#so it’s strange to be offended by that specifically

[whirlybirbs]

— BRUISED EGO ; PART TWO ; TOSHINORI YAGI ; 俊典

summary: he should have waited for you. but no, toshinori felt like he had something to prove. now, roles are reversed and he needs your help. pairing: younger!toshinori yagi / f!reader ; hero name: derecho word count: 5k tags: afab!reader, fingering, oral (male receiving), piv, sex pollen trope but make it canon specific, dirty talk, praise kink, denied feelings, deeply needy fucking, size difference, toshinori being a good old fashioned lover-boy (again), enemies-to-coworkers-to-lovers hits hard a/n: oh wow a part two,,, i'm sick in the head ← previous | the tag

This ain't great.

This is, uh, bad actually.

Like, Toshinori has absolutely no idea what to do, bad. 

For Christ's sake, he's All Might. He should have known better. He should have known to wait for you — but no, he just had to calm his nerves by beginning your usual shared patrol an hour early. 

It's been one week, two days, six hours, and thirty-seven minutes since he last saw you. Not that he's counting. It's not like he's suddenly acutely aware of the time he's spent apart from you, or anything. 

Japan is locked in a heatwave. 

(Or, maybe it's just the fever in his bones.)

Large, calloused palms dig into his eyes as he leans back against the rooftop's barrier and groans. Toshinori drops his head against the iron railing in defeat, sending a twang through the hot air. Sweat is running down his back beneath his suit, tracing the curve of his spine.

Oh, and he's hard.

Painfully hard.

Like he said, this ain't great.

The call went out that they spotted the same love quirk user from last week holding some sex workers at gunpoint. He should have waited. The two of you could have handled him easily. 

But, no. Toshi had to go and think he had something to prove. 

He groans again, pounding his knuckles to the gravel.

It's going to be all over the evening news. That clip of him, panicking, and absolutely decking the very-much-not-a-real-violent-threat-of-a-man in the face on reflex after being hit with his quirk. He couldn't help it. It was like... a knee-jerk. It's like suddenly you're being touched everywhere and nowhere. It's strange. Sort of violating. It... I-It was just all he could do, okay? 

And he apologized! Plenty! A-And Officer Tsukauchi said it was fine, that he had it handled, as a bunch of officers began to help the now-unconscious offender out of the storefront's debris.

...Toshinori's phone is ringing.

He has half the mind to ignore it.

But it's the guitar riff from 'Bad to the Bone'. 

It's you.

He barks out a huffed 'shit' before digging his phone from the pocket in his belt. Even your picture glowing alongside the phone call notification is enough to make his cock throb. 

It's not even racy. It's blurry. It's in the All Might Agency's lobby. You're smiling. It's such a rare sight. You're holding up your official hero license and a big thumbs up.

He took the picture a few years ago. It was a big deal, a huge win. Your hair was a little shorter, and your hands weren't as scarred from Pro-Hero work as they are now. And god, that smile. 

...Jesus, you're just happy and he's this horny? 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

Toshinori picks up on the last ring.

"Where the hell are you?" comes your voice, cutting through the sound of wind — he can hear the thrum of your bike's engine in the background, "I've been looking all over for you, and I just got a call from Tsukauchi — are you alright?"

The sound of your voice is making his mouth dry.

"I'm fine."

He's not fine.

He's sitting here, aroused out of his mind and in pain, trying to battle through the mind-numbing, knuckle-breaking heat of desire. He can't even come close to the word 'fine'. He's a mess. All he can do is sit here and sweat because he knows no amount of trying to jerk off is going to solve this problem.

He's so not fine.

You can tell.

Tsukauchi gave few details — just that whatever the hell happened sent All Might hightailing it outta there. And, after getting a brief description of the prep, you had a pretty good idea why. 

Your fingers twitch against the throttle.

"Send me your location," you say sternly; the glint of your helmet's visor catches the passing lights of traffic as you talk into the built-in comms system, "I'm coming to get you."

"No," he grits out, tugging on a piece of his blonde fringe, "N-No. I'll be fine. I-I am fine. Just need some time—"

"Toshinori," you bark back as you check for an opening between cars; your whole body is hot and it's not just from the summer heat, "I'm not asking. Let me help." 

...Oh.

Help. Right.

It's ambiguous and sort of ominous but, if he squints, it's the first time either of you has even come close to talking about what happened last week. Y'know. When he kissed you in your entryway, the way he ate you out on your couch, or the way he absolutely fucked your brains out in your bed. All because you had been hit with the same quirk influence he's riding out now.

His location pings up on your visor's HUD. 

"Be there in five."

And you hang up.

Because — I mean, what else is there to say? You are going to do what you have to to help him. Just like he did for you. Then, maybe it will be even! And then, maybe, this feeling that has been eating your heart away for the last week will disappear. Right? And things will go back to normal!

...Right?

Ha! B-Because, yea, that feeling is definitely guilt, right? Like... You... uh. You feel bad. Because... he had to... help. And you haven't helped him. Right. Yes. 

Yep.

Not because you can't stop thinking about his hands on your face, cradling you tenderly as he drove himself deep into you. Not because you can't stop thinking about the way he looked up at you with his tongue flat on your clit. Not because you can't stop thinking about his voice, or his smile, or his laugh, or his—

The telltale roar of a motorcycle sets Toshinori Yagi's stomach ablaze. 

Immediately, the air gets thicker like the feeling before a summer thunderstorm. He knows you're here. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and before he can rub the feeling away, you're there. 

On the roof.

"You look..." you breathe out as your feet touch down with a crackle of lightning crescendoing around you, "Like shit." 

(Truly he looks divine. Rosey cheeks, his chest heaving. His eyes are half-lidded. There's a bead of sweat that runs down his jaw, down down down, down his neck, then disappears beneath the collar of his suit.)

Toshi sighs. It's a ragged sound. He pulls his knees up, trying his best to hide the apparent tenting across the front of his hero costume. He scrapes his rough palm down his face.

"Don't start—"

"Did I look this bad?" you ask, voice hiking an octave as you move towards him. You keep an even distance. Your face is morphed into a look of pity, but there's something in your voice that makes the knot in Toshinori's gut wind tighter, "He got you good, huh, Tosh'?"

He can't do nicknames right now.

"Ha, ha," he grits out, the trademarked All Might boisterousness dying in favor of the lackluster, dry humor he was born with, "You're real funny, zippy."

It's your favorite flavor of him. The man is out of the limelight. Though he may still be bigger than life biceps and thick steel-corded quads, the facade has fallen. 

"And you're a mess," you sigh as you squat down, rummaging in your pack for something. It's a water bottle. You offer it as you watch him. 

The condensation kisses his fingertips as he takes it and pops it open. 

He takes a long drink, caps it off, then presses the cold bottle to the back of his neck. It does little to dissipate the tension in his broad shoulders. The sensation arguably makes it worse. Another bead of sweat runs down his back.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

We're never gonna talk about this again echoes somewhere in the back of his mind. At this rate, they're gonna have to talk about this. Because once is just a fluke. Twice is a problem. A real problem. 

He places the bottle back on the ground after another long sip.

Your heart is hammering in your chest. Despite your desperate attempt to remain levelheaded, you know exactly how he's feeling at this moment. You gotta admit, his self-control dwarfs your own though. You could hardly keep your hands off him the second he walked in your door. 

You wrestle your bike helmet off, and Toshinori has to quell the wave of longing that rises in his chest. Your hair is sticking to your forehead and neck. He suddenly wishes he made you look this way — windswept and sweating. 

The jet-black helmet lands on the rooftop with a thwat. He can see his ragged, flushed reflection in the black visor. 

Your voice is soft. "Hey."

It brings his focus back to you. His mouth is dry. Big blue eyes swivel as they rake across your face — and he hates how his cock jumps at how softly you speak next.

"What do you need right now, Toshinori?"

His chest is rising and falling a little faster. The usual steadfast expression on his face has melted into something doe-eyed and boyish. It makes your heart clench. 

"Are you sure about this?" his voice cracks as he swallows roughly. It's a non-answer. It's a metaphorical boot-kicking-in-the-door, though. Toshinori rakes his hands through his hair, "I-I... I can wait it out—"

You exhale tightly; your rationale is clear. Totally unbiased and very much not rooted in an unabashed obsession with the way he touches you. 

"Tosh', you helped me. I won't sit around and let you suffer when the same hand is dealt your way."

He drops his head back again. Another twang echoes through the night air. 

"Plus," you offer with a slow, crooning smile, "I've always been a sucker for a damsel in distress."

It takes a second.

Then, one blue eye cracks open. Long, dark blonde lashes flutter a bit — and then, he's smirking. 

Ha. 

Right.

"You sure about this?" he asks, his head still dropped back and shoulders slumped. 

"Sure as I'll ever be, big man."

That's the only permission he needs.

Toshinori Yagi is fast. He has to be. He's the Number One Hero in all of Japan. Top of the popularity ranks, fan-favorite, best stats in history. Being fast is part of the gig. 

He's fast to sit up and catch you in a kiss that feels like a bruise — tender and aching and miscalculated. It's teeth and tongue and then a deliciously low noise that rumbles up from his chest and sets your whole body on fire. 

His grip is rough — his fingers fist your hair as he drags you closer, his mouth presses firmly to yours as you scramble against the rough rooftop. It's... 

Needy.

You're crawling towards him.

"That's my line," he breathes out, tugging your bottom lip between his teeth and pressing back in to steal your breath. His grip tightens in your hair. His voice is so low that it feels like someone lights a fire under your skin. It's rough and breathless and so not All Might.  

"It's a good line," you mutter back as your brain stutter-steps. You pull away to crawl closer and straddle his hips. Your knees pin his cape to the gravel. You're kissing him again, letting his feverish need set the pace, "Worked on me."

You can feel him through your hero suit. 

His suit's pants are thick, made of some patented material you can never remember the name of — but his arousal is more than apparent as you settle your weight down against him. The added pressure earns a throaty hum of approval. 

You always forget just how big he is in this form — his hands dwarf your hips as he drags his grip down, allowing himself a little bit of an edge when he unceremoniously bucks up against you. 

"Sorry," he slurs out, his boots scraping against the roof; it's utterly pathetic, "Sorry—"

"Stop apologizing," you breathe out as you follow his lead and continue the movement, grinding your hips down, "I asked what you needed—"

"Anything," Toshinori's words rush out with his blue eyes screwed closed tightly as he grips your hips and slots his mouth back against yours, "Anything you'll give me."

...How is he so romantic? Even in a moment like this? Even when he's blindly seeking friction through his pants, bucking his hips against your own, as he moans into your mouth. 

"Hands? Mouth?" you parrot his line of questioning from your previous encounter; it seems to knock some sense into him.

His breath catches. Blue eyes widen minutely. You feel him twitch beneath you.

"God, mouth, please—"

Who would have ever anticipated you'd be here? 

Who would have ever anticipated you'd be helping him work off his belt, work off his tactical pants? Who knew you'd be watching his taut stomach flex as you push his costume's top higher up his torso, who knew you'd be dragging his stupid All Might-themed boxers down his narrow hips to spring him free? 

Who thought you'd ever see him like this, so desperate and winded and needy? 

Not you, that's for sure. You never thought, in all those years you sat in prison, this would be your life shortly after: giving head — happily — to the man who put you there in the first place. 

And here you are, slipping him a tentative look as you wrap a gloved hand around his hardness and smirk. 

"Is this okay?" you murmur up at him, on your hands and knees. You're teasing him. He knows this. 

Toshinori laughs — an incredulous bark. It's all you need to hear as confirmation. 

The sound splinters into a choked moan when you bend down and take him into your mouth.

He sees stars.

This is going to be a problem.

All he can do is lean back and grip the guard rail over his head for dear life because ho-oly shit. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. His biceps go taut, his knuckles white, and he tries so hard to keep his hips still as you hum around him. His whole body shudders — his thighs tensing under your other hand as you balance above him. 

This is — son of a bitch. Your grip around the base of his cock tightens incrementally, and as you lap at the head of his cock, his thoughts die in a strangled burst of pleasure. 

Then, his hand lands on your cheek.

The touch is reverent. Holy. Tender and adoring.

"Jesus, Der'," he slurs out, his chest heaving up and down as he tries to keep his eyes on you; he can't stare too long. The sight is too much. Too pretty. Mouth full of him, "You're such a good girl." 

There it is. 

The little bit of praise he slipped you before. 

If the iron rail creeks beneath his tightening grip, neither of you pays it any mind. 

You're on your knees, gloved hand around his shaft, watching his face contort into something so wonderfully steeped in bliss. You've got more important things to mind rather than the structural integrity of some stupid rooftop rail. 

Like the way his stomach clenches — the way his abs tighten. Like the way he says your name or the way he chokes out a nervous laugh when you take him just a litttttle deeper. 

"Fucking shit," he hisses; you make a mental note to rib him for his language some other time. Hearing him curse like this is a hell of an indicator for your ego that you're doing a good job, "Der', if you keep that up—"

"What?" you rasp, spit connecting your mouth to his cock, "You'll cum?"

Something snaps. 

It's a flash of red and blue and silver and blonde, his cape tearing through the air. 

Suddenly, you're pinned to the rooftop — gravel scrapes as your boots kick and grapple for purchase. Your elbows scuff against the ground. The wind is swept out of your body and he's kissing you so roughly you swear you taste blood. One of his hands is locked around your jaw. You're effectively trapped. 

All you can do is let out a shaky, startled, yet painfully aroused laugh. 

His other hand isn't gentle — it's tearing at the bottom half of your suit, unceremoniously snapping the button of your tactical pants open and shoving his hand down the front of them. You can feel a slight shake in his fingers as they delve past your underwear and slip into your folds.

"I need you," he hisses; his eyes are dark, and you can see the edge of frustration building. You know the feeling. 

Another kiss.

Suddenly, there are two fingers in you. 

You whine against his mouth.

He doesn't waste any time. He can't. Not when all he can think about is splitting you open on his cock. You're right here and you're soft and beautiful and fuck, he can't even think straight when you clamp down on his middle and ring finger. 

"Be nice," you warn between pants and whines and whimpers. It's an empty threat.

"Or what?" he chirps back, working his fingers in and out; his voice hitches along the syllables, trying his best to sound unaffected by the little breathy sound you let out when he kisses your jaw, "You'll cum?"

It's your turn to laugh. Your hands grapple with his cape, trying to anchor yourself in any way possible. You fist it as his fingers continue the task at hand: opening you up enough to take him. His knees nudge your legs open a little bit farther. Toshinori's body feels like it's on fire. 

His heavy, hot cock drags up the inside of your thigh and he shudders. 

His face is pressed to your shoulder in a flash; it's good because he doesn't see the blissful smile working its way across your face as our own arousal builds. 

"You're soaking wet," he strangles out; his pride is overshadowed by the embarrassing need to have you. He feels like if he doesn't, this raging fever will just get worse and worse and worse. 

"Par for the course," your words hitch on a hot wave of arousal as his palm grinds down against your clit. You grip his wrist, trying to ignore the tell-tale shake in your legs. His hand is holding your face.

"At least I'm doin' something right," he whispers, his breath hot against your cheek as he relinquishes his fingers from your heat and drags your mouth across your jaw, "Y'think... Think you can...?"

Take him? Yea.

You're a brave girl. 

Yea, that shouldn't be a problem. 

What is a problem is your riding gear and hero suit — but Toshinori can't be bothered. He's grappling with them for you, hauling you into his arms as he drags them down enough. They get caught on the tops of your boots, but he doesn't give a shit. Not when you're here, spread, and glistening before him. Not when you're in his lap, half-dressed, and trying to maneuver yourself down onto him with some semblance of grace. 

Everything is bigger when it comes to Mr. Double Detriot Smash.

Again, you're a brave girl. You're not going to shy away from the upgraded dicking down you got last week. Hell, that was great. Filled you up perfectly, and hit all the right spots... and now, you're realizing that the already tight fit is going tobe a littttle tighter. 

Your knees are like jello as your fingertips dig into his shoulders. Your hair is wild — and you're sweating. He's no better off; there's a crease of worry in his brow, even amidst the blinding heat of desire that's eating him up inside. 

He knows he's big. He's huge. He's... 

This is the first time he's ever had sex in this empowered form. 

Not like he advertises this as a service.

He'd be lying through his trademarked smile if he said he wasn't nervous — but there you go, giving him just another reason why he should buy a ring tomorrow and give you everything you've ever wanted because fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck, you're so tight and hot and wet and the sound you make the second you sink down on him—

"God, yes, Tosh'."

The gasp that wrings itself from his mouth is utterly pathetic. He doesn't care. He truly can't even think straight — all he can do is dig his fingertips into your hips and slam his mouth against yours to muffle the whines crawling up his throat. 

"Stay right there," you whisper; there's an edge to your voice of warning. He's trying to listen. He's trying to be a—

"Good boy."

You're holding his face and he can't seem to catch his breath. His boots scuff in the dirt, his brows knit, and he inhales sharply when you clamp down on him for good measure. Fuck. Shit. God, nonono. He needs to move. He needs — c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, please.

"Der'—"

You're kissing him again — and then you move. Slow at first, a little hiccup of your hips. Then, more assured, more confident. An easy up, then down. Then again, and again, and again. And again. 

"God, yes," he nearly cries; he smothers his desperate moan into a kiss that melts away time. Toshinori's hands are trying to find purchase, trying to help guide you up and down his cock as best he can. He doesn't want you to do all the work — he wants to help, "You're so fucking good, Der'."

"Y-Yea?" you breathe out, your entire body shuddering at the praise. Your hip tightens, and you don't even have the wherewithal to consider the cramp. You're not stopping for anything.

Not when this is, like, the hottest thing you've ever done. 

"You have no idea," he melts into another kiss that's all tongue and adoration, his bare thread composure snapping up like his hips in a testing manner, "Lemme fuck you, please, Der', please, please, I promise I'll be good—"

It certainly felt good.

All you can do is hold onto his shoulders. 

If you've learned one thing in the time you've known Toshinori Yagi, it's that he's a man of his word. He holds promises in the deepest homes of his heart, ensuring that nothing prevents him from honoring them. He's dedicated entirely to those around him and to seeing them prevail. Toshinori, even on his worst days, never makes a promise he can't keep. 

So, promising he'll be good?

I mean — it depends on the definition, doesn't it?

If 'good' is desperate, pathetic, fast drillings of his hips as you cling to him and gasp? If 'good' is filthy, muttered praise into your collarbone as he slams into you again, and again, and again?

If 'good' is scrambling in the gravel, being pressed flat as he takes you from behind?

Then, yea.

He's really good.

He's incredibly good — especially as he presses his chest to your back, and wraps his arm around your front. His fingers are greedily pushing through your folds as he keeps up his thoroughly rough pace. The thick, calloused pads of his ring and middle finger grace your clit and you nearly scream. 

The gravel is biting into your knees and palms but you don't care. Not when his mouth is on your neck and he keeps saying your name over and over and over and over again as he drives you into the ground. Not Derecho. Not some tender version of a nickname.

Your name. 

The hot fire of your arousal is building steadily — the wet, explicit sounds of him pushing his cock into you over and over again as he pins you are doing plenty, but it's the way he says your name that really seals your fate. 

Toshinori isn't here right now. Come back in two business days. He's lost in the bone-deep influence of this quirk, hellbent on filling you up and proving he's a good boy. He can give you everything. A ring, a house, a life — three more motorbikes and whatever you want on top of that. 

Fuck, he loves you.

Your fingers dig into the rooftop. 

"Oh, fuck, Toshi — yes," you cry; there's a crack in your voice, "Right there. K-Keep... Keep doing that—"

"C'mon, I wanna f-feel you cum," he babbles as you bury your face into his elbow bracing his weight, "Come on, Der', you're such a good girl, you're taking me so well, I know you c-can—"

Everything is Toshinori. His breath is hot against your neck as he pants, and his voice — so low and honeyed — is right in your ear as he moans.

Even now, he's ever so selfless.

"I need you to cum first," he grits as his fingers work your clit just a little faster, "C'mon, Der', you're doing so good — you deserve it, you deserve to cum so hard—"

Your knees jerk — and the world's best orgasm rushes up to meet you headfirst. A snap of lightning ignites your skin as you lose all control, and so suddenly Toshinori is right behind you, tumbling down the white-hot bliss of the best sex he's ever had in his life. 

He made you snap, he made you lose control, h-he made you cum—

His composure shatters. There's a guttural sound wrenched from deep in his chest and it's delicious. He finishes with a series of frantic thrusts that make you whine. His mouth is on your neck, your cheek, then your mouth. 

You crane yourself back, humming delightfully into the kiss that quells the rolling tide of desire into something softer. 

His whole body shudders as the after-quakes of your orgasm ripple along him. All Toshi can do is smother his sounds into another kiss. This one is slower. It's needy in a different way. 

When the kiss finally slows, it takes a second for him to peel his eyes open.

You look thoroughly wrecked. 

Your expression is that of a woman exhausted. 

Toshinori is suddenly aware of his own bulk, his own weight. Gently, he presses a hand to your cheek as he pushes himself up and off of you. His muscles burn — and pulling out of you makes his entire chest ache. 

The feeling wrings a gasp out of you. 

You exhale slowly, through pursed lips. Then, you brace yourself up on your elbows and hang your head. Toshinori flops gracelessly onto his back, his arms and legs spread with his half-hard cock sloped against his stomach. Your slick is coating him. His pants are half down around his ankles, and his usual up-right bangs have sagged. From heat or exhaustion, you're not sure. 

It sure as hell is cute. 

"You okay?" you ask after a second, taking him in as he begins to catch his breath. 

"Oh, yea, just peachy," he rumbles. The thousand-yard stare into the evening air is a hell of a thing on him. 

It makes you bark out a laugh.

Toshinori lolls his head to the side lazily, taking you in.

Your knees and elbows are bleeding. You're picking out the gravel stuck to your palms. You're in no better of a state — your pants are half on, wrenched down over your riding boots, and your uniform's top is pushed up over your breasts. His orgasm is leaking out of you, and the insides of your thighs are coated with your own arousal. Your hair is a mess. 

You're both messes.

You laugh again — and his own laugh starts shortly thereafter. Before you two know it, you're both locked in a laughing match that only ends when you try to reach to shove his shoulder. Your abs burn. Toshinori tries to muscle the grin off his face but fails.

Fuck. 

Fuck, that feeling hasn't gone away. 

It wasn't guilt.

Mayday, mayday, abort, abort, it wasn't guilt. He's smiling at you in the moonlight, looking so utterly wrecked and handsome and gentle—

His hand moves, a single crux finger gracing the curve of your arm soothingly. It's slow. Tentative. Hesitant. Not too much, not too little. 

Toshinori's voice is rough with sheepishness.

"Are we, uh, are we never gonna talk about this, too?" he asks. 

The touch and the question make your heart kick into a stutter. 

You swallow roughly.

"I..." you drop your head, as you wet your lips; play it cool, "Is it something you... want to talk about?"

"...Do you?"

A non-answer.

Your lashes flutter as your stare widens. You open your mouth, about to say something, but suddenly both of your phones are blaring with a city-wide alert. 

It takes a second for it to register — and as suddenly as the moment came, it went. 

ALERT, ALERT, ALL PROS REPORT TO CITY HALL, MULTIPLE HOSTAGES, ARMED GUNMAN, ALL PROS REPORT TO CITY HALL, ALERT, ALERT!  

You're struggling to haul your pants up as All Might fumbles with his belt. You hop on one foot, cursing as he scrambles for his phone in the gravel.

"You gotta be kidding me," he grits quietly, thumbing through the notification as you struggle in the middle distance behind him, tripping into your pack as you try and button your pants. 

"Time to go?" you ask pathetically as you try to ignore the feel of after-sex between your legs. 

"I guess that conversation is going to have to wait until later," he says apologetically, bending to grab your helmet. He offers it as you shrug on your pack; there's a sudden cocky confidence seeping back into his posture, "So let's make this quick, shall we?"

You swallow down a rush of worship. 

"I guess so," you remark easily, again trying your best to seem cool. That's your whole persona after all. Little miss spiteful, cold, rough-around-the-edges...

Beautiful, perfect, lovely, Toshi muses as you shove your helmet on and jut your chin his way. You flick your eyes toward the edge of the building.

He's already got a running start. 

"After you, All Might."

"Race you there, Derecho." 

[sagebrush-and-sadness]

BOOTHILL HEADCANONS

author's notes just some silly goofy headcanons for Boothill because he's a cutie patootie and I love him fem!reader, completely SFW ♡ and ⥩ are appreciated!

※ He always patiently waits for you to finish applying sunscreen or moisturizer to his face before he can finally go shooting bad guys to his heart's content. Most of the time he jokes around or teasingly dodges your hands; sometimes he mumbles that this is embarassing and he really doesn't care, sweetie, come on, but he will always give you a kiss as a token of gratitude. Because, trust me, he does care.

※ Loves snapping his teeth at you. It's a (weirdly charming) sign of affection, a habit Boothill took up pretty early in your relationship. You teasingly call it a cute aggression and he doesn't deny it. However, if he does that in public at someone else, you better get a hold of him and scatter away because the man is getting pissed.

※ Oh, he absolutely will blow raspberries on your neck whenever he has a chance to hug you from behind. And he's as sly as an old fox, lulling you into a false sense of security with gentle kisses and nuzzles — just to violently strike a poor, helpless you and dance away laughing joyfully.

※ Your first kiss with Boothill was that of desperation — he just barely made it out alive from one of the IPC warehouses, his left leg limp and dragging lifelessly across the floor, a few bullet holes adorning his signature hat, thankfully not lost in the heat of a battle. He looked no better than a wild ragged coyotte, a pitiful thing, an unsightly creature smelling of rot and blood, but upon seeing him, safe and relatively sound, your heart swelled with tenderness and your eyes — with hot tears. You wanted to kiss him then and there, and he anticipated as much, grabbing your face in his hands, firm yet gentle, and all but smashing your lips together. Perhaps, it was a shatter of all your dreams about a romantic first kiss, but at that moment it was the most perfect one...

...Or was it? As tender and loving as Boothill was with you, his tongue still tasted like oil and gunpowder. He laughed it off the first time you made a face, but since then he's made a mental note to always carry a bag of candies and lollipops with him.

※ He's the type of guy to randomly get you fresh field flowers.

Also the type to dance with you while holding one in his teeth. There is a whole anecdote about him picking an unknown flower that turned out to be quite poisonous and suffering from tongue swelling half a day after that. Don't bring this story up, though, his male ego is still recovering.

※ Boothill's upbringing obliges him to treat women with courtesy and respect. He may look like a heartbreaker to some, but in truth, his mindset is that of a traditional man. This said, he loves referring to you as a 'woman'. His woman. He relishes the fact and there is so much pride, so much infatuation and genuine awe behind this word every time he all but purrs it out. It's a strangely specific nickname of his, and no matter how unusual it might have sounded to you at first, now your heart flatters every time you hear it drip from his lips. After all, you are his woman and he is your handsome cowboy.

He might however bark at you when you're pestering him. Something in the lines of 'I'm busy, woman, what are ya yapping 'bout?'. Naturally, he never uses it as a means to offend and will put a bullet through the head of anyone who dares belittle you like that. The unspoken rule of a cowboy says: never criticize another gentleman's hat, horse and wife. And Boothill is very serious about his rules, even if technically you are not his wife (yet).

※ He adores it when you dress up for him. No matter how often or seldom you do that, no matter what exactly you're wearing — a cute cocktail dress or a strict suit — he would whistle low and stride right to you with the air of a beau who just saw the girl he'd buy a drink for. His sultry pretentious flirting never fails to make you giggle.

※ Boothill will always find time for you. No matter how many light days separate you from each other, no matter how busy the schedule or how dangerous the enemies, he can never really get you out of his head. You are always there, his little beacon of light, and he knows that you're waiting for him with worry and hope. He hates telling you that you can't come with him this time; hates seeing your smile drop and your fingers fidget anxiously as you watch him step on an unknown land. He misses you dearly five minutes into the mission, so he calls you as often as he can, showing you all the pictures he took or all the things he got for you as souvenirs. When it comes to your messages or calls there is never really bad timing for Boothill — an inconvenient one, perhaps, but even the heat of the battle will not stop him from picking up. He might even consider against shooting the poor son of a bitch that let him talk to you peacefully out of courtesy, but we will see about that.

※ Ever since you came into his life, Boothill's spending habits have gotten somewhat healthier. The thing is — the guy is loaded, yet money never held any real interest for him. After all, he became a hunting dog not for the promise of fresh bones, it was more of a pleasant bonus rather than a necessity. Most of his credits were spent on oil for his spaceship and himself, some repairs here and there, bullets and, surprisingly, booze — now unable to fully experience the harmful effects of a few bottles of whiskey a day, Boothill drinks it in the same manner some people chew on their gum. However you and your loyal companionship awoke something within him, something he thought had died many miserable years ago. An urge to care. And it came so naturally to him, too. It was very easy, on a level of subconscious, for him to pick up the habit of buying you food — the one he knows you like, of the highest quality. Or making sure you have an outfit for any occasion in your life and enough space to store them all. Or that all your beauty and health treatments are paid for. Or... and the list goes on and on. Boothill is a man who will respect you for wanting to be independent, sure, but will not shame you for wanting to be provided for.

English is not my native language. So please, if you see any mistakes in grammar, punctuation or spelling, or simply think that something sounds weird, let me know! Ty!

[secretmellowblog]

The thing is, Jean Valjean’s “nineteen year prison sentence for stealing a loaf of bread” from Les Mis isn’t actually unusual….not even today! I see people talking about it as if it’s strange or unimaginable when it happens every day.

In modern America — often as a result of pointlessly cruel (and racist) habitual offender and mandatory minimum laws— people are routinely sentenced to life in prison for minor crimes like shoplifting or possession of drugs.

The ACLU did a report in 2013 detailing the lives of various people who were sentenced to life in prison without parole for nonviolent property crimes like:

•attempting to cash a stolen check

•a junk-dealer’s possession of stolen junk

metal (10 valves and one elbow pipe)

•possession of stolen wrenches

•siphoning gasoline from a truck

•stealing tools from a tool shed and a welding machine from a yard

•shoplifting three belts from a department store

•shoplifting several digital cameras

•shoplifting two jerseys from an athletic store

• taking a television, circular saw, and a power converter from a vacant house

• breaking into a closed liquor store in the middle of the night

And of course, so so so many people sentenced to life without parole for the possession of a few grams of drugs.

And we could go on and on!

Gregory Taylor was a homeless man in Los Angeles who, in 1997, was sentenced to “25 years to life” for attempting to steal food from a food kitchen. He was released after 13 years. The lawyers helping to release him even cited Les Miserables in their appeal, comparing Taylor’s sentence to Jean Valjean’s.

And there’s another specific bit of social commentary Hugo was making about Valjean’s trial that’s still depressingly relevant. He writes that Valjean was sentenced for the theft of loaf of bread, but also that the court managed to make that sentence stick by bringing up some of his past misdemeanors. For example, Valjean owned a gun and was known to occasionally poach wildlife (presumably for his starving family to eat.) . So the court exaggerates how harmful the bread theft was—he had to smash a windowpane to get the bread, which is basically Violence— then insist the fact that he owns a gun and occasionally poaches is proof that he is habitually and innately violent. Then when Valjean obviously becomes distressed traumatized and furious as a result of his nakedly unjust sentence and begins making desperate (and very unsuccessful/impulsive/ poorly thought through) attempts to escape…. the government indifferently tacks more years onto his sentence, labels him a “dangerous” felon, and insists that its initial read of him as an innately violent person was correct.

And it’s sad how a lot of the real life stories linked earlier are similar to the commentary Hugo wrote in 1863? Someone will commit a nonviolent property crime, and then the court insists that a bunch of other miscellaneous things they’ve done in the past (whether it’s other minor thefts or being addicted to drugs or w/e) are Proof they’re inherently violent and incapable of being around other people.

A small very petty fandom side note: This is also why I dislike all those common jokes you see everywhere along the lines of “lol it’s so unrealistic for the police to want to arrest Valjean over a loaf of bread, there must have been some other reason the police were pursuing him. Because the state would never punish someone that harshly and irrationally for no reason. so maybe javert was just gay haha”. (Ex: this tiktok— please don’t harass the creator or poster though, I don’t think they were intending to mean anything like that and its just a silly common type of joke you see made about Les mis all the time so it’s not unique in any way.) because like.

As much as I don’t think Les Mis is a flawless book or that its political messaging is perfect….the only way that insanely long unjust sentences for minor crimes is “unrealistic” is if you’re operating on the assumption that prisons are here to Keep You Safe by always only punishing bad criminals who do serious crimes. And that’s just, not true at all. Like I get that these are just goofy silly shallow jokes, and I’m not angry or going to harass anyone who makes them. but it feels like there’s an assumption underlying all those goofy jokes that “this is just not how prison works!” “Prisons don’t routinely sentence people to absurd laughably unjust pointless sentences!” “Prisons give people fair sentences for logical reasons!” When like…no

Valjean being relentlessly hounded and tortured for a minor crime in a way that is utterly ridiculous and arbitrary in its cruelty is not actually a plot hole in Les mis. It’s a plot hole in …..society ajsjkdkdkf. And the only way to fix that is to fight for prison abolition or at least reform, and (in America) stand up against the vicious naked cruelty of habitual offender and mandatory minimum laws.

But yeah :(. I hate how Les Mis opens with a prologue saying the novel will be obsolete the moment the social issues it describes have been resolved— but two hundred years later, the book is still more relevant than ever because we’re dealing with so many of the exact same injustices.

[solxamber]

Chasing Fairytales || Neige LeBlanche

Neige is convinced that you're either allergic to him specifically or he's done something to offend you with the way you're avoiding him. You're just trying not to get blinded by his smile.

Neige LeBlanche is baffled. Every time he sees you, your face contorts like you just bit into a lemon dipped in hot sauce while sitting on a cactus. It's a new look, and honestly, it worries him. You used to at least smile at him, maybe even nod, like normal people do. But now? Now, you treat him like he’s carrying some weird medieval plague.

He thinks back to every interaction. Did he step on your foot? Spill something on you? No, nothing comes to mind. One day you were acquaintances—maybe even teetering on the edge of friendship—and the next, you were bolting out of rooms faster than a cat hearing a vacuum.

Which brings him to his current situation: sitting in the house he shares with his friends. They’re all squished together on the couch, and Neige is surrounded by blank stares. These guys are his sounding board, but right now, they’re as useful as a broken umbrella in a hurricane.

“Did you sneeze on them?” Grum suggests, not even looking up from his game console.

“No, no, that wouldn’t be it,” Dominic pipes up, adjusting his glasses. “Maybe you accidentally sent them a weird text? Like one of those autocorrect disasters?”

Neige shakes his head, thoroughly confused. “I haven’t texted them anything strange…”

Hop, sitting cross-legged on the floor, nods sagely. “Maybe they saw you at a buffet once and you took the last of the mashed potatoes. People hold grudges over that kind of stuff.”

Timmy just blushes and mumbles something unintelligible while Snick chimes in with, “Could it be allergies? Maybe they’re allergic to you?”

At this point, Neige is spiraling. Allergies? Mashed potatoes? Is there a secret mashed potato incident he forgot about?

Toby simply taps Neige’s shoulder, holding up a drawing of two people holding hands with a big smiley face. Neige squints at it and tries to translate Toby's silent wisdom. “So… I should hold their hand? Is that what you’re saying?”

The group falls silent for a moment, pondering this profound suggestion. Then Shelpie yawns and says, “Maybe you’re just overthinking it. People are weird.”

Neige sighs, still no closer to figuring out why you’ve suddenly started acting like he’s carrying the plague.

Neige comes back to the club room after a long day of shooting and classes, ready to grab his bag and head home. As he's packing up, something catches his eye—a boxed lunch sitting right there on his desk. He blinks at it, confused. Is this...lost and found material? Was someone in too much of a hurry and just ditched it here?

But then he sees the note. "I’m cheering for you, Neige!" followed by a heart and a little smiley face. The handwriting is unmistakable—it’s yours. He stares at it, even more confused now, and kinda flattered too.

He scratches his head, wondering if he's entered some bizarre alternate universe where the person who avoids him like he's contagious is also sending him homemade lunches. "What did I do to deserve this?" he mumbles to himself, half expecting a hidden camera crew to pop out and yell “Surprise!”

Another day, Neige is stranded on campus, waiting for the rain to stop. His umbrella? Oh yeah, he gave that to a girl with a cold earlier because he's just that nice. Now he’s soaking and shivering under a tree, watching the downpour like it personally offended him.

Suddenly, he hears footsteps and sees you walking by, your jacket pulled tightly around you. It's the perfect chance to finally talk to you, to maybe say thanks for the mystery lunch. He smiles at you, hoping this might be the icebreaker he’s been waiting for.

Your reaction? You freeze like you’ve just seen a ghost, eyes wide and panicked, and before he can even get a "Hey, how are you?" out, you launch your umbrella at him like it's a grenade. "Wha—?" he barely gets the word out before you're gone, running away with your jacket awkwardly balanced over your head like a makeshift hood.

Neige stands there, soaked and confused, holding your umbrella and thinking, "We could have shared that, you know…"

The next day, he spots you again, this time crouched in the courtyard, petting a cat. You're cooing at it, making all those weird sounds people make when they think no one's watching, and the cat?

It's loving it, basking in the attention like it's at a spa. Neige sees an opportunity to approach—no rain this time, no excuses. He kneels beside you, reaching out to pet the cat too. "Cute, isn’t it?" he says, smiling softly.

You, on the other hand, barely look at him. "Yes, cat," you mumble like it's some kind of mantra, eyes darting nervously. Then you do a quick check of your phone and blurt out, “Oh no, I’m late for our class!” before bolting upright and sprinting off like a marathon runner.

Neige watches you go, utterly perplexed. "That class is in five hours," he says to the cat, who just looks up at him with a smug purr, like it's in on some cosmic joke that Neige will never understand.

Neige is lost. He's been called naive before, but this? This is a whole new level of confusion. And maybe—just maybe—a little heartbreak. You used to treat him like an actual person, not just a walking photoshoot waiting to happen.

Now? You're acting like he’s got some sort of rare, contagious celebrity plague, the kind of thing you’d catch from standing too close to a red carpet. Every time you see him, your face scrunches up like you just bit into an entire lemon, rind and all.

He’s walking through campus when he spots you with Vil. Now, Neige likes Vil. He admires him, even. Dreams of the day they’ll sit together, drink tea, and discuss which highlighter makes you look “ethereal but approachable.”

But right now, all he sees is you laughing and waving your hands like you’re auditioning for a role in a one-person circus, and Vil? He’s smiling at you like you’ve just told the funniest joke on the planet. And Neige feels something... alien.

It’s not heartburn from that extra-large mocha frappuccino he had earlier—no, this is worse. His stomach twists, his heart sinks, and it’s official: Neige, the cinnamon roll of the universe, is jealous.

Back home, he gathers his trusty team of consultants: Timmy, Toby, and the rest of the gang, who are sitting around the table, looking like they’re about to solve world hunger or invent a new kind of pizza. Neige dumps the whole story on them, his head in his hands.

“And then,” Neige groans, “they just ran away, like I had some kind of... I don’t know... ‘Famous-People-itis!’”

Timmy leans back, strokes his chin with all the fake wisdom of someone who has never solved a problem in his life, and says, “Neige, it’s obvious.”

Neige perks up. “It is?”

“Oh yeah.” Timmy nods solemnly, like he’s about to deliver a TED Talk. “They’re sick.”

Neige stares at him. “Sick?”

Hop jumps in, wide-eyed like he’s just cracked the code to the universe. “Yeah! It’s so clear! They’ve got a classic case of... uh... ‘Stage-Fright-itis.’ Happens all the time when regular folks meet people like you.”

Neige blinks. “That’s... not a thing.”

Hop waves him off, undeterred. “Totally a thing. Maybe they’re allergic to fame. It’s like how some people get hives around cats. You’re like a walking award show, man. Just your presence makes people break out in nervous sweats.”

Dominic nods sagely. “Or worse. They could’ve caught ‘Starstruck Syndrome.’”

Timmy gasps, clearly thrilled by this new theory. “Yes! Classic symptoms: sudden avoidance, inability to make eye contact, randomly throwing umbrellas at you instead of saying hello—textbook case.”

Neige stares between them, confused but desperate. “So... you think they’re avoiding me because they’re sick? Like, fame-sick?”

Snick shrugs. “I mean, what else could it be? You’re Neige LeBlanche, man! Maybe they’re just overwhelmed by your... Neigeness.”

Neige feels like he’s fallen into some kind of alternate reality where this actually makes sense. He nods slowly, trying to absorb it. “Okay, so... they’re not mad at me? They’re just... allergic to me?”

Timmy grins. “Exactly! Just give it time. Maybe bring them a cup of tea. Or like... a calming crystal. And if it gets worse, well, maybe invest in a hazmat suit. Just in case.”

You don’t know how this happened. One minute you’re chatting with Neige, all sunshine and sparkles, and the next, you wake up in a cold sweat, realizing you are absolutely, horrendously down bad for him. It’s not even subtle. It’s like a piano fell from the sky and crushed your chest with feelings.

But you? You’re... well, you. Neige is a celebrity, practically a walking ray of sunshine wrapped in a Disney Princess aura. Birds sing when he passes by, small woodland creatures would probably braid his hair if they had thumbs. And you? You’re the person who trips over their own shoes and talks to houseplants like they can solve your problems.

So, naturally, you do what any responsible person would do when faced with a crush that could upend their entire existence: you avoid him. Completely.

You’ll still be polite, of course—leave him the occasional lunch with a cute note, chuck an umbrella at him when it’s raining—but actual conversation? Nah.

That’s just asking for trouble. You’re already too attached, and the last thing you need is for this crush to grow into a full-blown romantic disaster.

One day, you’re chatting with Vil—well, "chatting" is a strong word. You’re pacing back and forth like a caffeinated squirrel, ranting about Neige and gesturing so wildly that Vil could probably make a whole meme compilation of just your hand movements.

“And he’s just so... pretty! It’s not fair! How can someone be that perfect? I swear, he’s like—like—” You flail dramatically, trying to find words for the cosmic injustice that is Neige LeBlanche.

Vil, who has been quietly sipping his tea, raises an eyebrow and watches the spectacle. At first, he’s mildly entertained. But the more you rant, the more he realizes something: you’re down bad.

You, who have somehow mastered the art of functional chaos, are completely, hopelessly in love with Neige. And Neige, poor, oblivious Neige, probably thinks you’ve contracted some rare, Neige-specific allergy.

Vil starts to laugh. Not just a chuckle, but a full-on, head-back, hand-over-mouth, this-is-the-best-day-ever laugh. He finds it hilarious that you, despite being tangled in your own feelings, have the emotional awareness of a potato. And Neige? Well, he’s just confused, which is even better.

“You’re fools,” Vil says, wiping a tear from his eye. “Both of you. Foolishly in love.”

You don’t even register his comment. You’re too busy waving your hands around, grumbling, “It’s just... it’s not fair! Why does he have to be that pretty? I mean, does he wake up with that face?”

Vil sips his tea, smirking. This is prime entertainment. And that’s when he notices Neige across the way, glancing over at you two with wide, unsure eyes. Ah, poor, innocent Neige.

With a bit of mischievous spite—and maybe a touch of pity—Vil lets out a soft sigh and shifts his expression. He stares at you with the most lovesick gaze he can muster, his eyes practically glowing with “adoration.” It’s a look straight out of a romance drama, and he knows it’s Oscar-worthy.

Neige sees it. And Vil sees him see it. The realization hits Neige like a freight train. His eyes widen, his mouth opens in a soft, shocked “O,” and Vil? Oh, Vil is living for this. The confusion, the dawning horror, the jealousy—all of it.

Neige, who probably hasn’t had a jealous bone in his body until this moment, now looks like he’s contemplating the meaning of life, death, and why Vil is looking at you like that.

Meanwhile, you’re still pacing, completely oblivious to the emotional chaos you’ve just triggered. “And another thing—how does he smell that nice all the time? It’s not normal, Vil. It’s witchcraft. I bet he’s got a secret team of scent specialists just following him around.”

Vil stifles another laugh. “Yes, yes. Quite the mystery.”

Neige, on the other hand, is staring at the two of you like you’ve just declared war. He doesn’t understand it yet, but for the first time in his life, he feels something dark and uncomfortable curl in his chest.

Vil catches his eye again and gives him the tiniest smirk. Neige stiffens.

You, still on your rant, throw your hands in the air. “I just... I don’t get it. It’s like... he’s too perfect. I can’t deal with it.” And Vil can't even muster the energy to get offended. He thinks this is prime entertainment.

Vil pats your shoulder, thoroughly amused. “Perhaps you should... have a word with him.”

You stop, finally noticing Vil’s smug grin. “What? Why?”

Vil just smirks and takes another sip of tea. “Oh, nothing. Just a hunch.”

You’ve finally decided that enough is enough. You’re going to talk to Neige. You’re not even sure what you’re going to say—probably something awkward about feelings and how he’s so perfect it makes your head spin—but the important thing is that you’ve made up your mind.

It’s time to stop running away like a scared cat and face him like a grown adult. Or, at the very least, someone who’s pretending to be a grown adult.

So, you walk to his house, your heart hammering in your chest, rehearsing about a dozen different ways to break the news. "Hey, Neige, I think I might be a little bit in love with you..." or maybe, "So, uh, funny story, I can’t look at you because you’re too attractive and it’s ruining my life."

But just as you raise your hand to knock, the door flies open, and there’s Neige, looking frazzled and... holding a hazmat suit.

“Here!” He thrusts it at you like it’s a life-saving device. You blink at the suit, then at him.

“Uh... why?”

“Because you’re allergic to me!” Neige says, as if this is the most obvious thing in the world.

You stare. He stares back, eyes wide and earnest, and you can’t decide whether you want to laugh or cry.

“Neige, that’s not... that’s not a thing that happens to people.”

“But you’ve been avoiding me!” he blurts, clutching the hazmat suit like it’s his last defense. “Every time I see you, you run away, or—” he frowns slightly, “—you throw things at me, like umbrellas! I just thought... maybe you were... allergic?”

You feel a pang of guilt seeing the hurt in his eyes. Here’s Neige, genuinely thinking he’s the problem, when really the only issue is that he’s so perfect it makes your brain short-circuit.

You take a deep breath. It’s now or never. “Neige, I’m not allergic to you. I just...” You swallow, trying to find the right words. “I’ve been avoiding you because... I like you. A lot. Like, in a romantic way.”

For a moment, the world stops. Neige blinks, his face blank as his brain processes your words. Then his heart stutters, and before you know it, he’s dropping to one knee.

You panic. “Wait—what are you doing?!”

Is he skipping directly to a proposal? Is he about to reject you so hard he’s physically collapsing? You stare, horrified, wondering how things escalated this quickly.

But then Neige laughs, a bright, happy sound that immediately sets your heart racing in a different way. “No, no, I’m not proposing! I mean—unless you want me to—but, um, I was just going to ask if you’d be my partner.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and then before you can stop yourself, you grab him by the collar and kiss him. His lips taste like cotton candy and a dream come true, and for a moment, everything feels like a fairytale.

When you finally pull away, Neige’s smile is so blinding it’s a wonder the sun hasn’t given up trying. “I think I was... jealous?” he says, almost like he’s surprised by the revelation. “That’s never happened to me before. When I saw you with Vil... I didn’t like it.”

You laugh, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably. “Vil? Don’t worry about him. He’s my friend. He was just messing with you for fun.”

Before Neige can respond, there’s a loud achoo from behind a nearby bush. You both turn to see his friends slowly emerge, looking sheepish. Snick is rubbing his nose, and Grum is pretending he wasn’t just crouched in the bushes like a nosy little spy.

“Well, this is awkward,” you mutter, feeling your face heat up.

But they aren’t even phased. They burst out cheering, clapping and whistling like they’ve just witnessed the grand finale of a romantic drama. You can’t help but laugh as they chant congratulations, even though you want to crawl into a hole and die from embarrassment.

Neige turns to you, smiling that bright, pure smile of his. “Maybe this is a fairytale ending after all.”

And for once, you think maybe—just maybe—you’ve finally found your happily ever after.

Masterlist

[apollosgiftofprophecy]

Concept: In The Burning Maze, I think it would have been cool if one of the crossword puzzles in the labyrinth had been a mathematical equation.

Specifically, a mathematical equation on mathematical logic, such as negations.

Why? Because Apollo is the god of mathematics and I think it would be funny if Grover and Meg were standing there, staring with horror at:

~(~(p^q))

"What is this nonsense?" Asks Meg, a literal sixth grader who has never before encountered college-level math.

"I...I don't know!" Responds Grover, anxiously wringing his hands. He also has never come across something like this before. "I never went to high school!"

"Is it code for something?"

"The little carrot there looks kinda like a Greek Delta- is Daedalus related somehow?"

"A carrot-what?"

"The carrot!" Grover points at the symbol between the 'p' and 'q'. "It looks like the Delta symbol!"

"Oooh. Okay."

The sentence below the odd thing reads;

Solve my riddle,

Or play second fiddle,

You can find me in education,

For I am the ________!

"...What does that mean?" Grover whimpers.

Meg looks stumped.

"...negation," Apollo's staring at the strange equation. "'Solve my riddle, or play second fiddle. You can find me in education, for I am the negation!'. That's the missing word in the rhyme."

They stare at him. "How do you know that?" Grover bewilderedly asks. "It makes no sense!"

"Math logic," Apollo simply says. "This particular one is...about first, second-year level in college, I'd say."

Grover closes his eyes, muttering; "No wonder I couldn't solve it." as Meg stares first at the equation, then at Apollo.

"What even is a negation?"

"That," Apollo points to the squiggly lines. "It cancels the truth values out, giving you the opposite of what's inside the parathesis."

"...What?"

Apollo huffs. "The 'p' and 'q' both represent something, like two parts of a sentence. The carrot can be upside-down or right-side-up, representing 'or' or 'and' in that sentence."

"Which way is up when?" Grover looked to be on the verge of tears as the realization math did not, in fact, end with numbers or numbers and letters.

"Uh..." Apollo made a 'V' with his hands. "If it's like this, it's 'or'. If it's like this," he made a tiny pyramid with his hands. "It's 'and'. Imagine a line through the center, like an 'A'. That's 'and'."

Grover rubbed at his eyes. "Too much," he whimpered. "Too much."

Apollo gave him an awkward pat on the shoulder. "In this case," he said. "It's saying 'and'. The negation, well, negates their values, so it becomes-" he pats his pants and looks in his pockets. "Anyone have a pen and paper...?"

Blank looks met his. "Okay, then...then just imagine a squiggly line in front of the 'p' and 'q'. That's what the first negation does. Then the second one negates that negation, taking the squiggly lines away."

Breathing in, he finished with; "So our mathematical answer would be, 'p and q', written with the carrot right-side-up- like the 'A'."

The tunnel was silent.

Then it was broken. "How do you know all that?" Meg demanded, looking extremely confused. "That makes no sense. I thought there were numbers."

"There are," Apollo patiently explained. "But this is a logic problem, and they don't do numbers."

"Never before have I been grateful to not to have to go to college," Grover rubbed at his temples. "Algebra was bad enough. Now this?"

"Hey!" Apollo looked slightly offended. "It's all quite fun, really, when you figure it out! Besides, we didn't even have to solve it!"

"Then why did you?" Meg asked.

Apollo stared at her. "Because you asked me too-!"

"Nope." She blew a raspberry. "None of us did."

He closed his eyes, as if praying for mercy.

"Anyway," Apollo gave both of them the stink-eye. "Math and music were quite intertwined back in the day, so the Muses and I are quite adept at it- Thalia's the geometry queen, and whatever you do, do not say 'Bet you can't solve this in a minute' to Urania. She will make you look stupid."

"Bet that's not hard."

"Oh, shut up."

insert cackle from Meg

"ANYWAY," Apollo gives her the stink-eye. "Ancient Greece was a breeding ground for mathematical minds- Pythagoras, for one, who was my son to boot! Even Hestia enjoys looking over Hephaestus's construction equations in her spare time."

The other two stared at him, as if shocked the gods would find math, of all things, fun.

Apollo awkwardly glanced away from them. He didn't know what their reactions would be if he told them of the many contributions he has made to the world of mathematics. For some reason, silly mortals didn't seem to appreciate the hard work put into them!

Sighing, he said; "Uh, Labyrinth, the answer is 'negation'. We got side-tracked there for a bit."

One hallway in front of them glowed with the answer. Without another word, they quickly speed-walked down the passage-way.

[slippinninque]

🏡A Little Neighborly Favor 📻

Terry Richmond x blackfemreader

In which Terry answers a call.

warnings: spicy-fluff, sensual moments, neighbor!terryrichmond, just a little something, long fic

No matter what Terry did, he couldn’t keep you off his mind. Terry ran 10 more miles than he normally would and decided then decided that it would be a good idea to figure out the soft clicking he thought he could hear in his motor.

After that, he just decided to take a good look inside of his car just to feel productive. 

Yet–his mind always wandered back to you. His next door neighbor. In all the time that the two of you kept to yourselves, it was you hopping his fence to capture another neighbor’s escaped cat that initiated your relationship. 

The next few seasons the two of you danced around each other, not yet finding a reason to cross that final line. All the while he felt his weakness for you growing, his need to have more of you becoming harder to ignore. 

If you invited him on a late night run to the ice cream shop, he would be going. A call for him to come over the fence to enjoy early morning barbeque–Terry is crossing over the fence and reaching for a plate. Whatever it was, Terry couldn’t think of any reason to not accompany you. When you challenged him to provide you with a playlist after sharing an earbud, he hopped to it that evening.

He didn’t expect to be given one in return. A good one, at that. In the way that Terry understood that his earlier fears of being too heavy-handed with his song selection we're unfounded.  

In the background, the next song played from his phone–the opening notes making him pause to check the name. Intergalactic Janet by Ley Soul, what would be the fifth or so song on the playlist that you sent to him the other night.

Terry was in the middle of checking his dipstick when his phone rang out. A quick glance at the name made him scramble to grab the device. He took a deep breath to calm himself and answered with a smooth greeting. 

“Hey, I hope it’s not too late…I saw the light on, so–

“No–it’s more than fine. What can I do for you, little lady?”

A laugh floated through the receiver, he imagined you switching your phone from one shoulder to the other.

“It’s so strange, I think you cursed my speaker.”

“Me?”

“Mhm. ‘Cause I was listening to the playlist you gave me and the last song, it stopped playing!”

Terry’s heart stomped in excitement but he hummed questingly into the phone. 

“I know. Since it’s been cursed–by your hand specifically…I would much appreciate it if you help me in finishing your playlist.”

Terry had to put hand over his heart, looking up at the ceiling of his garage to call upon all of the charisma in his bloodline. Your tone betrayed no broken speaker, no hardship at all–in fact, he might have heard music. 

“Of course–it’s only right that I take care of it. Hm?

“Mhmm.”

“Yeah. So, how about this? Give me 15 minutes to get this work off of me and I’ll come to help you finish listening.”

“Thank you, Terry, I’d really appreciate it.”

Terry shivered at the tones of your voice, all coy and agave, “Of course. See you in 15.”

Once he was sure the phone call ended properly, Terry whooped and clapped his hands before taking off for the shower. He smelled like car grease and sweat, Terry wouldn’t dare offend you with his stench. He scrubbed himself and tried to keep calm but could only imagine what was waiting for him.

Terry exited through his side door. For a moment, he took in the cool silence of the block. There were cars going a few blocks over, nearer the main street. He could hear conversation a few doors over, the elderly couple wine on their back porc most likely. Terry walked your shared fence line, peeking through just to see the strings of lights you’ve draped over your bushes. 

He easily hopped the fence into your yard, behind your garage. Terry was careful of your planted flowers and little trees as he followed after the glow of  the strongest light,  coming from above your back door. Terry saw the muted light coming from the curtains in the room above, he believed it to be your bedroom.

The sound of the door opening drew his attention to the darkened back porch. Terry didn’t even hesitate to come into your space, closing the door behind him gently and locking up.

“Terry? That you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Anyone else would be buried in his backyard come dawn. Terry knew his way around your first floor by now and soon arrived in your living room. Terry took in the sight of you waiting for him in the recliner nearest he troubled speaker. It was charming, retro fashioned but equipped with modern capabilities.

“I just can’t figure it out.” 

“That so? And you said it played through until the last song?”

“That’s right–darndest thing. I think I heard a little bit of it before it went out–

He grinned as he watched your eyes ran up his form, “And then you called me.”

“Exactly. Then I called you.” 

“Let’s see if I can find your problem, then…”

Terry could smell vanilla when he approached the stereo–your brown skin glistening, your dark hair shining. He touched the top of the radio as he couldn’t take his eyes off you, off the spread of your thighs in the recliner or the incline of your head as you looked up at him. 

You stood to watch Terry as he tried to figure out what you did to the poor radio. The shadow of your body was at the center of the caftan you wore, the sight too much for him to linger on.

“I think I found your problem,” Terry cleared his throat as he bent down to plug in the stereo. The bluetooth’s light flashed for only a moment until going into a victorious chime. Terry turned the knob, the smooth melody filling the living room.

You put a hand to your cheek, “Oh, goodness! I feel so silly now…”

“No need for that. Glad to be neighborly, as always.”

/ I've been looking at you all night

Oh, baby, I've been thinking 'bout you (thinkin' 'bout you)

And all of the things I want to do

Once the day becomes the night /

Space lessened and Terry was offering his hand. When your hand slid into his, you were pulled into a tender sway. The two of you tucked closer together, your hand to his chest and his lips near your ear. The ache that the tension between you finally eased. Being ‘neighborly’ was good and all, but it was clear that the two of you couldn’t just stop there. Terry, for one, could see himself knocking down that fence that separated your two properties.

October’s bridge filled the room and Terry’s other hand spanned across your lower back. You took your hand away to put your arms around his neck. Terry’s hands wandered lower, caressing and rubbing as you grinned into the skin at your lips.

“You know how to make a mean playlist, Mr. Richmond.” You said softly, “I can safely say it has no skips for me.”

“Hmm, that’s good. Especially after I tried my hardest to impress you.”

/ Oh, I've been waiting, baby

Waiting for a long time (waiting on you)

For your heart to be mine /

“You wanted to impress little ol’ me?”

/ Oh, before someone else comes to mind

But when you (ooh-ooh)

Oh, when you told me /

“I’ve never wanted nothing more.”

/ That I was the one, girl (oh, baby)

I took every hour and minute, babe

Just to make sure that everything is right (ooh) /

“What will you do now, then?”

Terry licked his lips as he watched yours sweeten into a smile. Oh, he couldn’t go too long without that now that he’s seen it so close. Back lit by the lamp’s glow, complimented by your eager gaze. He reached out to put a thumb to your plush bottom lip. Your eyes 

“Now? Now I keep up the streak.” Terry paused to shut his eyes as you ran your nails lightly along the back of his neck, “Is there anything else you’d like for me to help you finish? Before we get…sidetracked?”

“Oh no, the side track is what I’m trying to finish next…”

Emboldened by your wink, Terry purred out a laugh and lifted you into his arms. Following your directions between kisses,  he navigated the two of you upstairs. 

/ Take me, oh, take me, baby (ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh)

Oh, baby

Take me back to your place" (your place)

Ooh, your place of residence (oh, your place, baby) (ooh)

So, she said (ooh)

"Take me, oh, take me, baby (ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh)

Oh, baby

Take me back to your place / 

---------

✨ending notes✨: this song pulled out a couple of fics out of me 🤣 this was the one finished the fastest lol! Tell me what you think! I'm still getting a feel for Mr. Richmond but I think we're getting to know each other now 😌 please comment and reblog! Thank you so much for reading!!! 💜💕✨💜💕💜💜💕

💕taglist💕: @megamindsecretlair @sageispunk @blackerthings @notapradagurl7 @theereina

@brattyfics @chaithetics @kindofaintrovert @educatorsareslutstoo @miyuhpapayuh

[ataleofcrowns]

Chapter Progress [NOV/06]

Hey all, it's been a while since I've written one of these 🍂

I've been posting regular previews on my Patreon, but a proper update was long overdue! As a refresher, my last update was this one, and I've got lots more to update you on now that I'm further along!

I've struggled a lot with this chapter and have been trying to wrangle it into shape as best I can, and I'm happy (and relieved) to say that I can finally give you an estimated release date: you can expect CH12 to be uploaded in December this year.

I won't be putting a specific date on it yet, since it could be anywhere from early December to late December depending on how much progress I make in November, but I'll let you know! Now, onto specifics.

The Main Plot

I'm currently balancing out LI specific content in the main plot! Regardless of what you chose in regards to Kham and the peri trader, players will be spending some time with D and X to make up for their absence in CH10 at the beginning of this chapter, and I've really missed writing their dynamic with each other as well as the Crown.

I genuinely can't decide which branch is my favorite. Meeting with Kham directly gives so much juicy verbal sparring and tension between not only her and the Crown but her and D and X as well. But meeting directly with the peri trader let me dig more into the worldbuilding, explore the city a bit, and have some more lighthearted shenanigans with D and X too.

I'll add some previews here for both routes that I've also already shared for people on the Patreon. Here's a little excerpt for people meeting with Kham:

“There is one thing I have been wondering, princess,” you say as you stare back into her eyes, watching the way the orange orbs of light flicker like flames. “When you first arrived here, you were accompanied by a retinue of guards. Whatever happened to them?” Kham does not raise her brows at you, exactly, but something similar to the motion as the wood above her eyes arches upwards with a stiff creaking sound. “They are not merely my guards, they are my servants first and foremost. Naturally, they run errands for me.” “What kinds of errands?” “Surely you do not think I would fetch all I require by myself?” She appears amused by the line of questioning rather than offended. “They trade with the peri merchants in your city on my behalf. Although, calling it trade is perhaps not accurate, as I hold the right to lay claim on their supplies whenever I please. They are representatives of my mother, after all.” You consider the explanation, but nothing about it seems notable or inconsistent so far. “So you have never dealt with this peri trader I wish to meet with yourself?” “Of course not.” She smiles, her wooden mouth briefly pressing together. “That would be beneath me.” “A shame,” $xname muses casually from beside you, contrasting the sharp look in their eyes. “We had hoped you might have some insight to share.” “As much insight as you are willing to offer me regarding this flower you seek,” Kham returns, her smile still in place. “The blue siren, yes? A rather strange fixation…” You feel the urge to tense, but withhold yourself from it by taking a slow, relaxed breath. All the rigorous physical training you have underwent over the course of the past month is already showing its benefits: you feel more aware and in control over your body, able to maintain your composure. A necessary skill when dealing with someone like Kham, as conversing with her feels like a dance of sorts. The two of you are watching each other’s steps, waiting for the other to slip.

And here's the excerpt for if you choose to meet with the peri trader:

You manage to make it through the marketplace, finally arriving at a large building with an open front, wrapping around the corner of the street. Tables and shelves are lined with various flowers and plants, perused by a few passing customers. This appears to be the peri trader’s shop, signaled by the sign at the front that reads Eshkar’s Garden. Eshkar being the name of the peri trader in question. Most of the flora on display you recognize, if not by the labeled names then by sight alone, but several look entirely new to you. Pale white flowers whose hanging bulbs pulse with light when a customer brushes against its leaves; bleeding vines wrapped around a miniature roofed trellis atop a tall table, its crimson flowers slowly dripping down pink juice caught by bowls below; a tall flower with only two black petals, large and pointed, that nearly startle you when they snap together several times in sharp, cracking sounds, almost as if the flower were clapping. IF CROWN IS INTELLIGENT Momentarily forgetting about your intended purpose in being here, you approach the clapping flower with curiosity, wondering what set it off. Sure enough, you see dead and decomposing flies of various sorts collected at the center of its bulb as you lean over to peer inside, taking care to avoid leaning in too close lest your nose get caught between the aggressive petals. Does it catch and eat small insects? How fascinating. You glance at the labeling of the flower, its name fittingly given as ‘black ovation’. IF CROWN IS INTUITIVE Eyes drawn by the visual spectacle of the white flowers, you find yourself wandering over to its shelf, glancing at the labeling that reads ‘stardrops’. The bulbs look ordinary at first glance, but sure enough, when you reach out to touch its petals, the flower begins to glow like you saw before. A ring of light travels up its stem, through the petals to the very ends, where it erupts into tiny little golden sparks. Hence the name, you suppose. Unable to stop yourself, you touch the flower again, mesmerized by the light show, until you notice a shop attendee frowning at you from nearby. Feeling scolded, you quickly pull your hand away and offer an apologetic smile.

Lots of fun going on in both routes! I don't envy you for having to make this choice lol.

Aside from this big branch, the main plot will converge for everyone again in the latter half of the chapter, where the Crown gets do to some more typical Crown things: hearing public petitions! They'll contain 2 smaller scenes where your character will hear out some citizen concerns, which will let you rack up reputation points with either the public or the nobility, and 1 major scene that affects a future plot point.

Not gonna spoil these since I've already talked so much about everything else regarding this chapter, so this will have to remain a surprise ✨

The Romances and Friendships

While the start of the chapter is X and D focused, if you have a specific (platonic) LI you want to spend more time with as buddies and perhaps get a little relationship advice, you'll have that opportunity at the start of CH12! I've had to write 12 variations in total for each friendship scene, which was a lot of work, but completely worth it.

Some LI routes also have big additional differences depending on if you have a low or high romance (such as A and R), while it matters a little bit less for the others for the time being (such as D and X). So if you screwed up on D or X's romances and have a low status, you're mostly in the clear from immediate consequences… for now.

Here's a little excerpt, taken from a playthrough of a Crown who has a high romance with A and chooses R's friendship scene:

Something like mischief gleams in $rname’s eyes as $rthey looks at you. “I’ve noticed you and $aname seem especially close nowadays.” You shift a little on the couch, averting your gaze to avoid $rname’s eyes as you strike a casual tone. “Do we?” “Mhm.” When you do glance over at $rname, you find $rthem studying $rtheir nails, and you begin to relax as you think it was just an idle remark. Until $rthey adds, “All the hand-holding underneath the table is endearing, I must admit. Especially since the two of you seem to think you’re being subtle about it.” IF CROWN IS RESERVED Heat flushes up your neck at being seen through so easily, remembering breakfast earlier that morning where $aname’s fingers hooked around yours beneath the table. “We were just… we’re not…” $rname looks up from $rtheir nails to grin at you. “There’s no need to look so embarrassed! I’m happy for you. The two of you seem well-suited for each other.” Trying to move past your flustered state, you clear your throat. “You think so?” “I’ve never seen $aname so at ease as when you’re around,” $rname considers, eyes narrowing with teasing and fondness both. “You look more unburdened with $athem near, as well.” IF CROWN IS FLIRTATIOUS You almost laugh at the remark and give it away completely, only managing to keep it in at the last moment and grinning back at $rname instead. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” $rname looks up from $rtheir nails with a sly smile. “No? What a shame. I was going to say how well-suited the two of you are for each other.” That catches your attention, your playfulness easing into something more sincere. “Really?” “I’ve never seen $aname so at ease as when you’re around,” $rname considers, eyes narrowing with teasing and fondness both. “You look more unburdened with $athem near, as well.”

This scene aside, CH12 will also contain another dedicated romance scene with your LI, dealing with some of the fallout from last chapter whether good or bad. If your romance is high, you'll be coasting- except maybe for D romancers, who are in Pining Hell either way haha.

If your romance is low, though, prepare for some delicious angst 🙏🏼

That's all I've got for now! Thank you all so much for your patience and support as always, especially for how long I've been making you all wait. You're the best 💖

[heard-nsfw-is-back]

Eddie loses a ring and he's a little confused but he's put his stuff in strange places before. He's lost it for a week and now he just wants to find it as a matter of principle. His rings are specific and hard to find so he always makes sure to (not) buy them when he sees them. Another week goes by and he meets up with Steve. They're going bowling and he puts his rings in the glove box where he finds his missing ring. "Oh for the. There you are!" Happily, Eddie carefully deposits the other rings in the glove box and Steve just smiles and shakes his head.

They go bowling and Steve wins this time and Eddie treats him to some funnel cake. "I could make this at home you know. It'll be just as good." Eddie gapes, mockingly offended. "All food tastes better when it comes from a questionable source, Harrington. Remember that." Steve rolls his eyes and flicks some sugar at him.

Eddie gets dropped off and he grabs his rings, making sure he's not missing any again, before sliding out the car. Steve blows him a kiss and Eddie mimes grabbing and swallowing it. "Chew your food Munson." And Steve drives away. Eddie crawls in to bed before sitting up. Damn, he missed prime swallowing jokes opportunities.

Years go by and Eddie and Steve are sitting in bed. They've been dating for a while and Steve is holding Eddie's hand messing with the fresh nail polish he did. "Don't mess up my artist's work. He wouldn't appreciate it." Eddie admonished, teasing. Steve smiled and pulls his hand down for a kiss. "Would you ever want to get married?" Steve asks and Eddie could feel his shoulders tense. "Yeah I mean. Yes. I think so. I mean I wouldn't need it. I'd be ok just. I mean it's not legal." Steve hums. "I'd marry you." Eddie starts going through every ring he'd pass by.

Steve slides out of the bed and kneels on the floor, still holding Eddie's hand. "We've survived hell on earth and hell in hell and I am so glad you're in my life. You're beautiful and brilliant and so kind. Would you please marry me?" And pulls out a ring. A beautiful carbon black band with a small gold gem. "Oh fuck that's beautiful." Eddie whispers and scoots over to pull Steve in for a kiss. "Yes. Yes!" Eddie sits up and Steve slides the ring on. They're both crying and laughing and kissing and it's gross and wet and they've never felt more in love.

Later, sweaty and exhausted, Eddie asks how Steve knew his ring size. He answered about how he took a ring he wore on that finger once and brought it to have a ring made to that size. Eddie doesn't remember but Steve looks so smug about it. "It was years ago. Don't worry." Eddie laughs. "Years? I think you need to get your head checked we haven't been dating that long." Steve smiles and looks up at the stick on glow in the dark stars on the ceiling.

"We weren't dating." And Eddie is so touched and feels so small and warm. He's been loved for so long and it's a humbling experience. "Can I wear a dress?" Steve laughs, "Of course you can." "Can you wear that sleeveless jacket?" "Uh that's a no." "Can we have a cool cake?" Steve is laughing harder. "You're gonna be a bridezilla, aren't you?"

[licorice-tea]

The Object Of All My Desires

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x reader

Content: so much angst, unrequited feelings (or so law thinks!), pining, yearning, (verbal) fighting, cursing, reader refers to law as a “stalker”, which is valid tbh bc he’s being a little weird, but not really, strawhat reader

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: oh my god i spend so long on this and i just kept hitting mental roadblocks! but then, tonight i got the inspiration to write like ~500 words and finished it up. there were only meant to be 2 parts, but similar to the second season of bridgerton (which it’s inspired by) there will be a 3rd! (the 1st part is based on the first meeting of kate/anthony, this part is based on that entire pinning phase+the confesssion, and the last will be shorter and basically be a resolution of everything.) also, im looking for beta readers! pls dm or comment if you’re interested!!! and if you’d like to be tagged in the next lmk! thanks for reading <3

Part 1 • Part 3

The second time you and Law were around one another long enough to have to face the other and, god forbid, speak, would come 2 years after your first meeting. After all your training apart from your crew, you had finally united and started traveling together again. You and your nakama took on all the challenges Fishman Island had thrown at you and soon moved on to the next adventure: Punk Hazard. It was there you met the standoffish Captain of the Heart Pirates again, and he proposed an alliance to Luffy between your two crews. So here you are; in an alliance with a captain you’d managed to piss off 2 years ago, and who clearly still carries that grudge with him.

Law already doesn’t like being part of the alliance with Straw Hat- but you only make it 1000 times worse. It’s unbearable having to be on the same ship as you, let alone sit at the same table over meals or pass each other in hallways. Not to mention, you seem to make everything a competition. And he doesn’t want to be in as childish a feud as the one that the swordsman and the love cook have, but you’re forcing him to act that way. You’re absolutely insufferable, and how he ever found you remotely intriguing or pretty to begin with is beyond his comprehension.

And yet, Law can’t pull himself away from you, nor you from him. He lingers in dark hallways just to pass by you as you go about your errands on the ship. He stares long enough to burn holes through you, then turns away milliseconds before you catch him (or so he thinks.) But every time you approach the reserved man, he exudes an air of annoyance.

It all makes you wonder, “What’s his deal?” Besides your little tiff back in Sabaody 2 years ago, you’ve never done anything to offend him in his time on the Sunny… Maybe you just need to clear the air. Yeah, that’s it; confront Law and ensure there is no bad blood between the two of you. No grudges, just goodwill.

You hope.

~

The Strawhats and co (Law) are docked at a small island, just for a day or so. Frankly needs supplies, Sanji; ingredients, Chopper; medicine, Zoro; booze, etcetera. And since most of the others have something specific they’re in search of, you have a free day to explore and shop!

You bid Brooke goodbye and thank him for watching the ship, then make your way up the dock and into town. It’s a quaint area, but the market near the entrance of what resembles a town square is overflowing with interesting bits and baubles.

Though you are happy to have this time to yourself, you’re not alone. Law is a mere 20ish feet away. He doesn’t greet you or even make eye contact, instead choosing to lean into shadows and stand behind vendor booths. You can tell that he’s trying to go unnoticed, pretending to be interested in whatever wares the shopkeepers have for sale every time you turn back to check for him.

And it’s fine, for a while. This could be a good opportunity to try and talk to him and ensure that the two of you are on good, if not neutral terms. It’s a little strange that he’s following you now after the two of you have had close to no interactions during his week or so on board the Thousand Sunny, but you don’t mind.

You cannot, however, pass up the opportunity to harmlessly scare him when he gets momentarily distracted by one of the little shops. While Law is reading titles of comic books (how strange…), you double back so that when he looks up, he can’t find you. He scans the marketplace, but to no avail- you must have run off somewhere.

Then you tap his shoulder, and the man nearly jumps out of his skin as he whips his head around to see who it is.

“You really like stalking me, huh?”

“…I’m not stalking you.”

“No? Well, whatever you want to call it, it’s the second time it’s happened.”

“What are you-“

“Sabaody, 2 years ago.”

“I wasn’t stalking you then, either.”

“Fine; following me through at least 3 groves while trying to be quiet and stay out of sight.”

Law scoffs. “Whatever.”

“Hm…” You lean to the side to see what’s behind him; display shelves with various comic books. “What were you looking at?”

“Nothing, I wasn’t even looking here.”

“Ah, so it’s ok for you to lie to my face, but not me to you. Got it.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

You nearly laugh. 2 years ago, after proceeding to follow you through several groves of the Archipelago, Law had insisted on knowing if you were a pirate or not, and the conversation had somehow escalated into an argument. It was a stupid little thing. But, you find it funny now, which is why you’re attempting to make jokes about the encounter and ensure him there are no hard feelings reserved over it. “Again, Sabaody.”

“Well… maybe you should stop carrying a grudge over that.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I only bring it up because I think it’s funny.”

“I think it’s childish.” Law doesn’t know why he says this, to be honest. He wants to come off as smart and witty, though he might not have executed it very well.

With a scoff, you cross your arms. “Law you’ve refused to even look at me in your time with my crew. When I try to talk to you, you act like you don’t hear me or straight up ignore me. Then you go and stare at me from across as if I can’t see you. And I’m childish?”

“Yeah, you are, and I don’t like you. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Better than you being an awkward asshole with no explanations as to why.”

“I’m not fucking awkward, shut up.”

“Oh no, you just follow people around for the better part of an hour without talking to them. Very charming.”

Law huffs, unamused, and storms off without another word.

You sigh and continue browsing the stalls. “Ok, so, maybe there is some bad blood between us….”

~

Things are awkward between you and Law for the remainder of the evening. Not only is he avoiding you, but you’re also avoiding him. And though you still try your best to be at least a little friendly, he straight up ignores all of your attempts. Whereas before your little confrontation in the marketplace, the stoic man would have at least responded with an eye roll.

When it’s dinnertime, you take your seat next to Robin as usual. Casual conversation and laughter flow around the table easily and seemingly endlessly… until Law walks in. He sits in the only empty chair, next to Chopper’s, and nods at Sanji in thanks for the food. And you, foolishly, try to incorporate him into the conversation. Maybe you do it to try and heal the small rift between the two of you, or maybe you simply want to provoke him further (though you'd never admit it.)

“So, Law, how was your day?”

Everyone pauses their conversations to not-so-discreetly listen in. They had also recognized the growing tension between you and the ally captain, for seemingly no reason at all.

“Mind your own business.”

“Hard to do when you’re always in mine.”

He nearly spits out his drink.“What?”

“You heard me.”

“I’m starting to get sick of your behavior, y/n.”

“So sick that you just can’t seem to leave me alone?”

“Watch the way you speak to me-“

“My apologies Law, I’m so used to being watched by you rather than having conversations, I must have forgotten my manners-“

“Shut up!”

“Fuck you!”

Now that both of your voices are raised, the crew sees it fit to intervene.

“Watch how you speak to them, Trafalgar-“ Sanji warns.

Similarly, Robin tries to talk you down. “Y/n, he’s our ally-“

The attempts to calm what had nearly turned into a screaming match prove futile, as Law storms out. You scoff and cross your arms. He’s so infuriating, it makes you sick to your stomach.

Silence passes as your crewmates look between each other, none wanting to be the first to… console you? Admonish? Give advice.

“You two should talk, y/n.” Says Robin, ever so mature.

“If he wants to talk, he can come to me instead of constantly staring at me from across the deck without saying anything.”

“Well, he’s clearly not very good at showing it, but you realize that he likes you, don’t you?”

You blink and turn to look at her. This must be another one of her dark jokes. “Very funny, Robin.”

“Oh, y/n, come on!“ Usopp groans; he’s had enough of the yearning and tension. “You seriously didn’t know?”

“No! Because he doesn’t like me. He’s been holding a stupid grudge against me since the first time we met back in Sabaody-“

Nami backs up Usopp’s point; “A crush, y/n. He’s had a crush on you and he’s too shy to talk to you normally-“

“So, what, it’s ok for him to just watch from afar but then act like a jerk when I try and talk to him?”

Surprisingly, Chopper speaks up next. “…Maybe your intentions came off different than intended?”

This makes you bite your lip in thought. Perhaps they had.

Nami pats your shoulder, “Now, go work this out so the rest of us don’t have to deal with all your unresolved tension.”

You unintentionally pout; the last thing you want is to talk to Law right now. But, your crew urges you on, and all but pushes you out the door.

~

You find him pacing back and forth on the starboard deck of the Sunny.

“Law?”

He whips around and you swear you see his scowl become even more pronounced than usual. The crease between his brows deepens, as the corners of his lips turn into a borderline pout. “Not done tormenting me?

“Tormenting? I just… I came to talk to you.“

“I find that hard to believe. From the moment we met, you have been nothing but rude and a nuisance to me.”

You scoff, all plans of reconciliation forgotten. “Believe me, Law, the feeling is mutual.”

“Fuck off.”

“This is my ship, so why don’t you fuck off? Jump overboard for all I care.”

“Maybe I will if it gets me away from you.” Law turns on his heel and storms off the open deck and into a hallway.

“Good luck swimming, asshole!”

Your rebuttal brings him right back to his former position, face to face with you so that your screaming match can continue “I hope you know that every moment I have to spend on this ship is torture, y/n, all because of you.”

“I haven’t done shit to you, Law.”

“Then whose fault is it that I feel this way? Go on, name someone else so I can take it out on them instead.”

“It’s your fault if you feel any type of way about me besides amicably. I’ve been nothing but kind, and-“

“Bullshit. Whether you know it or not you’ve done… something to me, I can feel it.”

“Oh yeah? And since when do you know anything about how you feel, all you do is brood.”

“I don’t brood. And I know that you are the bane of my existence.” He spits back, making sure to emphasize the word bane.

You hold your breath, refusing to play into this childish argument any longer. Or maybe it’s because, even if it’s just a little, his words genuinely hurt. You realize then, that you don’t want to be the so called ‘bane of his existence.’ He takes your silence as an opportunity to continue, though at a much lower volume than before.

“… And the object of all my desires.”

After a moment of disbelief, your scowl turns to a raised brow. “Excuse me?”

“Every one of my waking hours is plagued by thoughts of you. It doesn’t help that I can’t go anywhere on this goddamned ship-“

“Don’t you talk about the Sunny that way-“

“- without seeing you!”

“Well you must enjoy being around me if you’ve decided I’m,” you create air quotations with your hands, “the object of all your desires.”

You feel so out of your depth now. All you know to do is to bite back with witty remarks, even when he opens up to you. And he seems to do the exact same.

“It’s a nuisance.”

Your lip trembles, but you refuse to cry in front of Law while he plays this sick mind game with you. “I didn’t know liking me was such an awful fate.”

He lets out a shaky breath. “There are so many other things I should be focused on, but all I think of is you. It’s not awful, but it’s making me weak.”

“You’re such a prick, Law.”

He’s bewildered, mouth gaping as he tries to understand what could’ve been wrong with what he’s just confessed to you. “I’m saying I like you, y/n, I- Do you hate me that much?”

“No, I don’t hate you, idiot! But you- when you started traveling with us, you made me feel like I had done something to offend you, and then when I confronted you about it in the market you started to really hold a grudge, then you - I just- that’s not how you treat people!”

“Y/n-“

“Are you messing with me right now, Law? Is this another play to try and gain the upper hand in this… ongoing thing we have?”

“No, I wouldn’t…” He trails off and shakes his head. He probably would, if he weren’t so enamored with you and on the condition he possessed the social skills to pull off such an elaborate scheme. “It’s not.”

You’re silent again, but both you and Law are refusing to break eye contact. He must notice your still watery eyes and trembling bottom lip because he steps forward. His hand travels to your arm, then your chin. Forced to look at him, you are pained to see a similar unhappy look in his eyes. Minus the tears. You could almost take him for sorry if it weren’t Trafalgar Law, of all people. So instead of falling into his arms like you suddenly feel a desperate need to; you step backward.

You fold your arms over your chest as you look off somewhere- anywhere besides his eyes. “Law, nothing good can come of this.”

“This? What is this, y/n?”

“These.. feelings.”

“You feel the same?”

“I didn’t ask to feel this way!” You bite back, “But… yes, I do.”

“So what should we do?”

“We aren’t going to do anything, Law. You just stay in your lane, and I’ll stay in mine.”

“I thought you didn’t like that I was avoiding you?”

“Well now that I know why, what else can be done? Nothing can happen between us, Law. And we can’t allow feelings to complicate this alliance. I can’t allow that, at least; it’s too important to Luffy.”

He searches for reasoning that will trump yours but comes up with none. And so, with a heavy heart, he concedes. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Nothing happened.” Law confirms.

“And nothing will.”

You nod and start walking away. “Goodnight, Law.”

“Goodnight, y/n.”

And once you’re back safely in your room, the tears start to spill. You hate this- you hate him. You hate the way he makes you feel. You hate that you’re in love with him, and it took you this long to realize.

The tears don’t stop until you’re knocked out, and by the time you wake up, they’ve stained your cheeks.

Taglist: @augustanna @lavanderdreamve @pinksaiyans @khaleesihavilliard @jennapancake

[alphajocklover]

Like OMG hunty! This is like totes, such a fun little site you have here. Apps, charms, and all that like. So here is like the stitch bitch, I’m this super swishy liberal queen but like I’m also an actor. And I’m up for this part and like I totes don’t know why my agent even thought of it for me. He’s this super conservative, awful straight douche. Like totally obnoxious. Crude. Belittles women and guys like me. And like I said super conservative. And I was wondering like omg, this is silly but is there anyway you could make me fit the part?

I’m glad you like my work, though I’m a little offended at how you put it. Calling it ‘a fun little site’ makes me worry you might not be taking what you’re getting into very seriously. Being transformed is incredibly serious business. You’ll be giving up your identity, or at least a large part of it, to become someone else. And even the safest ways of doing transformations can go horribly wrong. Taking on that risk for a movie role… either you’re a fool, or an incredibly dedicated actor. Possibly both. I’m going to assume it’s just the latter for my own conscience, and because if that really is the case… I’m actually pretty impressed. To go as far as to use unnatural means to alter your body and mind so you can better fit a role… it speaks to a passion for your work that most people never find. So even though I’m still a little offended… I’ll help you. More than that, I’m going to make you one of the greatest actors of all time. This isn’t going to be an easy task. I know you specifically asked for help fitting into this one role, but if you’re going to become a truly great actor, you’re going to need range. Playing only straight douchebags will only get you so far. You’re going to need to be able to change to fit whatever role you’re playing, which means an ongoing transformation. Those aren’t very easy to pull off. There are ways to do it, but my work isn’t sophisticated enough to do those. I’m a decent TF reporter, but actually doing TFs is still fairly new for me. A spell could work, but it would take much more magic than I have. I’m not even sure a talented wizard could pull off a spell like that without a coven to back them up. My next option would be nanobots or something, like the kind the Douchebag Revolution uses. But I’d have to get some from the revolution, and then reprogram them… and I’m not exactly an expert programmer. Programming is hard enough, but programming nanobots? Magically charged nanobots? Yeah that's not happening. I could always ask my Uncle’s friend Nick, the devil I’ve mentioned before, since his magic can do some truly incredible and complicated things, but for something this big he’d definitely want your soul. Even the wishing supernova might not work, as wishes this complicated are incredibly hard to pull off right. None of the other methods I’ve mentioned before would work well either… so if we’re going to pull this off, we’ll have to use something different. Something new. Something like… A potions set! Now, that probably sounds a little strange. I mean, considering how complicated I just told you this transformation will be to pull off, making it work with some magic cocktail probably sounds crazy. The thing is I’m not giving you one potion. I’m giving you dozens of them. In the box you’ve just received are a large amount of potions, each one set to transform you into a different movie cliche. We’ve got one that will make you into a hardboiled detective, one that will turn you into a sports star, and even one that will make you into a superhero. And those are only some of them. Take a potion that's the closest to the role you want to get, and for the next 24 hours you’ll have the personality of that person, all while still remembering your true self. With this, you will literally be the perfect method actor! And with a little extra magic, people won’t even realize you’re doing it. They’ll just think you’re a great actor! With the set of potions I’ve given you, some hard work, and a bit of deception, you just might be the greatest actor to ever live. And when you’re not playing a role, you can always have some fun with the potions in your regular life. Why don’t you try one now? This one looks interesting. ‘The Action Hero’.

Ok… wow. That worked really well. I wasn’t sure it’d be this effective but I guess I’ve got a knack for potion making! I’m glad you like your new body so much. I would too honestly, look at those pecs! And the personality transformation aspect seems to be working well too, considering the hint of superiority in your smirk and how you can’t keep your eyes off the delivery woman's tits. Enjoy being a straight, douchebag action hero. And if you ever need a potion refill or anything specific, just let me know. Now stop flirting with that girl and get going, you’re going to miss your audition!

**I'll admit, I think this one might have gotten a little bit away from me. I've been thinking about potions a lot lately, and the idea of an actor literally transforming to fit a role really excited me. I know the person who sent this probably wanted a bigger focus on the douchebag part of the TF, but I got so excited by the idea. I hope you still like it, and feel free to send in another on**

[vhstown]

super short london slang guide !!

i haven't got a scooby doo about cockney so this is mainly gonna be mle and like the way 14 year old secondary school boys talk oookay let's go (just so yk i am a londonder!!!!!)

direct things to call people (or avoid calling people)

bruv, blud, man, mate, fam (can use in replacement of a pronoun like he, she, you and i or for emphasis — "man's got a meeting, bruv!")

more on "man" it can be used in plural too — "us man" or "them man" or "you man"

my g, my guy (for referring someone you are friendly/friends with)

bossman (something you'd call a shop or business owner — "aye bossman get me the 3 wings and chips yeah")

big man (usually used in a sarcastic friendly but kind of demeaning way, the older cousin of "big guy" — "oi big man what you sayin' cuz?"

i wasnt going to put these here cause of personal preference but 😭 people are gonna use them anyway so i might as well tell you what they mean:

peng (adjective cute/pretty — "her? she's peng!")

leng (adjective hot/sexy — "rah, he's leng you know?)

nouns

ting (usually to refer to a girlfriend but can also just mean "thing"... or a knife? — "don't chat to my ting fam!")

grim (very outdated word for a promiscuous woman — "she's a grim bruv!")

skeng (gun)

shank, spinner (knife)

paper, Ps, pronounced "peas" (money)

ends (neighbourhood, area — "if i catch you in my ends yeah")

mandem (group of friends — "having a laugh at the pub with the mandem" aha)

gyaldem (group of women / female friends)

ganja (weed)

blem (cigarette)

pagan/paigon (snitch or untrustworthy person, not a super common you might wanna use "snake" or "snitch" instead)

wasteman (someone who's useless, a lowlife)

pussio/pussyo (pussy, coward)

other common words and phrases

wagwan, or "wag1" in text (what's up, what's going on)

bare (a lot — "i got bare problems with him!")

gassed (prideful, full of yourself — "im actually so gassed, man got promoted"

"and that" (instead of "and stuff" — "i got links and that")

"allow it" (let something slide — "i forgot my wallet allow it bossman")

safe (like "alright cool", or as a bye — "aight safe")

"pattern up" (fix up, get it together)

hard, tight (cool, good, though "hard" is also used in an offensive way — "bro thinks he's hard, pussio")

blam (to get shot, not actually very common to hear in my experience)

sheffed (up), shanked (to get stabbed)

ahlie (used as an interjection when in agreement with something, similar to phrase "am i lying?")

non-mle specific words i hear sometimes

thick (dumb, stupid)

clapped/tapped (ugly, weird, unattractive)

merk/murk (kill, beat up)

slag, sket (slut)

chav (used to refer to someone of the low social status, associated with violent or rude behaviour)

taking the mick, taking the piss (being annoying)

mad (means crazy obviously but people use it a lot, can have positive and negative connotations — "that's mad!")

nonce (literally means pedophile / sex offender, do what you will with it 😭)

dickhead, bellend (similar to douchebag)

wanker (used towards someone you dislike, or in a joking way)

geezer (usually to refer to an old man)

also!!!

depending on which communities are predominant in the area, words from other languages can come in / have come in

some words are common with US slang too because they share origins 😁 ain't that cool

there's a lot of influence from jamaican patois due to the history of british jamaicans in london for ex in words like "ting" or "mandem" or "wagwan" (hence why mle is sometimes referred to as "jafrican") and its not strange to hear "bomboclaat" or "bloodclaat" here either

in communities where there's muslims and arabs (especially in east london) you might hear arabic terms like "wallahi", "khalas" or "astagfirullah" (though people debate whether that's cultural appropriation or not)

south asians have also had an influence with words like "gora" or "ganja" though again this is largely area based and the impact of hinglish is also found a lot outside of london

some people have a mix of different dialects! i mainly alternate between mle and estuary (sometimes yorkshire don't ask it is very easy to pick up...)

you're not gonna hear every single word here all the time the usage varies throughout london. the way north and west londoners speak can be v different for example

uhhhh if you wanna learn properly just listen to some grime or sutn . listen to londoners speak!

for some more resources in-depth PLEASE check out these guides made by other british people ! (one and two)

ok that's it bye bye british ppl & londoners feel free to add on! it is midnight rn so ive probably missed stuff lol... dms are open in case you've got any questions or want any help :p

[milkteasweetheart]

『just like heaven, chapter 1, part 1』

this part contains riddle’s dream sequence. 

housewardens x reader

author’s note: i depict nrc as an actual college, so first years are 18, second years 19, etc.

summary: crowley has the bright idea of a bonding experience, specifically in the form of a dream potion.

characters: (riddle rosehearts), leona kingscholar, azul ashengrotto, jamil viper, vil schoenheit, idia shroud, malleus draconia / platonic mentions: dire crowley (ew), grim

genre: romance, fluff, smidge of angst

warnings: female reader, reader is yuu, reader is around ace and deuce’s height, sappy, marriage, mentions of potential children, some suggestive themes

「dream scene: rose colored reverie」

Being in someone else’s dream looks strange. Seeing your own dreams in your mind’s eye makes you perceive it as high definition, but looking at this place, it’s like watching a movie shot with a lens covered in vaseline. Except for one house, and it's yard where our cast is trying to walk without falling over.

Vil is currently clinging onto the prefect, who had by now developed the skill of surviving whatever wringer life throws her in. Leona groans out of annoyance. It’s bad enough that he has to spend his precious sleeping time doing this fuckery and spending time with the fuckass lizard and the others when he could be cuddling with the prefect (he will never admit that).

“This must be where the dream is set.” Malleus wondered out loud, not turning around when Azul struggled to learn how to use his legs for the second time. Idia was sad that the dream world didn’t have phones to record this with. So was Jamil.

The group were not accompanied by Crowley, who had explained that “Someone needs to make sure that nothing goes wrong!” (Y/N) knew he was going to say that before he said it. Like precognition limited to one singular idiot.

“...certainly not a pleasant start to this. The headmage said we must go through everyone’s dreams… what a bother.” Azul had managed to conquer the task of standing without falling over. “Got something embarrassing to hide, octopunk? We’ll see yours eventually.” Leona was quick to take out his annoyance on Azul, to which he only rolled his eyes. What a brute.

(Y/N) looked at everyone. They seemed fine. She deliberately ignored Vil, who was still clinging onto her forearm despite being able to walk by now as evidenced when she went to check on Riddle, who was standing still, staring at the house. With silent horror. Vil’s face was quickly changed into a smug smile. “What’s wrong, Rosehearts?” His words didn’t match his tone, a patronizing mockery. Riddle wondered if magic could be used in the realm of dreams. He’d like to shut Vil up, and get out of here. He knew exactly what this dream was about.

Yet, Riddle didn’t answer. Instead, he blushed as he heard a car roll into the driveway. A cute little vintage car. (Y/N) looked as… she herself stepped out? She was wearing a snazzy suit with a fedora, and carrying a briefcase. Very fitting with the old-timey vibe this whole place was oozing. But why was she here?

Azul watched Riddle suffer with glee, excited at the prospect of a rival removing themselves from the chase of (Y/N)’s heart.

「Azul: Oho! Interesting!」

Idia was concerned at Azul’s widening smile. Hell no. He NEEDS to figure out how to stop this series of unskippable cutscenes or he will be COOKED.

Jamil looks at Dream (Y/N)’s face. It’s quite accurate, with the exception of an uncharacteristic smoldering look. Wait… Oh, this’ll be good.

Dream (Y/N) has somehow acquired a bunch of roses, painted red, and opens the door. The group peers inside. Riddle wishes to pass away. 

「Riddle: How can I offend Draconia as fast as possible so that he’ll smite me out of existence?」

“Welcome home, beloved!” (Y/N) watches as the Dream Riddle greets her dream counterpart with a kiss on the cheek. Dream (Y/N) presents him the bouquet, which he gladly takes.

It’s going to be a long night.

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

hi i love your work a lot i've been reading it a lot during this difficult blood moon time. i have a request if you don't mind tackling it!! this is gonna be very specific, but yandere! stalker x reader, BUT the yandere is not stalking reader -- the yandere is stalking a popular girl the reader knows in passing, and reader figures "well, i could use some extra cash", so reader approaches stalker and offers to sell phone numbers of popular girl, hangs out with stalker, and unintentionally ends up becoming the new target of stalker. surprised pikachu face on reader's end that her plan has backfired. bonus points if popular girl that same morning is like "i think stalker guy has finally stopped following me" before the reveal. thank you for reading :)

Based on your post, Imma assume she/her pronouns for our darling (you know what, I relate, gimme the money lmaoooo)

(Reader) slammed her hand down onto the cafe's table, startling the nervous looking man hiding behind his long, shaggy hair. He had been so focused on staring at Jenny (❤️), the angel of campus, and his unrequited love (of three months). Axle fumbled with his camera, nearly dropping it on the floor as he scurried to hide it in his lap.

"Um.. hi?" His exhausted eyes darted around the coffee shop, too nervous to look directly at the woman standing above him. "May I help you?"

"So you're Jenny's stalker." (Reader) smiled coyly, pulling a chair closer towards Axle so she could sit uncomfortably close to him.

His pasty skin flushed deep maroon, sweating under the harsh accusation . "No, you're wrong, I-I'm not-"

The poor hooded man was cut off by (Reader) grabbing his camera, too horrified by the situation to make a scene in the packed area. (Reader) flipped through the pictures, her smile fading as her eyebrows knit into a disappointed scowl.

"Damn, these pictures... suuuuck."

Axle was shocked, not expecting that response. "What?" His face went slack like a fish, unable to compute the young woman's critique.

"They're all... blurry. And, off center? Out of focus..." She handed back his camera, now with a look of mild pity. "Dude.."

With shaky hands, Axle yanked the camera back, not knowing if he should still be scared that he was caught, or offended.

"When Jenny was talking about how nervous she felt, having a stalker, I thought.. I thought you would be different." (Reader) cupped her chin in her hands, leaning in further, forcing Axle to lean awkwardly to the side, away from the strange woman. She seemed to be debating something, carefully contemplating her next steps. "Are you going to kill her?"

Axle gasped, mortified. "No! No, I would never!" He denied, a little louder than he had meant to. Axle sat stiff, fiddling with his camera. "I just.. really like her." A cute little blush dusted his cheeks, making (Reader) pray she wasn't being a fool.

She slipped a hand into her jacket pocket, and pulled out a picture of Jenny, one not from her social media. Axle grabbed it, admiring how the sunlight looked like a halo illuminating Jenny's hair. "Where did you get this?" Axle asked, full of awe as he stroked the image.

"I took it." (Reader) replied smugly. "Do you want it?"

Axle nodded, unable to pry his eyes away from the image. (Reader) pulled the picture back out of his hands, watching him whimper with a cold, unamused expression on her face.

"Twenty bucks."

"Huh?"

"Twenty bucks, and this is yours." (Reader) sat back in her seat like a mob boss, legs spread wide and head cocked to the side.

Axle yanked his wallet out, and fished out a twenty, absolutely giddy over receiving such a wonderful picture of his beloved.

"Pleasure making business." (Reader) smiled, pleased with how easy it was to trap Axle in her web. "Of course, with how awful you are at stalking, will you be okay with just that little picture?"

The young man froze. Of course, she was right. He was clumsy and skittish, often getting noticed while following Jenny, getting chased by campus police. Even the pictures he took of her were rubbish. "What do you mean?" Axle asked only to be sure he wasn't misunderstanding the situation.

"I'll help you out. I'll continue taking pictures for you, get you private information on Jenny, whatever you want. And you pay me."

He smiled oddly. "Pay? What you're doing is a crime, and you're fine with that?"

(Reader) grinned back childishly. "As long as you pay me."

Despite how uncomfortable Axle was with the strange young woman who hadn't even introduced herself, he couldn't pass up this opportunity.

~ 1 week later ~

Axle waited behind a dumpster, not quite sure how X had gotten his phone number. He still hadn't learned the mystery woman's name, only that she was eccentric, and possibly watched too many crime thrillers. (Reader) had told him to call her X, thinking it best that he didn't know her true identity.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when (Reader) popped up behind him. "You got the cash?" Axle squeaked, grabbing his heart.

"You scared me!" Axle stuttered out, looking better than he had the first time they met. His hair was no longer greasy, and the bags under his eyes had lightened up.

'Looks like he's had more time to take care of himself, now that I'm doing the dirty work for him.' (Reader) thought, staring daggers at Axle. He became flustered under her gaze, shifting anxiously.

"What are you looking at?"

"Just wondering why you're stalking Jenny in the first place." Axle pouted, thinking that maybe this was just a set up to bully him. "You're actually pretty handsome when you've showered."

"Huh?"

"Like, conventionally speaking, by societal standards, you are attractive. Maybe stop slouching and find a better jacket? But yeah, pretty sure if you took care of yourself and just approached Jenny like a normal human being she would have liked you."

His ears became warm at (Reader's) words, trying not to smile at the image of Jenny calling him handsome.

"But, better for me that you're a weirdo." (Reader) smiled playfully, holding out a manila envelope full of pictures she had printed out. "Money!" She said it like a question, empty hand opened expectantly.

Axle grumbled, plopping a wad of cash into her hand as he grabbed the envelope, heart palpitating as he saw more exquisite pictures of Jenny. Each one was amazing, with a sense of professionalism in their quality.

"These are incredible."

"Yeah, yeah. She's, like, super hot, I know." (Reader) absentmindedly responded while counting her earnings.

"I meant the pictures, dick."

(Reader) then did something unexpectedly, she stopped counting, and it looked like a little blush bloomed ever so faintly, genuinely surprised by the compliment. "Oh. Uh, thanks."

Axle noticed the way her back went rigid and the way she averted her eyes. It was.. kinda cute. His brain short circuited. Did I just think she's cute?

~ 2 weeks later ~

Axle's door knocked insistently, rousing him from his slumber. No one ever visited his apartment, not even his parents, so Axle was suspicious of who it could be. "I'm coming!"

He unlocked the door to find X, standing their with a shit eating grin on her face. "I never want to hear you say that again."

(Reader) brushed past the blushing mess, barging into his dark and creepy apartment. "How - why - how??" Axle was almost on the verge of tears, zipping around his apartment faster than the Flash to try and clean up, scooping up arms full of dirty underpants and pizza boxes, and just throwing them into a closet.

"Because I'm actually good at my job, that's how." She smiled triumphantly, flopping onto his bed while taking off her bag. "You know, it was really easy making friends with Jenny. She's so sweet.. it makes me feel a little guilty." (Reader) faked a sniffle, pretending to be torn up. "Maybe we should end this.."

"What? No!" Axle panicked, immediately regretting acting like a fool, as "X" removed her hands from her face, revealing dry eyes and a sarcastic smirk.

"Maybe I'll stay.. if you give me a raise."

Axle looked shocked, like he had actually believed (Reader). It was cute. "Fine.. whatever." He groaned, still standing with his arms cross.

"Aren't you going to sit down? I've got some things to show ya." (Reader) patted the bed.

"No!" Axle replied way too quickly, embarrassed about sitting with a girl in his bed. "I mean.. I'm fine standing." He rubbed his neck, avoiding eye contact as usual.

"You know, I know I'm not Jenny levels of hot, but it hurts that you never even look at me." (Reader) deadpanned, pulling out a pad of paper from her backpack, along with another envelope of pictures. "In this little notebook I have Jenny's phone number, her mom's phone number, her dad's phone number, I have her dorm address, I have her family's home address, I have the contact info for her past three exes, and I also wrote down some stuff I learned from talking to her, like the kind of guy she likes, her favorite food, her allergies, a bunch of stuff."

Axle was shocked, and kind of startled, by how thorough (Reader) was. He enjoyed following Jenny between classes, making sure she got where she needed to go, and yeah he liked climbing up the side of the dormitory to try and watch her sleeping, but this was beyond anything he ever could have hoped for.

"Wow. Maybe you do deserve that raise." He opened the envelope, ignoring (Reader) as she bragged about how she got all that information, overwhelmed yet again by (Reader's) photography skills. "Have you ever thought about becoming a photographer?"

(Reader) paused her rambling, nervously shifting her gaze away. Axle was beginning to suspect that she didn't receive compliments all that often, which was a shame, because she certainly was talented. Axle felt his heart thump heavily again.

"I, uh, never thought about it.." (Reader) lied. "Why, you think I should?"

Why did she look so cute right now, nervously asking a creep who was paying her to stalk someone if he approved of her talents?

As he was about to answer, he found a selfie of Jenny and (Reader) together. "What's this?"

"Oh, sorry that wasn't supposed to be in there. Jenny saw my camera and asked if we could take a pic together." (Reader) made a move to grab it, but Axle held it up out of her reach. Strangely, he realized that he had never seen the two side by side, and for some reason in the picture of the two of them together Ms. X was way cuter.

"I'll keep this one too."

"Huh? Why?"

"I like it."

~ 1 month later ~

Axle stared into the bright blue light of his laptop, looking at (Reader's) face. It was difficult to find her, as she didn't have much of a social media presence, and Axle didn't know her name, but he finally found her. He kept telling himself that he was just curious in what kind of lunatic agreed to work as a professional stalker, and why the hell was she so good at it? But as he lost track of time staring at the terrible family photos her mother posted online, he started to question why he never seemed to notice her before.

It felt even worse, since she noticed him.

The pictures she took were all neatly packed in a drawer except for the selfie she took with Jenny. Axle kept arguing with himself, insisting that that was simply the best picture of Jenny by far. But he knew deep down it wasn't the truth.

He had started to lose sleep again, trying to dig up information on his partner on crime. Partners in crime. Axle smacked himself in the head, pulling his hoodie down over his mop of hair. Unfortunately, he was a college student, and had classes to attend.

Out in the corridor, he heard the most wonderful sound in the world. (Reader's) maniacal laughter. Even when out with normal people, (Reader) didn't mask who she was. She was walking with a group of popular students, all cracking up over something one of them had said, and Axle was jealous.

(Reader) looked so natural with that crowd, hanging out like she wasn't a loser like him, glowing so brightly that Axle didn't see Jenny right away. He knew (Reader) said that she had "infiltrated their ranks" in order to learn more about Jenny for him, but it was still incredible to see. Axle wondered if he would look just as natural by their side, after all, (Reader) had said that Axle was "handsome". He suddenly became self conscious, regretting not showering before he left his apartment. When was the last time he washed this coat? Why hadn't he bought a new one when (Reader) suggested it?

It was almost like he had to remind himself to look at Jenny. She didn't look as angelic as he remembered.

~ 2 months later ~

"What made you like Jenny?" (Reader) asked, scrolling on her phone while lounging on Axle's bed. Axle was watching (Reader) while pretending to look at the pictures she had taken. She was so exposed, lying there as though this was just a friend's place, not a man's bed. Axle tried not to feel excitement seeing (Reader) so comfortable in his presence.

"I'm, um, not sure." And that was the truth. Why did he like Jenny? The way she smiled? Was it simply how beautiful she was?

The more he grew to know (Reader) as a person, the more beautiful he found her to be. Jenny paled in comparison to (Reader).

It was too embarrassing to tell (Reader) the truth, that the woman he loved so much that he couldn't stop thinking about her 24/7, now simply didn't interest him. Not like (Reader) did. If I take a picture of her, would she hate me?

"You should take more selfies." Axle stated, out of the blue.

"Why?" (Reader) snorted.

"Because you're pretty.." He blushed softly, smiling at the picture of (Reader) he kept on his desk.

~ 4 months later ~

(Reader) smiled wide eyed, almost unable to contain her surprise. "What?"

"Yeah, he's just, disappeared." Jenny took a sip from her coffee, confused but not complaining. "I haven't noticed that creepy fuck following me around, like, at all lately."

Many thoughts passed through (Reader's) mind like rapid fire. Was everything okay with Axle? Did he lose interest in his beloved? And if he did, was she no longer going to get paid?!

(Reader) ran to Axle's apartment as soon as the coast was clear. Partially worried for his well being, mostly worried for her pay check.

She didn't bother knocking, instead throwing open the door like she owned the place. Axle stood in the middle of his room, confused, and pink in the face. He had a fresh hair cut, showing off his dark eyes, and he had a new outfit on, one that fit him better than his oversized stained hoodie. "(Reader)? What are you doing here?"

"I was just-" she stuttered, blushing violently. He was incredibly attractive, towering over her now that he was standing with better posture. "Wait, how did you know my name?!"

An ominous feeling crept over her, as she thought about how many times she laid in his bed, not knowing that he was falling out of love with his target. He smiled sweetly at (Reader), behind him was a new camera he had bought for her, as a gift. Axle had meant to propose a new deal with (Reader), requesting pictures of her instead, but she had caught him dressing up in the clothes he bought to impress her. He pulled her into his room.

(Reader) only noticed the pictures of her scattered across the floor as Axle locked the door.

[devotedfem]

→Manipulator

Synopsis: You were a psychologist forensic, having the task to study the criminal profile of Hoseok. You were intrigued by him, because despise of his atrocious crimes, he was the sweetest man to you. But you should know better than to trust him. Something about his vibe and smile sets you off, and your instincts might not be wrong.

J. Hoseok x f. reader

Genre: criminal au | yander-ish

Tags: manipulator Hoseok, naive psychologist reader, possessive behavior, yander-ish, mental manipulation, hidden intentions, kind of ¨bipolar¨ Hoseok, creepy behavior.

From the series masterlist; The chasing.

You bit your inner cheek reading Hoseok's file, it was honestly disturbing to read all of the crimes he committed.

Your boss called you yesterday, telling you to build a profile of a offender, a criminal with a very complex mind. So now, you have to interview one of the most dangerous man in South Korea to understand his potential motivations behind his felonies.

The guard outside of the interrogation room didn't look at you once, he just opened the door expressionless. You took deep breaths to calm your nerves, it wasn't your first time doing this so you didn't know where the anxiety comes from.

"Hello."

A hoarse voice startled you. You blinked watching a man handcuffed to a table, smiling eagerly and widely towards you. He looked friendly, if you didn't knew better you would return the smile. But you do knew better, or so you think.

"Hello Hoseok, i'm y/n, and i will make you some questions if you don't mind." And if he does mind, you will still interview him.

"Oh, i don't mind at all! I like to talk about myself," he teased with a warm smile, and you just smiled back.

Hint of narcissism. You noted.

You started to ask him questions based on your readings and the protocol, and he answered rather calm and polite, always smiling and listening to you.

Sometimes you catched him looking at you without blinking, with an intimidating gaze lingering on you long enough to be considerate impolite or strange. But he returns to his "nice" and friendly persona immediately.

"Do you think i'm a bad person?"

The question took you by surprise, the interview was going smoothly until he asked that. You cleared your throat to hide the fact that you were taken aback.

"I think you're a very intelligent person, capable of knowing what's good or bad. So you can ask that question to yourself."

You looked at your watch feeling a bit uncomfortable every second you spend with Hoseok, and the worst part it's that he didn't do anything wrong to make you feel that way. It was something about his vibe.

"Okay well, i have a last question for you."

"I'm all ears." He smiled warmly at you, very attentive to what you have to say.

He was so nice and well mannered, but at the same time so creepy.

"Based on what you told me, i can say that you are a person very aware of your actions and those of others. So... why did you kill those people?"

The million dollar question. Why did he kill innocent people that have no relation with each other or with him? There's not a specific pattern.

"Why not?"

Silence.

"Pardon?"

Sadist. You noted.

"I said, why fucking not?"

You blinked genuinely confused and surprised. You touched a nerve, breaking his facade.

"Because innocent people don't deserve to die just because." You answered calmly, studying his every expression, and he was doing the same with you.

He just hummed at you, with his handcuffs clinking.

"I might just kill all of your family and friends just to have you to myself, isn't that enough of a reason?" His eyes glinted with evilness, and your breath hitch at his threat.

"Of course not." You tried so hard to not lose your cool, but it was hard when his piercing eyes bore your face.

"I disagree. In fact if you walk away and never return to me, i'll make some calls to arrange your friends and family deaths."

You blinked, not knowing if you should laugh or run.

"What?"

In the next second he jumped to your side of the table, breaking the handcuffs with a pin you didn't knew dropped from your hair. He grabbed your neck with one hand, and both of your wrists with the other. His grip was bruising, and the guard outside of the room ignored all of your cries and screams for help.

"If you don't come back tomorrow, i might hurt you and everyone you love just because. Your choice." He growled in your ear, making you whimper by his rough grip.

"Okay! i'll come tomorrow, just... just leave them alone," your lips wobble, and he coos wiping tenderly your tears away.

"Aren't you clever, my y/n. I promise we will have so much fun together." He whispered against your neck, and his tongue lapped the skin of your neck like a hungry dog, making your stomach turn with disgust.

You were so fucked up.

[siswritesyanderes]

i mightve asked this before, in which case go ahead and ignore this lmao. which characters would be the best vs worst when handling an autistic darling?

Oooh, this is a cool question! I would say it depends on the particular symptoms the person has, so I'll go over some symptoms and which yanderes would respond best vs. worst.

avoidance of eye-contact

Obviously, shy, autistic, or autistic-coded yanderes would work really well with this (and other) symptom(s). Your Donatello's, your Newt's, arguably your Peter Parker's. Also, yanderes who are able to sense when their darling's attention is on them supernaturally or just out of sheer social aplomb. Elves, for example, would be great with someone who doesn't like eye contact, because their body language conventions differ as a result of being able to communicate mentally.

Roxanne Wolf would be distinctly bad for this, based on her need for attention as demonstrated in Help Wanted 2. But she's also not beyond reason when it matters, as we've seen in Ruin DLC, so I'm sure communicating about it is on the table.

sensory reactivity

Okay, I think Dr. Strange would very specifically be bad for this, because his movies are all swirling kaleidoscopes of magic that would definitely be sensory overload in real life, and I have mentioned before that I don't see him as a considerate yandere. If anything, he might enjoy inducing sensory overload for the express purposes of making his darling require comfort, care, and isolation from others.

On the other hand, and maybe a weird pull for this, but Zafrina from Twilight would be great. Alec, too. Both have powers that would be super helpful when darling is overwhelmed.

Druig is able to just make everyone nearby shut up, which he would employ liberally.

food sensitivity/pickiness

Yanderes who enjoy cooking could go both ways on this. I could see some being offended by negative feedback and some taking it as being gifted with the challenge of meeting their darling's standards. Teruteru from Danganronpa and Esme from Twilight would both probably be good about receiving feedback and making changes. Super eager to please. Esme more so than Teruteru; he might get offended at first.

Rich and royal yanderes would delight in someone picky. They would love to be able to send food back with new, highly specific orders because darling doesn't like grapes with soft spots. Your Tony Stark's, your Byakuya Togami's, your Toph Beifong's, your Coriolanus Snow's.

Ralph from DBH would be a problem. He has a very weak grasp on what humans eat and a very high sensitivity to negative feedback. (Wait, he's just like me...)

resistance to changes in routine

This one would be a problem for yanderes who feel a need to go on adventures and trips with their darling. Which isn't necessarily the same as adventurous yanderes. Some adventurous yanderes might enjoy the idea of their darling staying behind at home keeping to a comfortable routine. But the ones who want their darling along on the adventure would be problematic. The Doctor, for example. Especially Eleven; he gets bored easily.

Whereas I think a lot of superheroes would like the idea of keeping their darling sequestered away, living predictably and comfortably. Clark Kent, Steve Rogers, Druig...The only catch is that some of them (Druig) would probably be a bit condescending about it.

I think Daycare Attendant would be great for routine. Coloring time, snack time, naptime, same time every day, sign them up! Also condescending, but they genuinely can't help it because it's how they're programmed.

Technically, Phineas and Ferb keep to a very specific routine, albeit a pretty tiring/potentially overwhelming one.

sorting things

This would be great for the disorganized genius character type. A Bruce Banner, if you will. An organized genius probably already has a system and might have trouble with someone sorting things differently than they have them. A distinctly slovenly character probably wouldn't mind either way.

hyperfixation

Yo, Queen from Deltarune would be the best for this. She would create an inescapable palace of the thing darling likes. Swatch and the Swatchlings would be involved.

stimming

There might be a problem if the yandere is easily distracted and needs to focus on something else. The main one I can think of who fits that description is Percy Jackson. That's not a distaste thing; just a pragmatic issue. Yanderes who experience sensory overload might also have an issue with it. My first thought was Queen Elsa.

On the other hand, Leo Valdez would love to make little stim toys for his darling. Donatello, too.

[zaceouiswriting]

Under the Alpha's gaze

Characters: Theo Raeken x Liam Dunbar, Male Reader (Theo's older Alpha brother) x Liam Dunbar, Male reader (Theo's older Alpha brother)x Theo Raeken

Universe: Somewhere in Teen Wolf

Warnings: Smuttish, Incestuous

You woke up groggy. Pissed off that your sleep was disturbed, you rolled onto your side and slammed your hand down on the offending alarm clock, breaking it into pieces - like it deserved. A groan of annoyance passed your lips when you realized what you had just done and heard the pieces flying everywhere. You had no intention of getting up, but now you were forced to.

As you rolled toward the edge, your feet landed on the cold floor as you sat up in the same motion. Your eyes were still almost closed, as the room was so bright since you had forgotten to close the shutters. Exhausted, you mumbled incomprehensible words, as you forced yourself to stand. Walking towards a specific cabinet, you opened it and pulled out another clock - one of dozens.

But instead of putting it on your nightstand like any sensible person would, you had no choice but to throw it on your bed because the urge to pee became too great.

You wiped your face with your hand as you walked to your bedroom door, you opened it. Outside the room, after just a few steps to the bathroom, you trip over your feet. Without thinking, you opened the bathroom door. Inside, you saw some of your fraternity brothers doing it. Nothing new or strange. So you just went in, excused yourself, and mostly ignored them. You dropped your sweatpants to the floor, flipped up the toilet seat, and groaned in satisfaction when you finally managed to empty yourself. You felt like you were constantly being watched, which was nothing new either.

When you were done, you put yourself away again, pulling up your pants, and as you walked past the two boys, you slapped the top's ass like you normally would, complementing his firm cheek. Right next to them, you apologized as you reached for the water beneath the bottom. After washing your hands, you looked in the mirror for a second and noticed that the couple had stopped moving.

After taking a step back, you knew why. You took the bottom guy's left leg and carefully lifted it, not knowing how flexible he was. But to your surprise, it was easy for you to get his leg onto the counter. Although you didn't want to seem too curious, you still applied light pressure to the guy's back and neck, forcing him down.

Looking at your masterpiece, you smiled and wished them a lot of fun, as the top could now penetrate much deeper. Before you could embarrass yourself, you quickly left the bathroom and closed the door behind you. Outside, you stood at the door for a moment, chuckling and rearranging yourself, as the sight had made you horny. With half a mind, you wanted to go back inside and asked if you could jump in. But you quickly shrugged the thought and went downstairs instead.

As you wandered into the kitchen and made yourself a cup of coffee, a feeling of dread slowly filled your veins as you looked around. You noticed pictures of your family everywhere, including your mostly absent parents and your brother, Theo. 

You were in a daze, and before you knew it, you found yourself standing in front of the bathroom door again. As you opened it, you peered inside the room without stepping in, staring at the people inside in amazement.

“(Y/N)?” Theo asked, audibly uncomfortable.

“Theo,” you replied, smiling smugly, just staring at them. You watched with great interest how your brother's boy toy's ass squirmed and Theo's grip on his waist tightened.

"Can you... you know, leave us alone?"

“Nope, can’t do, little brother.” With an even more smug smile than before, you looked at him, taking a sip of your coffee as if nothing strange was happening.

You saw Theo throw his head back and groan in annoyance. It made you smile as you realized that you could tease him in different ways, this time worse than any before. Because no one liked being interrupted while fucking.

“But I have to admit I’m surprised,” you said casually. It piqued Theo's interest, causing him to turn his head in your direction while still thrown back. "I didn't think you'd... you know, stick it in?"

Stunned, your brother stared at you for a second longer before his head snapped back into place. “You thought I was the bottom?”

“I mean... I wouldn't have said it like that, more like... you know... a little bit of both? Maybe more to the joys of your bottom?”

“So, a bottom?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” As you take another sip of coffee, you just stand there as if you were the annoyance reincarnated, just like you as the older brother had to be. You let your gaze wander to the naked boy that your brother was obviously still inside. "And who are you? Just a booty call, his boy toy or his boyfriend? Maybe a little of all three?"

“Dude!” Theo tried to interrupt, but you just put your finger before your lips.

“Theo, mind your manners. Can't you see that I'm holding a conversation here?” Shaking your head, you looked back at your brother's visibly uncomfortable fuck buddy. "Can you believe this? I swear Theo has never been this rude. Okay, he is rude a lot, but not to this extent. Please don't leave him because of this! I'm sure it would break his little heart."

Something in Theo must have snapped at your condescending tone as he suddenly pulled out of his boy toy rather roughly and turned toward you. "His name is Liam Dunbar and he's my boyfriend, is that all, can we go back to what we were doing before you interrupted us?" His fists were clenched at his sides, you clearly angered him.

But the last name rang bells in your head. It took a moment, but you remembered. “Is this the Dunbar?” you asked, surprised but still smug. "The one you haven't kept your mouth shut about since you were twelve?" you asked Theo, but he just started to blush, giving you another angle from which to tease him. You turned to Liam again with a mischievous grin. “Did you know he has a book about you in his bedroom? He wrote down every single interaction you two had and even pasted pictures in it when-"

Theo suddenly jumped forward, only to put his hands over your mouth to silence you. He closed his eyes and clearly felt the embarrassment rising, as you could see the top of his back turning red, followed by his ears and cheeks. Even though you found the sight cute, you still had to reprimand him for acting so boldly, not only towards his older brother but towards Alpha as well.

So when Theo opened his eyes again, you weren't standing before him. You could sense his shock as his scent changed drastically. Certainly afraid you'll get the book. But you were in the same room instead. He went to close the door and sighed in relief, only to yelp when he saw you behind Liam.

“I have to say, he’s a real catch, Theo,” you whispered softly in Liam’s ear, knowing your brother could hear you. "A firm body, a nice ass, maybe a little flat, but nothing that a little training couldn't change." As you feel his body, you never break eye contact with Theo and grin widely. Just to give Liam a feel for your cock by pressing it against his spread ass cheeks. The moan you elicited from his lips was nothing short of intoxicating, but you were immune to it since he wasn't the first.

You stepped back from Liam and gave him a nice slap, eliciting another moan from him and leaving a red mark behind.

As you were about to pass Theo, you stopped and stared straight into his eyes. His body was still facing the door while only his head was facing you. But even from there, towering over him, you could see something interesting. Your still-present grin turned malicious. Without him seeing it, your hand wrapped around Theo's still-hard cock. You stroke it gently.

“What are you-“

“I wonder what’s keeping you hard,” you interrupted in an authoritative voice that stopped him from saying anything. “Is it an exhibitionist streak or your infatuation with me?” In a panic, Theo tried to deny it, but you stopped him with your other hand. “I know what you did three years ago,” you continued to whisper, “how you jerked me off when I was sound asleep. How shameful for a Raeken to be so needy and desperate for his older Alpha brother.“

You could see air being pushed out of his lungs as if he had been punched in the gut. Suddenly your eyes softened as you saw tears welling up in the corners of his hazel orbs. Carefully, you pulled his chin closer, bent his head down, and kissed his forehead.

“Never forget that I love you, little brother. Maybe not as much as you love me, but I value you above all else. My door is always open for you.”

You could see Theo shedding tears, something you had never seen before. He's usually a proud young man. You knew you had to take him down a peck or two. But the smell of the pure arousal he radiated from just standing near you made you believe he would do it all on his own.

However, before you could leave the couple alone, there was still something you had to do. You place your hand on your brother's chest and slowly slide it over his meaty abs.

“You can keep your precum to yourself, you horny little brat,” you whispered as you walked past Theo. But you stopped at the door for the last time after you opened it. “Hey, Dunbar!” When you called, the boy, still partially on the counter, looked at you in a daze. “If you ever get tired of that sarcastic smartass, you know where to find me.” You saw him blush as you winked at him. You then turned to your brother. “And if you want to know where you belong in our pack, you also know where to find me.”

When you left them alone, you didn't close the door, you left it wide open, knowing full well that nobody else would come there as Theo was in your care since you usurped the pack, humiliated your parents and threw them out. For the terrible parents, they had always been. Walking whistling back to your room you heard moans before you could even reach your door. Smiling and shaking your head, all you could think about was what a horny brat your sweet little brother had become. 

As you entered your bedroom, you could still clearly hear their moans. As you sat down at your desk to do some work for your pack and the pack's company, you suddenly realized you had left your coffee in the occupied bathroom. Groaning, you got up again to get another coffee, as you didn't want any special ingredients inside it.

***

A few days after the confrontation with you, Theo was sitting in his room with his boyfriend snuggled against his chest, seated on his lap. He was reading to him while simultaneously stroking his back. Since that day, Liam has been acting strangely and seemed more distant. Although it wasn't overly negative, he appeared to be deeper in thought than usual.

The scene was serene until Liam opened his mouth. “Do you ever think about your brother?” he asked suddenly.

But to Theo, it seemed like a normal question. “Of course,” he replied casually, “he’s my brother. He played with me when we were younger, didn’t go to parties because he wanted to be with me, and even babysat me a lot, why?”

Liam fell silent again, obviously nervously playing with his fingers. “I didn’t– That’s not–" He sighed heavily, "Just forget it.”

Theo quickly caught on to Liam's train of thought. He closed his back with a heavy look. “Yes,” he replied again. "When you have a brother like mine, all you think about is having rough sex with him. He's a great guy, handsome, and all-around perfect. Growing up with him was hard. I was hard all the time. When he walked around naked after showering or waking up in tight briefs and, worst case scenario, tight swimming trunks, completely covered in glistening water, I jerked off to that image for years!”

“I want to have sex with your brother,” Liam suddenly blurted out. But contrary to what he thought, Theo just chuckled.

“I think I can do something about it,” he murmured into Liam’s hair, groping his ass vigorously. "But remember, you're mine!" He flashed his ice-blue Beta eyes, which reacted with Liam's own, which glowed a dark blue, showing the slight difference in their hierarchy status.

As Theo hungrily went in for a kiss, all he could think about was your reaction to his suggestion. He hoped you were willing to do that since he would do anything to have sex with you, even if it meant giving up his own boyfriend to you in return.

[Masterlist]