about someone from what they get up to when they think they’re alone.” You can also make sure they’re not bringing anyone home, but you keep that part to yourself.

“I could plant them, if you need. I have plenty made for this kind of surveillance.” 

You’re smiling widely, wheeling your chair over to Batman’s side before you know it. 

“... God. Batman, you magnificent mind, you. This is why we’re buddies.” You lean over and poke his chest cheekily, right on the bat emblem. 

Bruce has to restrain himself from catching your hand on its retreat. Your poke burns a hole in his chest for minutes afterward, and he welcomes every second of it. He turns back to his computer screen, vainly attempting to not think about how much he wants to kiss you right now.

Perhaps Bruce should’ve simply asked you out as Batman. You spend much more time when he’s under the cowl than not. But frankly, you would’ve been too distracted during missions. Hell, he would’ve been too distracted. He already thinks of you all the time. 

Your investigation into Bruce Wayne has tripped several of his alarms, even before you told him of it. Anyone making inquiries with this level of depth draws his attention. Nothing you’re looking is anything he’s averse to you knowing, so he’s allowed you to investigate him freely and without redirection. But of course, you don’t know that. The effort you’re making is… cute. The fact you don’t know that Batman is Bruce is cute. You think you have the upper hand. And that’s… cute.

Bruce doesn’t think too deeply about your stalking, even though he probably should. It’s probably evidence of an unstable individual. He’s sure ten years alone with no stimuli in a pocket dimension does things to a person. But who was he to judge? He’s violated the privacy and boundaries of everyone who affects his life in any important way. Nor does he claim to be a shining example of ideal mental health. 

And at the end of the day, this situation is all under his control.

There is a small part of him that feels guilty for keeping his identity under wraps, but there’s a bigger part that’s amused. You don’t know that he’s had your birth certificate since the day after you met. You don’t know that there’s about twenty cameras working 24/7 in and out of your apartment. Or that he’s your new landlord. These are things he’ll tease you about once he confesses that he’s Batman. You’ve made him someone who likes to tease. 

Still, Bruce remains hesitant about telling you. How would you react? Would you feel betrayed? Hurt? Dread floods his bloodstream, an effect only the most depraved individuals in his rogues gallery tend to have on him. 

Would you leave him? Hate him?

His eyes skirt towards where you sit. You worry your lip, eyes glued to a plan of Wayne Manor, no doubt debating where you want him to place the cameras he’s offered. Tension leaves his shoulders, almost imperceptible. 

Luckily, the chances of that seem slim.

[leah-lover]

Second chances.

Alexia putellas x coach!reader.

Part 1. Part 2

Summary : what happened that night.

4 years ago 

“ stop staring at me and focus on the meeting.” you subtly text your girlfriend from across the room. You were sitting behind the computer so that you can control the slides and she was sitting with the rest of the team. You shoot each other a quick smile and redirect your focus towards the presentation. Once the meeting is over you grab your laptop and head towards the entrance. You were then stopped by Jorge vilda. “ As a part of my coaching staff I expect you to be present at my meetings not just with your body but also with your mind.” you look at him confused. “ giggling and smiling at your phone while I was talking is not acceptable.” 

“ sir it was just one text.” you try to justify yourself. “ Well tell your boyfriend that while you are in camp this team is your number 1 priority.” you didn't have a chance to say anythiçng because he left as soon as he finished talking. You brush off his comments and text your girlfriend about her whereabouts. You then head to her room as she instructed you. When you enter you put your laptop on the table and find your usual place next to her body. You nuzzle on her chest and just lay there as she strokes your hair. 

“ tough day?” she asked alexia. 

“ something like that.” you respond. You then turn around so that you can face her. 

“ Your free kicks were amazing today at practice. You might even be the number 1 in the upcoming games. your reaction time is also over the charts. It's near perfect.” 

“ This is becoming my favorite thing in camp.” 

“ what me telling you about how good you are?” 

“ no, you sharing the bed with me.” 

“ You know I can't stay for long. If he finds out about us we both are out of jobs.” 

“ how would he know? Please just tonight and I won't ask you again. I really need you.” Once alexia asked something of you you couldn't say no. Besides, you really missed her. “ okay but just for tonight.” you then kiss her and cuddle with her for the rest of the night. *

Since you didn't come back to your room your phone died. So as soon as you sneaked out of alexia’s room, headed to yours and plugged it in. Once you got out of the shower you unlocked it to find 10 missed calls, and 6 messages from none other than vilda. You panic as you open the messages. 

Why are you not answering? Why are you not in your room? Where are you? I can't keep looking for you all night? Fine if you don't answer i will go look for answers myself? 

Your heartbeat was faster than it had ever been.  You take a deep breath change out of your robe and pick up your phone to call him. 

“ conference room now.” he says as soon as he picks up leaving you no room for debate. 

Once you go to the conference room in which you were alone with him. He pointed to a chair so you sit there he doesn't though he kept standing. You found yourself speechless. 

“ I employ you with my team because I trust you. I think you have good judgment. But you failed me.” you feel a lump form in your through. “ You failed  me not only with your choice of lifestyle but also who you choose to corrupt and involve with you in this messed up situation. .” you close your eyes so that you won't cry while he still stands in front of you. “ I gave you a job, a   good one. I thought you were my right hand and that you would replace me when i decide to leave. But forming an indecent relationship  with one of my players is off limits.” you feel a knife jam in your heart and a tear leaves your eye. “ Your relationship is wrong and shouldnt have happened. You are lucky I like you so I am gonna give you a chance to change. Break up with her and apologize to me and you can keep your job and she won't be called up anymore. 

His last sentences changed your stance from scared to angry. 

“ Who the hell do you think you are?” you snap. 

“ I am the one who gave you two jobs and I am the one who can take it away from you. Plus I am trying to correct your choice of lifestyle because it is wrong.” 

“ choice of lifestyle. You have to be fucking kidding me. I love alexia putellas, i love a woman. Does it bother you that I love her?  Well go fuck yourself because nothing will tear us apart. And if you take this job away from me I will sue you even if it's the last thing I will do in life.” you were angry and furious. 

“ Nobody wants you here. The players feel uncomfortable because of your new relationship as confessed by the captain last night. So sue me if you want you won't win. Now hand over your badge, get your stuff and leave. You are fired." His blast words left you lifeless. “ as confessed by the captain last night” last night you were sleeping with alexia so it had to irene. You move on autopilot and almost break her door as you knock so hard. Once she stood in front of you you didn't find it in you to scream or fight. 

“ why?” you ask, sounding defeated. 

“ He asked me where you were and he threatened to kick me out of the team.” she said calmly. 

“ So you rat me and your friend out. You couldn't have told him I went for a run. We are friend irene. I didn't think you would betray me like that. I trusted you with the thing I love most in life and you took it away from me so that you could protect yourself. You could have lied.” you say crying. 

“ It was all bound to be exposed with time.” 

“ Is that what you are going to tell yourself so that you can sleep at night? You didn't have to tell him that my relationship made you uncomfortable. You didn't have to tell him anything.   You ruined my life irene. I lost my job because of you. I will never forgive you for that. never. “ you turned your back and left. You went to Alexia's room after. Once she saw your red eyes she took you in for a hug. In her warmth you cried. You cried because of Irene's betrayal. You cried because you lost your job. You cried because you lost everything. 

“ I love you. I love so much amor.” the way alexia said it felt weird to you so you got out of her hold and looked at her. She wiped the tears from your cheeks and took your lips for a searing kiss. She kissed you with so much passion and hunger it left your lips red. 

“ Alexia, what's wrong?” you ask concerned. 

“ He talked to me and asked me to choose between you and the team and I chose the team.” she said with tears in her eyes. 

“ why is it that everybody say things so calmly like its nothing? Is my love for you worth  nothing?” 

“ My whole family, my father’s legacy, everyone depends on me to make them proud. I need to stay in the team for them.” 

“ And what about me? Is everything we dreamt about gone in the wind?”

“ This is more painful than I could have ever imagined. I never thought we would have to leave each other. But my family comes first.” 

Her words cut through your heart and left nothing behind. You kiss her again for the last time; go to your room, collect your things and leave the hotel without talking to anyone. You felt your heart turn to stone as you saw the hotel in your rearview mirror. That day you lost your job, your life, your dream, your purpose, your love and also your heart. That day destroyed you without mercy.