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alchemistc · 1 day ago

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He's drunk when he sends it. Pissed because Buck won't just let this die. Tired of seeing his name flash across his screen, texts full of anger and sadness and hurt.

I suspect you've already met your last and it's not me he sends, and then turns off his phone and reaches for the bottle of whiskey on his top shelf.

---

If he'd been sober he would have known better. It's not even like it's been a pervasive thought - just an inkling at the start of things that seemed to be completely off base once he got to know everyone better, but looking back... He can see it. The built in life. The steadfast support. The knowledge that they'd always, always have each other's back. The kid who hero worshipped him.

The thing is he's fielding texts from Eddie, too, checking in and then circling around to being so goddamn judgmental that it's like they've coordinated their attacks to give Tommy no room to breathe.

He ended it to save himself from slipping so far under the surface he wouldn't make it back.

The fact that he's lost them both to his own fear is icing on the cake for the demon on his shoulder that keeps trying to remind him that once upon a time he'd fully thought Eddie and Buck were amicable exes.

---

He has to blink to figure out who's standing on his doorstep. The mustache is gone.

"If you meant who I think you mean, you're dumber than you look," Eddie says, and shoulders past Tommy before Tommy can even muster an affronted expression.

Tommy wanders after Eddie into his own kitchen, immediately annoyed that he looks more at home there than Tommy has felt in weeks. He'd gotten used to the loft - the space, the echoes, the lights of the city. The smell of his own aftershave on Buck's pillow.

They never spent much time here. The loft was closer - to Harbor, to the 118, to all the things in the city that tempted them out for a night. And staying at the loft meant he wouldn't have the echoes of Buck in every room, around every corner. (The echoes are in him, instead, and he still feels the absence like a lanced wound.) Tommy has always been good at making other people think he's good at putting distance between himself and them.

Eddie digs in a drawer, pulls out the bottle opener shaped like a cow and pops two tops. Holds one out for Tommy and scowls when Tommy wrinkles his nose at the Corona.

"Absolutely screw you if you think I'm driving halfway across town for you just to get the ones you like, right now."

Tommy can't argue that. He takes a drag and swallows. Stares. Is everyone else experiencing whiplash seeing him without the mustache? It looks fine but it'd taken so much fucking work to get used to it and now it's just gone. Clean shaven, an acre of skin he hasn't seen in months.

Tommy blinked and the entire world was different. Tommy freaked and the world changed.

"What are you doing here?"

Eddie's eyebrows both lift, a frank Are You Fucking Serious look on his face that makes Tommy want to take him to the mats and have it out in the garage instead of over beers.

"Buck may be spinning his wheels trying to figure out what the fuck you meant but I know damn well what you were implying."

That seems unlikely. Eddie always seems to be the last person to have a single clue what was going on, with Buck scraping in just before him. It's a tight race.

He used to find it charming.

(He absolutely does not still find it charming, he tells his heart, and wonders if he could hire some tiny asshole gnome to go stomp around in an atrium or two and get it to stop doing what it's doing. Fucking traitor.)

"Do you actually believe that, or is it some dumb excuse because you're terrified of being happy?"

Oh, that's fucking rich.

Tommy opens his mouth to tell him exactly that but Eddie just steamrolls right by him. "You don't have to point out the hypocrisy, jackass. I'm well aware of my own issues. Thing is - you're like, almost right. Buck does make me happy. Next to Chris there's no one else in the world I'd rather have by my side, rain or shine, good or bad. I love him. He's my person."

Tommy rolls his jaw. It's not a vindication to hear it.

"Except I'm not gay, Tommy. And I don't want that. I never have. And neither does Buck, just in case that argument was about to hit the airwaves."

"How do you know?"

Something sparks in the back of Eddie's eyes. Understanding. Triumph.

"You want an itemized list or a demonstration?"

Which is when Tommy knows he's stepped into an absolute minefield. No markers. Just free balling his way through a conversation that could explode with even the slightest pressure.

Eddie's got his phone out.

None of this is ideal.

When he looks up, his eyes land squarely on Tommy, who would like in this moment to be able to curl so far in on himself he gets sucked clean through the other side. "First of all, Buck may have just been improvising his entire journey of sexuality but for once I was trying to get ahead of the curve so that whole starry-eyed newly not straight vision you have of Buck is bullshit. You let him pull you along by the shirt strings for months without pressing pause and then you freak out when he thinks his speed and your speed are the same speed?"

This is feeling a whole lot like an ambush, now.

"Did you ever even try to slow him down?"

Tommy has some choice words that aren't remotely appropriate to say to someone who is at least tangentially still his friend, so he takes another swig of shitty beer. God, this shit is awful.

"You wanna know how I know I'm not his one? How I know he's not mine?"

Tommy really, really doesn't. Honestly he'd like to kick him out.

"Because he went at our friendship at the same warp speed pace he took your relationship and it never fucking scared me."

Proof in the pudding, for Tommy. He's not the sort of jackass who actually thinks he can make a different judgement call on someone else's sexuality than the one they've made themselves, but come on.

"Shannon's been dead for half a decade," Eddie says, voice dropping so suddenly Tommy feels it like an icy draft. "And maybe one day I'll make my peace with that. Maybe one day I'll get out from under it. The point is I've lost them both and the loss wasn't the goddamn same."

"Buck came back," Tommy argues.

Eddie scoffs. Wrinkles his nose. "Jeez, he wasn't kidding about how weird that sounds." His phone buzzes on the countertop, and Tommy wonders what the hell that look on his face means. "Don't change the subject. I'm not here to talk you into anything. I'm just here to drink a beer with you and tell you how goddamn stupid it is to think that an uncertain future with Evan Buckley isn't worth every second of terror it causes you."

"You don't know me as well as you think you do."

Eddie tips the bottle against his lips. Swallows. God, why hadn't Tommy just pursued the self-proclaimed straight guy for a couple weeks before he scratched the itch somewhere else and kept a friend, instead?

"Maybe." Eddie tips his head. "Maybe I do, though. Maybe in the months and months you were invited to all my mopey nights in with Buck and all the crazy crap we end up involved in at the station and all the times you couldn't shut up about him when he wasn't around and all the times I got to see you falling ass over teakettle for my best friend, I learned a fucking thing or two about Tommy Kinard." He wags his head back and forth. "Maybe."

"Is there a point to this?"

Eddie tips his eyes to his phone, and it's probably too late at this point for the suspicion to begin to creep in.

"I mostly just came to confront you about your completely off base bullshit excuses, but there's actually a pretty simple solution to at least one of your multitude of issues, so. Now we're waiting."

Tommy doesn't like the sound of that at all.

"Chris is mad at you, by the way."

It's a distraction. It's fully a - "Why is he mad at me?"

"I should actually thank you, because it's the first time he's actively talked to me in months," Eddie continues, like Tommy hadn't asked a question. "He's pissed because Buck is sad and there's literally nothing in the world that gets a rise out of the Diaz boys like sad Buck."

"You can just say you're pissed at me and go, Eddie."

"Oh I'm angry. Don't think I'm not. Mostly I'm just sad for you. You had six months to get to know Buck and never thought to yourself 'hes going to love me and it's going to hurt' until he skipped too far ahead in the program."

And that's - kind of the final straw. He's let Eddie get his licks in. He deserves it, he knows he does. Honestly it's a little cathartic to hear - to know exactly what Buck has spent his time dissecting post-Tommy. "That's all I ever thought about. Do you think I didn't know going in? I tried to put a stop to it before it even started and he just doubled down! Do you think for a second I wasn't viscously aware that I was setting myself up for -."

No. He's not gonna say it. He's not giving that to Eddie when he couldn't even give it to Ev-Buck. When he couldn't give it to Buck.

Eddie looks victorious anyway.

"And for six months you thought it was worth it."

"For six months I was too much of a coward to stop thinking about it."

Eddie drains the rest of his beer. "I'm not gonna lie. You screwed up pretty bad. Like. Astronomically bad. Giving up your location in a firefight bad."

Tommy does everything he can not to wince.

"It's salvageable, though. If you want it to be. If there's anything I know about Buck it's that second chances are his bread and butter." He's been dancing around saying anything of substance about Buck's feelings, in all of this, but the hints are there. As if the bouts of angry-depressive texts from Buck weren't clue enough.

"And what if it's not what I want?"

Eddie's eyes dart to his phone one more time. "Then you can make it a clean break in about ... three and a half minutes."

Tommy nearly tosses his beer across the room.

#bucktommy #bucktommy fic #tevan fic #eddie&tommy #theres a part two to this that may or may not see the light of day

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angelltheninth · 2 days ago

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Comforting Blue Lock Men After They Miss a Goal

Pairing: Isagi Yoichi, Bachira Meguru, Sae Itoshi, Rin Itoshi, Kunigami Rensuke, Hyoma Chigiri, Nagi Seishiro, Reo Mikage x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, kissing, self-doubt, dating, cuddles, anger

A/N: Everyone needs some comfort right now.

Isagi already went to Blue Lock with a lot of doubt so for him to miss an important goal is crushing. He would rather you not see him like that. At the same time he can't help but lean into you when you hug him. The last thing he needs right now is to push you away.

Bachira pretends that it doesn't bother him. Turns out he can fool many people with his fake smile but not you. With you he doesn't need to pretend, he can be angry, he can be frustrated. Because he knows you'll hear him out, you'll be there to embrace him.

Sae isn't too bothered at first, it. Then again he knows it makes him look a little bit worse in certain eyes, and that does bother him. However he also knows you'd never look down on him for that. As long as he as you to cheer for him he knows he'll make the next goal.

Rin gets really angry with himself and goes right back to training. The more he does this the more he burns himself out. Both of you are aware that it's not good for him. You're there to pull him away and convince him to cuddle up with you and rest a little.

Kunigami rushes into the locker room and closes himself off to everyone. You're the only person who responds to and talks to. When you hug him and pull him into bed with you he curls up to you and lets himself cry. He won't do it in front of anyone else.

Chigiri brushes off your concerns at first, but you can tell he's upset. The moment your lips touch his you feel tears fall down his cheeks and he can't hold it in anymore. He is upset about this, he knows he could have made it if he was better. He will be better, for you.

Nagi never showed much sign of caring that he missed an important goal. What he did do was he threw himself into more training. Of course you're there to support him through it. At the next game you're his loudest cheerleader, yelling the loudest when he scores.

Reo distracts himself by taking you out on a date. The last thing he wants is to wallow in his misery. He is sad yes, very sad, in fact you swear you felt him cry against your neck when you met up for your fate. But he doesn't want to have you worry about him all the time.

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allpiesforourown · 19 hours ago

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Okay here's my Lan Qiren apologist masterpost

"He had Lan Wangji whipped! He's an abuser!"

That was Lan Wangji's punishment for injuring 33 Lan elders while defending a demonic cultivator who caused innumerable deaths in the cultivation community. You need to remember the setting of this story: Madame Yu whipped Wei Ying half to death just because she went "you didn't do anything wrong, your general existence is just mildly annoying to me." Lan Qiren deciding Lan Wangji get one lash for every person he hurt is NOTHING in comparison to the punishment he would have gotten if anyone else was in charge and it was the only way to clear his name.

2. "The Lan sect rules he enforces are too strict."

First of all, Lan Qiren is an old Asian person. I feel like that would be enough to make my point, but I will continue regardless.

The Lans have so many rules because they have extreme self-regulation issues when it comes to their emotions. We've seen Lan Wangji's dad ruin his life by trying to atticwife his lover, but Lan Wangji wasn't any better. If you've read the incense burner extra you know he got his first crush at 15 and his brain immediately went to fantasizing about violently assaulting Wei Ying in the library. Their hundreds of rules are stifling because they're supposed to be. If the Lans don't try to contain themselves they will ruin their lives and the lives of people they care about.

Is "don't talk while you're eating" even that extreme of a household rule? Like every family has some variation of "don't do ____ at the dinner table" and the Lans having their own version is not that insane.

3. "He was against Lan Wangji loving Wei Wuxian."

I need you to spend like. 2 minutes putting yourself in Lan Qiren's shoes.

Imagine you are Lan Qiren. Imagine you find out your brother broke his family apart by forcing his wife to stay with him. Lan Qiren was just a man who was thrust into not only taking care of the Lan clan, one of the biggest cultivation sects you can think of, but also his two traumatized nephews. Imagine cleaning up the mess your brother left you while having to raise two children that aren't yours.

Then you see your nephew, who you have raised like your own son, helplessly pining after the infamous demonic cultivator who has rejected him and teased him. You watch him turn against and injure his own family members to protect a literal criminal.

Then he comes home holding the child of the man he loves and you let him keep that baby and raise him. Because you see yourself in him. You see someone who just lost a loved one who was not a good person but someone you loved regardless. How many times do you think he saw Lan Wangji raising Lan Yuan and remembered himself raising someone else's children because their father was no longer there?

And then after all that Lan Qiren had been through, he didn't even try to keep Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian apart once he found out the truth. When Wei Ying explained how he'd been set up, he was one of the first elders in the cultivation community to give him a chance to explain himself. And after that even if he was cold to Wei Ying, he didn't say shit about the two of them having nasty loud gay sex in gusu every night.

I don't care. Lan Qiren hate will always be forced to me, he did literally nothing wrong and if I was in his shoes I would not have been able to handle it

#mdzs #lan qiren #wangxian #wei wuxian #lan wangji #long post

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eddiethebrave · 2 days ago

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secret admirer part twenty-five

1043 words

one two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven twelve thirteen fourteen fifteen sixteen seventeen eighteen nineteen twenty twenty-one twenty-two twenty-three twenty-four

That morning…

Eddie it really sucks that you’re the only you other than the fact that two eddies would be amazing on it’s own, i realized that you don’t know how it feels to have your attention it’s so intense dude you’re so intense in the best way, of course i can only hope that i get to experience that feeling more in the future maybe in the present, too p.s. i got your book again yesterday, here’s hoping second time’s the charm -H

Yesterday, Eddie thinks, he should have been more present and paid attention to what H’s note said. He’d sort of gone into tunnel vision when he’d been - however jokingly - accused of not understanding one of his books. It kind of made him wish for the first time that he could talk back. He’d contemplated just walking up to Hagan during lunch, but decided not to. He wouldn’t want to make anyone suspicious of the guy, no matter how much of an asshole he tends to be to everyone else. Eddie just isn’t that kind of person.

The audacity of a jock who’s admitted to only reading books for school - and for Eddie - to allege that Eddie needs to read a book more than once in order to understand it.

Has he read all of his favorite books more than once? Yes, but that’s only because they’re his favorites!

And does he notice something new nearly every reread? Also yes, but he chooses to believe that’s what Tolkien intended. It’s like a scavenger hunt of foreshadowing and little things to get excited about even when you know the ending.

Anyway, Eddie is decidedly less preoccupied today and he’s been wondering what book H is reading.

His curiosity leads him to venture into the school’s library before he heads to the lunchroom.

He tries to recall which books he’d checked out the last couple of months. Once he’s compiled his mental list, he tracks them down one by one. Eddie checks the card that’s in a pocket inside the front cover of each book on the off chance that Hagan’s name is logged on any of them - it’s not.

Eddie does find it interesting, though, to see a pattern in a few of the names he does see. Those that pop up multiple times are mostly people he recognizes from Hellfire.

He slowly eliminates each book until he’s left with one that’s not on the shelf. The Return of The King. The last book in the The Lord of the Rings series.

Most staff - like the students - at Hawkins High aren’t very happy when they see Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson approaching them. The school librarian isn’t one of them, though. Eddie’s been traipsing through this library for the better part of four years.

Before he’d procured his prickly personality and style as a defense mechanism to the hostile environment of high school in rural Indiana, Eddie found shelter among the creaky furniture, shelves lined with books, and Ms. Hewitt.

She’s seen his sorry face more times than you can count and has always greeted him with a smile. Today is no different.

He asks her about The Return of the King.

“Someone beat ya’ to it. Nice young man, he was.”

And while Eddie wouldn’t necessarily refer to Tommy Hagan as nice, he would for H.

Eddie thanks and bids her farewell and then he’s off to lunch.

He’s still having trouble conflating Hagan and his better half as the same person.

So, H read the last book of an already complicated series without any backstory. No wonder he was so fucking confused. Eddie laughs to himself just imagining it. Against his better judgment, he’s hopelessly endeared.

He’s late to lunch, but it’s not as if he was planning on paying for what the school thinks passes for food, anyway.

When he takes his seat at the head of the table, Jeff places an apple from his homemade meal in front of him without even looking his way or pausing his debate with Gareth (the freshman who’d flipped Eddie’s world upside down by unknowingly revealing H’s identity as the one and only Tommy fucking Hagan).

Eddie absentmindedly munches on the fruit as he takes up his usual lunchtime hobby of gazing at a certain jock’s table. He finds it sort of odd when Harrington - Steve - forces Hagan to play musical chairs or some shit, but Eddie’s not intrigued enough to care, really. He does catch sight of Hagan’s red face and clenched jaw, though. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think the guy was pissed.

The change of seats provides Eddie with something more worthwhile to look at, so he’s not complaining. Steve seems in high spirits, and Eddie feels his own mood brighten in return.

When their shared elective comes along, Eddie finds himself jittery as he awaits the boy’s arrival. It makes him feel sort of silly, but not enough to lessen the excitement when Steve finally arrives.

The jock takes his seat between Eddie and Carol and turns to greet the latter.

“Carol, Robin.”

“Steve,” the girls say simultaneously without looking in his direction at all. Eddie doesn’t pretend to know what’s going on there, and he honestly doesn’t want to.

Steve then turns to his left to face Eddie, and the last thing he needs is to be limited to the same dry conversation - if you could even call it that - so he cuts him off once he starts.

“Ed-”

“Steven Harold Harrington III. How now?” Eddie has never been the best at English accents, but he figures it gets the point across just fine.

Steve’s face splits into a grin before he forces his expression into a stoic one. He continues to adopt the most heinous English accent Eddie has ever heard - including his own. “That’s His Majesty Steven Harold Harrington III to you, Edwin,” he says snottily.

Eddie can’t help but break into his own grin. Never mind the fact that Eddie’s name isn’t fucking Edwin, but Edward. Few people embrace his antics, let alone engage in them.

Eddie is so gone on this boy. He was kidding himself thinking he could stay away.

Steve Harrington might just be the end of him.

tag list (closed)

@sofadofax @noodle-shenaniganery @queenie-ofthe-void @friendlyneighborhoodgaycousin @devondespresso

@dreamingtheimpossibe @plutoshelm @jaywhohasthegay @scarlet-malfoy @hotluncheddie

@dreamy-jeans137 @justdrugsformethanks @estrellami-1 @travelingtwentysomething @sleepy-steve

@wheneverfeasible @bisexual-and-broke @lil-gremlin-things @n0-1-important @xxbottlecapx

@tinyplanet95 @dannys-guilt-ridden-cockroach @theohohmoment @corvus-perplexus @hippieg1rl420

@blurryjoji @bookbinderbitch @arthurianace @dragonmama76 @thesuninyaface

@tillystealeaves @p0lybl4nkk @sageclipse @mugloversonly @chameleonhair

@thedragonsaunt @yesdangerpls @sanctumdemunson @slv-333 @loguine-linguine

@resident-gay-bitch @anaibis @moomkin77 @thrashbatx @salchica

@flustratedcas @ajeff855 @nerdyglassescheeseychick @pearynice @imaginary-maggie-waggie

#cuties #eddie is so easy to please #he's so oblivious #i love writing his pov #i tried to make this one a bit longer than usual bc i was starting to piss myself off a teensy bit #also #love that i'm the only one who knows what's happening behind the scenes in the bubblescoops universe #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie #tommy hagan

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fortuneforsaken-if · 3 days ago

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What is a King to a God, and what is a God to a non-believer?

DEMO ☥ PINTEREST

This game is geared for mature audiences and as such is strictly 18+.

Ancient shackles bind you to the mortal realm, a soul severed from a home lost to the sands of time. A curse on you, a blessing for those who take command; Who wouldn't like to own a God?

You're the highly revered deity of fortune. Or you were, five thousand and eighty-two years ago. Now you're nothing but a glorified plaything to one of the most powerful families in the world. Every demand you must fulfill, no matter how vile or self-serving. The illusion of choice is all but shattered, there's nothing you can do to change it.

Or is there?

It takes a simple thing for something to shift. A fragment from the past, an ageless, flickering hum of power that unfurls the hands of fate and unearths buried sparks of hope. No one would've thought that an ancient sherd would hold the first hint to your freedom, a warm, familiar sensation of your soul locked in a tomb somewhere where no mortal has stepped in well over five thousand years.

Let's hope the decay doesn't take you before you find your way back home.

☥ FEATURES ☥

Two separate sides to customization; The one mortals perceive, and your true form. Choose names, appearances, gender, pronouns, sexuality, romantic orientation, and more.

Shape the personality that starts to re-emerge after being dulled for the better part of history. Reconnect with yourself, and get in touch with memories and feelings you lost so long ago.

Experience a character-driven story full of twists and turns that eventually determine how each of the three endings play out.

Romance one (or two) potential love interests from a cast of characters; A shunned archaeologist, a primordial God, the reincarnation of a priestess, or the mysterious man you can't quite place. Or don't, it's up to you.

And last but not least: Don't let the decay reach your heart. Every change of fortune has consequences, and mindfulness is encouraged. This game does have bad endings.

☥ CAST OF CHARACTERS ☥

Zain/Zaina Tharset ∆ M or F, 28

"You're my birthright, and I'd sooner have you dead than let you make a fool out of me."

Z is your charge. Loud, obnoxious, and entitled; They don't care about your feelings or protests. Every desire that leaves them only serves them alone, and it's on brand for most of the charges you've had before. In simple terms, Z is not a good person, and the more time you serve under them, the less you believe they have any redeeming qualities.

Like everyone in the family, Z has warm brown skin with golden undertones, and eyes in light shades of brown. Their hair is naturally curly and shaved on the sides, leaving a strip of hair on the top and back, like a fashionable mohawk. Zaina's hair reaches the middle of her shoulder blades, while Zain's stops at the nape of his neck.

Being bound to them is painful, but you have no choice. Trying to retrieve your soul will be an ordeal, and it might not be worth the agony.

Rami Tharset ∆ M, 28, RO

"Just because the world has forgotten you, forgotten them, doesn't mean I will."

Rami is the twin brother of your current charge. Kind and humble, it's difficult to imagine him a part of the Tharset family on count of how different he is from that pit of vipers. He keeps to himself, usually holed away in a library or study where he digs into the history of, well, you. Or the ancient world you came from. This has caused the rest of the archeological community to shun him, the name of your old empire nothing more than a myth and a glorified fairy tale.

Rami shares his family's warm brown skin tone, and the black curly hair that's usually a messy mop that sits on top of his head, unstyled and naturally chaotic. It reaches just the stop of his ears, and is shaved in the back. Light brown eyes that are quite blurry without his glasses, but the gold-tinted pilot-framed lenses fit him nicely.

He's one of the few friendly faces you face in the Tharset circle, and you curse your misfortune that you couldn't have him as a charge instead.

Maluset ∆ M, N/A, RO

"For all I am, all I have controlled, still I could not keep you safe. Forgive me, old friend."

The God of the Night, and everything that you have left of an age and life long forgotten. While the rest of your pantheon faded one by one, he remained. You've always known Maluset as a calm presence, a steadfast and unperturbed God that never let himself be shaken, by mortals or his siblings.

While Mal prefers manifesting as his animal motif - a jackal made of black marble and eyes like consolidated galaxies - he does have a human form too. If he must appear mortal, his skin takes the color of what the mortals of your time had; bronzed, medium brown with a golden undertone. His hair would be jet black and curly, medium length, and he likes it naturally tousled by the winds. If necessary, he'll let his eyes appear dark brown in color, but he prefers the starlit skies in them instead.

He's been a constant in your life, at least until he disappeared three centuries ago. You know he's still out there since the realm where you take shelter is his, and it hasn't yet disappeared.

Rory Ewing ∆ F, 23, RO

"I can't remember, but your face, it stirs something in my heart. Why? Who was I to you?"

Rory is a new acquaintance to you, but there's something very familiar about her. She might just be a student now, her curiosity bringing her close to you, but you can feel an old connection whenever she's close by. Her voice reminds you of prayers long ago, even if her modern vernacular is closer to 'damn, that shit's the bomb' than hymns sung in your praise. Then again, reincarnation has a way of changing people.

It doesn't, however, change appearances. Back in your day, Rory's vessel was a traveler from the north; Her skin was light beige, rosy in its undertones. Her hair was thick and a subdued red, woven into an intricate braid that hung over her shoulder, reaching her midriff. Her eyes were also uncommon to you; pale green, vibrant but ghostly.

She doesn't remember you, and maybe that's for the best. Her new self is a stark contrast to who she was, and you don't think she'd enjoy the idea of donning priestess garb over the punk-rockish getup she wears now.

Taz Arian ∆ M, 34, RO

"Funny, isn't it? How some people seem familiar, even when they shouldn't be."

Taz is... Someone. He appears out of nowhere to join your journey, his knowledge of old ruins and tombs handy but somewhat worrying when he shouldn't even be able to see you. There's a strange thrum of power coming from him whenever he speaks, and you swear you've met him before, but where? It might be easier to find out if he didn't deflect and flirt his way out of things, but it does help with mortals that can't see you.

His appearance is nothing extraordinary; Dark brown hair that's held up in a bun, and you could assume it reaches his shoulders when loose, the loose curls pulling it a tad shorter. His eyes are light in color, almost golden in the right light, glinting with mischief. His skin is weathered, and golden bronze in color, with an intricate tattoo of an eagle spanning across his chest. He also sports a short beard, which gives him a rogueish look.

There is something about him that tugs at your memories, but you can't catch that thread of remembrance for long enough to recall him. Still, he doesn't seem to mind and resorts to teasing you instead.

#fortune forsaken if #interactive fiction #if wip #choicescript #intro post #man i still suck at tagging huh #anyway hi #if demo #if game #dashingdon #kinda but not quite

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thetadispatcher · 2 days ago

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Carl flashed Rook a frown over his shoulder as he followed Brandon, but he didn't choose to respond, as he felt he'd eventually learn just how many things this world had that his lacked in due time. But at that moment it didn't feel like the most pressing thing to spend time on, it could definitely wait.

"Sounds fine. Didn't really expect you do take my suggestion as I know nothing about this place, and you seem to have a better idea how things work." Carl shrugged, it didn't bother him as he was just sharing his experience with asking other human for suggestions. He took a seat in a nearby chair as Brandon moved to sit near Alice as he wanted to make sure he was there for her when she woke up. He knew she would need some reassurance that everything was okay, and he hoped his familiar voice would be enough as his face wasn't one she would recognize.

Strasky nodded quietly as he kept his head down, he knew he was taking things he shouldn't to heart but it was just who he was and he felt it wasn't something he needed to be too worried about changing. "Basically, yeah..." He glanced at her, giving her a small smile to show he appreciated her trying to help him feel better. "Well, I know I'll be accompanying you, Brandon's made it clear he'd rather stay and Carl, well, he's not a people person." He chuckled softly as he followed the others out of the void back into the room where the infected were.

He glanced at Strohm, his hand moved to grip his uniform over his heart as his mind flooded with more thoughts then he could handle at once. He shook his head and caught Carl's gaze as the man gave him a teasing smirk that quickly had him flushing bright red. He quickly pulled on his collar to hide his face from Carl and went to sit in a corner of the room to recollect himself well he waited for the others to tell him it was time to go.

Carl watched Strasky quietly, rolling his eyes with a smile as the man tucked himself into a corner on the other side of the room. He found Strasky's inability to handle his own deeper emotions amusing, but he felt soon the dispatcher would have to address them as he clearly had people pushing him to admit his feelings for their security operative.

Rook chuckled, "Like dragons?"

"Thank you for the suggestion, but I have my own methods." Willow politely declined, "I will investigate on my own at first and avoid all the unwanted attention I would receive if I were to start approaching androids out of the blue."

"If I were to guess, you aren't too fond of androids." Bishop pointed, heading for the portal.

"I'm entirely indifferent to them. It would simply be inconvenient to pry any information from them while under the scrutiny of some of the most obtuse humans on the planet."

The conversation was put on hold as both Bishop and Willow headed off to check on the progress. Rook would almost find it funny, if only Bishop wasn't the most horrible person she had ever had the misfortune of meeting.

She would stick with Strasky for now. He was visibly upset. "I guess it was like looking at an old family album. At least they'll be back soon." She gave him a pat on the back, "I guess we can do that. Let's go ask who's tagging along for this."

#kingedbishop

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socksracoon10 · 2 days ago

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𝐇𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐮𝐧

𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦… 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵. Pairing: Carlos Sainz Jr. x F!Reader, Charles Leclerc x F!Reader, Max Verstappen x F!Reader A/N: Alright gang, I caved like I said I would, here's my first f1 fic lmao Read The Second Part: Hit and Run (Part 2)

𝘾𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙤𝙨 𝙎𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙯 𝙅𝙧.

"You had a pretty nasty crash with (Y/N) (L/N) during qualifying today, do you have any words to share about the collision?" A reporter had asked Carlos, bringing the microphone closer to his lips. Boy did he have words, a very strong choice of them that he desperately wanted to spew out on national television. He bit the inside of his cheek, his eyes focusing in on the said driver just a few feet from where he stood. She was most likely giving her side of the story to the press, and it boiled his blood. He wanted to be nice, he wanted to be supportive. He liked to welcome everyone into the sport, make them feel like they belonged. Yet all his efforts to try and be the better person went down the drain as soon as she had rammed into him on track. That was his final straw. If it wasn't for the fact that she had been getting much more cocky during interviews, talking about how Carlos was an easy opponent and was practically no competition to her, he would've let this crash slide. His eyes drifted back to the patient reporter and he shook his head,

"I don't uh... want to talk about it. It happened, let's leave it at that." He sighed, shrugging his shoulders. The reporter furrowed his brows, a doubtful pout on his lips as he tilted his head,

"Interesting you say that. (L/N) had a lot more to say."

"Oh, did she now?" Carlos raised an eyebrow; he couldn't help the way his body turned to completely face the reporter, his curiosity taking over him. He wanted to know what that idiot must've said to the press.

"She said, and I quote, 'Even if you give Carlos a million practices, he'll still fumble the bag like he did today...' what are your thoughts, Carlos?"

Carlos gaped at the reporter, his mind reeling with at least a thousand different responses, each of them having to deal with the fact that he was racing against an absolute asshole but he shook his head, trying to calm himself down. He knew his words would have weight, and he figured he might as well let her have fun for the time being. Let her have that confidence boost that she desired so strongly.

"Well, we'll see how it plays out during the race." Carlos snapped, forcing a thin smile before heading out of the press pen. 𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝙇𝙚𝙘𝙡𝙚𝙧𝙘

Charles was having a wonderful weekend. Had P1 in all the practice sessions, got pole for qualifying and he was set to the win the race. He was so happy and hopeful, he knew that after a long while he was going to taste victory. Carlos had draped his arm over Charles's shoulder, giving it a little squeeze before exclaiming, "You're going to win tomorrow, I can feel it."

And then in came (Y/N) (L/N) like the absolute hurricane that she was, bopping her head to whatever stupid song was playing in her headphones. She glanced over to him, taking off one side of her headphones before scanning him from head to toe,

"You think I'd look good in red?" She asked, her head still moving side to side as she hummed with the song. Charles didn't understand it at first, and he frowned before it eventually clicked in his head,

"You'll never be in Ferrari," He scoffed, and she snorted,

"We'll see about that."

And see he did when he saw her coming up right behind him, ready to overtake him on the turn coming up, only to lose her grip and crash into him. As both cars spun towards the barriers, it wasn't hard to miss the way Charles began to scream over the radio, his voice hoarse and dry from the fact that all his hopes were diminished within seconds. He scrambled out of his bottled car and headed towards (L/N) who was looking over at her own car's damage. "You fool! You moron! What were you doing?" Charles roared, and she turned around with an exasperated sigh, "Trying to overtake you, and then I lost grip." She crossed her arms, and Charles clenched his fists, taking another step towards her, "You leave space! Leave space! I literally-" "Oh, quit whining. What's done is done, you can't be wallowing over it," She scoffed and as Charles was just about ready to shove her onto the ground, some of the marshals jogged over to break up the fight.

"You're lucky I didn't break your face," Charles spat, feeling the marshals drag him away. He glanced over his shoulder to see (L/N) mirroring his glare. He watched her lips twist into a scowl before she was taken out of his sight.

"We're sorry about that crash, Charles," A reporter sighed, shaking her head as she gave him a look of sympathy.

"I'm sorry for (L/N) for the next few races," Charles bit back, knowing that he was going to give it his all during the next race. 𝙈𝙖𝙭 𝙑𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙣

A championship battle would've been much easier to win over an argument with (Y/N) (L/N). Max had figured that out the hard way. He had the fastest lap and was just about ready to overtake (L/N) when she had suddenly divebombed randomly into him, forcing him into the barriers. Max was beyond just pissed, he was fuming. He had never felt such strong rage in a very long time, and as he hopped out of his car with the help of the marshals, he knew he was about to start a war back at the garage. He had dropped his gloves onto the floor, shoved the helmet onto the ground before ripping off his balaclava with one intention in his mind: sort out whatever bullshit (L/N) kept bringing into these races. She was only 6th in the driver standings, but she sure acted like she was 2nd and that only did little to calm Max's anger. He had marched over to her team's garage much to the chagrin of those with him at Red Bull Racing.

"So, are we letting blind people race now?" Max barked, and he watched (L/N) crane her neck to get a good look at the man approaching her. She stood her ground, crossing her arms with that cocky look on her face. It drove Max wild looking at her, he hated her guts.

"Listen, it just happens. My bad," She put her hands in the air, taking a step back as she noticed Max losing his mind.

"Just happens? Just... happens? Seriously? Are you fucking stupid? That shouldn't be happening! I have a championship to win and you just ruined it for me!" "Hey, I DNF'd too. We're both in the same boat," (L/N) exclaimed.

"I'm fighting for the championship, you're fighting to secure your seat for the next season because you are nothing but shit!" Max hissed which earned a couple gasps from those at the garage. Within seconds he was dragged back to Red Bull Racing's garage, but he couldn't help but notice the smirk on her face. A part of him wondered if she did it on purpose. After all, (Y/N) (L/N) had nothing to lose at the moment so it wouldn't surprise him. He sank down onto a chair, impatiently tapping his foot as he watched the race continue without him.

He couldn't wait to wipe that smirk off her face next time.

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ayrtonswnna · 1 day ago

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hello there!

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

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

ʚïɞ "you got me good" FC43

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hello, everyone!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Pai, sério." (Dad, I'm serious.)

"Sir, I know it—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You should have seen your face, baby!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You know what else I deserve?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ready, kid?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#lele writes ʚɞ #formula 1 #f1 #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #formula one #imagine #formula one fluff #formula one fluff imagine #franco colapinto fluff #franco colapinto imagine #franco colapinto #franco colapinto x oc #franco colapinto x reader #senna!oc #franco colapinto x senna!daughter #senna!reader #ayrton senna #williams racing

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redflowersociety · 2 days ago

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Reacting to you getting hit on - Mouthwashing HC

Includes all characters. Pretense of you being their partner (excluding Swansea, though he is included).

Jimmy

He is beyond pissed off. Both at the person hitting on you for coming anywhere near what’s supposed to be his, and at you (as if it’s your fault for being perceived). He curses the person out, making it clear to them and everybody around that you’re HIS partner. He makes a show of it in front of this stranger to repair his ego after the event. He’s the type of guy to drag you away, and forcefully make out with you within eyeshot of the person. He made a point to push all the right buttons to get you melting into his touch and meeting all his demands. He knows how to get you subservient, and that fact reassures him of his control.

After this, though? Expect him to be extra insecure for the following days. He’s completely convinced that you’d try to wriggle out of his grasp given the chance, and he just couldn’t let that happen. So he doesn’t let you go out the house without him, and when you both *are* out, he’s always got a hand on you, never allowing you out of his grasp. He needs both you, and everyone around to know that you already belong to somebody: him.

Curly

Curly trusts you. For him to settle with you, he must have a connection strong enough to reassure him that he won’t be used for his kindness, so of course he trusts you. He watches as you gently turn down the stranger, standing by but never once moving his gaze off of you two (mostly you). If he notices the stranger doesn’t take the first no, he steps in. He doesn’t mean to make you feel like a damsel in distress in need of saving, but he can’t bring himself to stand by and watch you get harassed. He promised to himself he wouldn’t stand by instead of protecting those he cares for, so he won’t.

Overall, it doesn’t stick with him in a negative way. Instead, your handling of the situation reassures him that he’s your only interest.

Post Crash

Although he has the same mentality as pre-crash Curly, there is an extra piece: He is horribly insecure of his appearance, and all that it represents. He shared to you the events that transpired on the Tulpar as a way of holding himself accountable. Every moment that passes, the guilt and hatred of his body plants seeds of doubt into his mind: Anybody is more attractive and could provide for you better than him. His past with Jimmy doesn’t help these feeling either.

So, it’s safe to say that the situation sticks with him. It makes it harder for him to accept reassurance. It takes a long time, and a LOT of reassurance for him to move on from it.

Daisuke

Daisuke is completely trusting of your love for him, but not of his own abilities or accomplishments. So, when he sees a guy with expensive jewelry or a well-kept appearance trying to get your number, it stings his heart. It’s not jealousy, as he knows that he’s the only one you want: it’s shame. He feels shameful that he can’t the perfect guy for somebody so perfect (you).

It’s not hard to notice that he’s feeling down when you hurry towards him after the interaction. You pull him somewhere a bit more private and cup his squishy cheeks, asking him what’s got him so upset. He hesitates for a moment, but soon leaves his emotions in your hands with the tears in his eyes that he just can’t manage to keep back.

He’d spill his guts to you about his worries, how he feels inadequate. You would have expected this, seeing how hard he tries to impress Swansea for approval. With a whole heap of kisses all over his face and neck, and soft spoken reassurance and words of encouragement, he’ll be back on his feet in no time.

Anya

Anya struggles to accept that others may see her for more than her body. So when she sees a woman with a more conventionally attractive body or face than her own hitting on you… she can’t help but feel a twinge of fear. Watching you reject the stranger kindly, however, reassured her again: she knew you weren’t that kind of person. You were never that shallow.

If a man happens to approach you, and won’t leave you alone, Anya pretends to be your sister or something similar to try to drive the man away. Safety in numbers, as they say. She’ll pull you away, and when times get desperate, it’ll be the first time you found out Anya never leaves her home without pepper spray!

Generally speaking, seeing you hit on doesn’t make her jealous or anything! She just wants you happy, letting your actions do the job at reminding her why she decided to give her heart to you.

Swansea

Who you share time with isn’t Swansea’s concern, he’s not your dad (or at least that’s what he tells himself)! But, if he did catch a glimpse of somebody making you uncomfortable…? Yeah, he’s stepping in and intimidating the shit out of the other person. Like hell he’d let some creep treat you that way when there’s something he can do about it!

If he caught you flirting back with someone, knowing you’ve got a partner… he’d definately be dissapointed.

Unless your partner was Jimmy. If it’s Jimmy, he’s hoping this stranger plays their cards right.

#mouthwashing x reader #swansea mouthwashing #daisuke mouthwashing #jimmy mouthwashing #curly mouthwashing #anya mouthwashing #mouthwashing game #mouthwashing headcanon #mouthwash #mouthwashing #mouth washing #headcanons

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sinsirellaxx · 3 days ago

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ok chat my birthday was a day ago so i gota ask.. slytherin boys celebrating ur birthday? (esp tom pspspsps)

Slytherin Boys – how they would celebrate your birthday

Warnings: None – this actually turned out to be rather wholesome?

A/N: Sorry for the long and sudden break – took me a while to find somewhat of a new routine. And I am so sorry anon – I don't know how old this ask his but anyway: happy (extremely) belated birthday! I hope you had an amazing day! Have fun reading ❤️

Enjoy!

Mattheo …

… who would try to bake something just because he knows how much you love chocolate cake.

… who would almost cry because the finished cake looked borderline poisonous before running into the kitchens to threaten ask the house elves to bake him a cake for you.

… who would surprise you in his dorm after kicking the other boys out and threatening them to hex them if they disturbed you.

… who would be laying on his side on the bed with a bow around his hips and the cake in front of him.

… who would lie about the cake – telling you he made it for you. “Happy birthday, babe. I made this for you.”

… who would smirk as he told you that he is your present, while wiggling his eyebrows and pointing at the big red bow on his crotch.

… who would roll his eyes when you raised your brow at that, quickly giving you your real present before calling you his “materialistic queen”.

Theodore …

… who almost forgot about your birthday. He found out when he saw your girl friends sing happy birthday for you loudly in the Hall.

… who immediately skedaddled out of there, pissed at himself for forgetting your birthday.

… who’d skip classes to go to Hogsmeade (he almost got caught) and buy you your favorite things.

… who’d sneak into the kitchens right before dinner to steal food just so he could prepare a picnic for you.

… whose heart hurt when he saw your angry face until you noticed the picnic.

… who’d brag about him being the best boyfriend and telling you he’d “never forget, amore”.

Lorenzo …

… who would plan a surprise party with all of your (and mainly his) friends on the night before your birthday.

… who’d created a list of presents that you might like – to ensure you’d only get things you like.

… who’d whisk you away after the time hit midnight to give you his present in private – he wanted to be the first.

… who’d dance with you in the privacy of his room, kissing you after ending the dance before leading you back to the party.

… who’d roll his eyes when the party guests called him a greedy b*tch for stealing you away

Draco …

… who would make sure to remind you daily leading up to your birthday that it’s your day, so you better let him spoil you.

… who’d sneak into Honeydukes to buy your favorite sweets, because he wants to be the one to treat you to everything you love.

… who’d insist on picking out the perfect dress for you and make sure it fits perfectly, so you’d look flawless on your special day.

… who’d act like he’s so annoyed when you point out his thoughtful gestures, but secretly feels a bit proud of himself.

… who’d give you a gift wrapped in luxurious paper, telling you it’s not something you can ever buy for yourself.

… who’d be way too proud of how good you look in the dress he picked out for you and won’t stop staring at you all night.

… who’d get a little possessive when other guys look at you, making sure to remind them that you’re his with a sharp look or a possessive hand on your waist.

Blaise …

… who’d be the one to organize the most relaxing and intimate birthday evening, knowing that you just want peace and quiet.

… who would definitely take you out to a quiet dinner at one of the hidden spots around Hogwarts that only a select few know about.

… who’d give you a thoughtful gift that was well beyond your expectations, something sentimental that shows how much he listens to everything you say.

… who’d take a walk with you after dinner, talking about everything and nothing, making you feel like you’re the most important person in his world.

… who’d quietly ask you if you liked the gift, and would be slightly insecure until you reassure him you love it.

… who’d smirk slightly when you thank him and call him your "birthday savior," secretly feeling proud he made your day special.

Tom …

… who’d remind you about your birthday days in advance because he doesn’t forget important dates, even if it doesn’t seem like it.

… who’d act like he couldn’t care less about celebrating, but when the day arrives, he’d still find a way to make it unforgettable for you.

… who would make an effort to give you a gift that only someone who truly understands you could choose – something meaningful, intellectual, and thought-provoking.

… who’d take you to a secluded spot in the castle and tell you how much you mean to him in a rare moment of vulnerability.

… who’d whisper softly, “I trust you, more than anyone else,” as you both share a moment in private, far from prying eyes.

… who would give you a small, carefully selected token that’s symbolic of how he feels about you, something with deeper meaning that you’d never expect from someone like him.

… who’d leave you with a kiss on your forehead, a touch of possessiveness and longing in his eyes before disappearing, making sure your birthday is something only the two of you share.

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ylangelegy · 11 hours ago

Text

is it casual now? (teaser) 🫀 seungcheol x reader.

★ seungcheol x makeup artist!f!reader. ★ teaser word count: ~8,000 ★ genre/warnings: mdni. 18+ content. situationship/friends with benefits, light angst, use of pet name ('love'). soft dom!seungcheol, making out, biting/marking, protected sex. let me know if i missed anything! ★ footnotes: this has been on my backburner for months. it's admittedly a full-blown story in need of hard editing, and so i'm posting this in hopes of bullying myself into working on the whole thing. should it come down to it, though, i like to think this can stand on its own. enjoy. <3

Seungcheol has been in the industry long enough to know that everybody had vices.

Trainees, rookies, veterans. It didn't matter. There were dangerous, risky vices. Alcohol, drugs, smoking. There was dating, too, of course. Dating fans, dating fellow idols.

Seungcheol didn't do drugs. He smoked socially, but he would rather not. And he drank, sure, but never to an unhealthy amount. Dating, however—

Did it really count when there was only really ever one person he treated like a vice?

You've been in his life since the group debuted. Nine years, give or take. And then, at one point, he just... tried something with you. And it clicked, fell into place, and now you've been sneaking around for the better half of three years. It's the one place Seungcheol feels like he can breathe, can get away. But it's also the biggest secret he's kept.

You're his makeup artist, after all.

When the two of you started off, you both insisted on nothing serious. To 'keep it casual'.

That worked perfectly for Seungcheol. He likes to think it's still working for him, as he raps at the door of your apartment and waits for you to open up. His wristwatch says that it's midnight, but it doesn't matter. He knocks a little louder, growing a touch impatient.

You open the door, and you're greeted with Seungcheol looking reproachful. "Yah," he chides. "Why haven't you been answering my texts?"

When you rub your eyes with the back of your hands and look over your shoulder to glimpse at your wall clock, Seungcheol almost feels apologetic. Almost. “Cheol,” you say exasperatedly, slowly. “It’s the middle of the night.”

"So you were sleeping then, hmm?" Seungcheol says. The corner of his lips tilt up, just slightly. He leans against the doorframe, taking a brief amount of time to glance you over. As he does, a small wave of tiredness finally washes over him— just how late had he kept himself up working on new music? "I sent you texts hours ago."

"You didn't even read them." He reaches up, tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. He sighs, the sound almost exaggerated. "How cruel of you."

You let out a low hum at Seungcheol’s fingers brushing against your skin. “Mmm, I fell asleep with my phone in my hand,” you admit, the words coming out more like a soft sigh than anything else.

You seem to finally drag yourself out of your sleepy state to give Seungcheol a once-over. He knows it shows all over— the exhaustion in his eyes, his stance. He’s tired, and you can tell. You’ve always been able to tell.

You step aside a bit and he takes that as his cue. Seungcheol moves past you, a small hum in the back of his throat. He toes off his shoes and shuts the door behind him with a soft click. In spite of himself, the moment he's inside, he reaches for you.

One arm is loosely slung over your shoulders, pulling you in close. He rests his chin on your shoulder, the tip of his nose against your neck.

"You fell asleep..." he gripes. "Do you know how many texts I sent you? I sent five.”

“Five”” you repeat as you bear Seungcheol’s weight. Your hand instinctively raises to stroke the base of his hair behind his neck, and he thinks he could melt then and there— your soothing touch, your light tone. “Oh, how ever will you live?”

Seungcheol huffs into the crook of your neck. The feel of your fingers in his hair does wonders to combat the tired, stressed part of himself. Slowly, his shoulders relax, and he sighs, the sound long and deep.

"Don't get snarky with me," he mutters. But there's no bite to it at all, just a quiet sense of contentment in his voice. "You could've at the very least read the messages." He moves, presses a kiss to your neck. "Would've taken ten seconds."

“I was asleep,” you protest, but— whether or not you notice— your head is tilting around a bit to press a lingering kiss on to the side of his face.Seungcheol's stomach flutters. You're sweet like that. Always have been, always will be. He hums under his breath at the kiss, his hand that's on your shoulder moves up to cup your cheek.

“That’s my penance,” you say drowsily.

"One kiss isn't nearly enough," he tells you.

He pulls back from your shoulder to look at you, now. The eye contact, the way he regards you, has a more focused weight. He takes a moment to look you over again— hair mussed, face still flushed faintly from sleep. "Two,” he says in a tone that brokers no argument.

“Greedy,” you mumble, but both of you know it doesn’t matter.

Not when your free hand finds purchase at his side and you use your fingers in his hair to pull him down so you don't have to stand on your tiptoes. Not when you press your lips together into a kiss that's soft and sweet, almost sleepy.

All it takes is the sound of your voice for Seungcheol to be pulled in— when you tug at his hair, he follows, his chest against yours. He bends down, his own hands coming up to the sides of your face.

He melts against your mouth, his eyes closing in an instant. But it’s done as quickly as it started. You pull away, your face still inches away from Seungcheol’s, as you smilingly mumble to him, “There. Two kisses.”

His eyes open again once you pull away, his grip on your face tightening just slightly. "Three," he mutters back, and then he leans back in.

You hum against his mouth, the sound breaking free from the back of your throat. You’re both so tired from your respective work and it shows in the kiss. No heat, no fire. Your tongue swiping over his lip makes Seungcheol hum, quiet and low in his throat. He's usually so used to being the one who takes control, making the first move, but here with you, in the early hours of the morning— there's something else to it.

He pulls you closer against him, his hands moving down to your hips. Against your mouth, he murmurs, "Four," before his tongue slips in, just to get a taste. Just to linger, just to savor, but not take over.

“Cheol,” you huff, though your reprimand is tempered by the way Seungcheol is intent on keeping the kiss going. “You’re— mmph— being greedy—”

"Five—" he sighs against your mouth. "Let me be greedy a second more."

One of his hands moves to the back of your head, fingers tangling up in your hair. This is what he likes, this is what he always comes to you for. Something that's simple. This, he can deal with. This, he can handle.

It’s never a second more with Seungcheol. He’s always out the door when he can go, when he has to. He’s never been a glutton for time, and so it’s enough for you to sense that something is wrong.

You break away from him.

Seungcheol has to resist a whine when you pull back, his eyes fluttering open in a daze. Your hand has moved to his face and you’re looking up at him with a small frown and a quiet query. “Long week?”

He lets your question hang in the air for a moment, the hand in your hair loosening its grip, fingers just idly combing through the strands.

He glances at your face— the furrow of your brow, the hint of concern in your eyes— and it makes him sigh. He turns his head to press a soft, quick kiss to your palm.

"Long year," he corrects.

You look like you want to say more. Seungcheol almost begs you not to. This— whatever the two of you have— it’s an outlet that won’t break him, won't ruin him, won't tarnish him or the group's name. He just wants— he needs—

You know exactly what he needs, even if he doesn’t always know himself. “How do you want your fifth kiss?” you ask instead of commenting on his obvious fatigue.

Your question makes Seungcheol's head empty out in an instant.

It takes him a moment to think, to consider. His mind, hazy and tired as it is, struggles to come up with an adequate answer. All he knows is that he's comfortable, that he's tired, that you're here. And that's all he really needs, in the end.

He lets his hand fall from your hair, to the nape of your neck. "... Soft," he murmurs. "Soft and easy."

You’re back up on your tiptoes to give him what he asked for. A sweet, slow press of your lips against his. It’s a kiss that lovers give each other, even though you’re the furthest from that.

It's easy, easy, easy for him to fall into the kiss just like that, a shudder running down his spine when your tongue doesn't invade him. It's sweet, it's chaste, it's simple. It's exactly the kind of kiss he needs after a week of work.

His hand on your neck moves to your cheek, his thumb brushing over the skin there. He breaks away for a mere second, a fraction of a beat, to catch his own breath, but he kisses you right back after.

"Six," he whispers desperately. "Again."

This time, you laugh against his mouth— a slightly muffled sound, not any less amused— but you give in, still. When you separate for air again, one of your hands rests on his chest to keep him away. “You have to let me breathe, Cheol,” you huff.

Seungcheol has to resist groaning outright when your palm on his chest keeps him from coming in for another kiss. You're adorable like this, in the middle of the night, with sleep in your eyes and annoyance in your voice.

He knows he's being needy, taking advantage, but at the same time? It's all he seems to be able to do. Greedy, he hears you call him, and it's true.

"I'll let you breathe when I get my seventh kiss, then," he grumbles.

He can see the annoyance blooming on your expression, but he’s saved by one thing and one thing alone: The fact that you can get pretty greedy sometimes, too, especially when Seungcheol was involved.

"Fine," you say haughtily, feigning annoyance. "Just one more kiss."

Seungcheol's eyes glimmer with something akin to mischief. His hands move to your face again, his own lips curving up in a smirk. You give him an inch, he wants a mile. It's his style. "One more kiss. That I can work with."

He brushes a thumb over your cheek again, his grip in your hair loosening only to brush some stray strands away from your face. "Only fair that I get to pick the way, then," he says, his tone low.

He's going to make the most of this opportunity, and you're letting him.

His tongue darts out briefly to lick over his bottom lip. "Open your mouth."

When you let out a noncommittal hom and oblige, parting your lips, he knows he’s gone. Seeing the obedience in your face makes Seungcheol's stomach do a little bit of an excited flip. You're like this, this, even when you're tired, when you're barely awake.

It's a little addicting.

"Good," he says softly. It's all the warning you get before he's got his mouth on yours again.

He kisses you— devours you, his tongue parting your lips, sliding into your mouth, taking. The kiss is almost bruising and seems to throw you off balance, but you quickly recover by pressing flush against Seungcheol and holding the sides of his arms. If he were a better person, Seungcheol would let this be the last one. Would let this kiss end and call it a night.

But then the smallest of sounds escape you. A whimper, a soft noise that only makes all sense fly right out of Seungcheol's head. It's not fair, he thinks, that you still have a hold on him even in the middle of the night.

All it makes him do is pull you closer— press you up against the wall with his entire body, his hands still gripping your face as he kisses you deep. Harder than he usually would, rougher than he normally did.

He swallows the sound, his tongue still in your mouth.

Your fingernails are pressing into his biceps now. Your tongue is sinking into his lower lip; not quite biting, but enough to drag his focus away for a moment. "Seung," you sigh, and it’s like music to his goddamn ears.

He was Choi or Seungcheol when he was in your makeup chair. Cheol, when it was just the two of you. But Seung was something different entirely.

A small moan, low and quiet, gets caught in Seungcheol's throat when you bite into his lip, when you whine out his name like that. He knows what it means when you call him like that— knows what he's in for.

He relishes in it. In moments like these when he gets to be like this. When he doesn't have to be responsible, when he doesn't have to be a leader. He gets to be just Seung.

There isn't a single part of his body that's not on fire right now, not when he's got you pinned against the wall, not when you're all satin and soft against him. His grip on your face tightens, and now his lips are no longer on your mouth, but on your jaw, moving down to your neck, your throat.

A quiet, needy little ah falls out your lips when he nips at that spot on your pulse point, and there, there is exactly when he knows that he's got you exactly where he wants you. Pinned by his body, shaking and shivering like he's touching you for the first time.

If he was feeling a little less riled up, a little less needy, he'd keep up the teasing. But he can't, not now. His hands move from your face to your hips, moving under the satin of your pajamas. It's not enough, never enough.

Every sound that leaves your mouth, every little please, just, already sets a fire in his brain. Every part of his mind turns to static, white noise, as he keeps his lips on your throat, your neck, biting and nipping at your skin.

“Seung,” you hiss, your hands flying to his shoulders as you press your back on to the entryway wall, willing yourself not to crumple. “I’m going to get a noise complaint again—”

“I'll pay the fine,” he murmurs against your skin, his lips against your collarbone now, his hands still on your hips. His brain is starting to grow fuzzy, his thoughts less coherent, but this was the goal.

To get you like this. Soft and shaking and desperate. To make you his for the night, for just a little while. To hold some sort of control over something in his life.

“You can't just keep paying for— ah— the fines,” you’re babbling. “They're going— t-to kick me— Seung, fuck!"

Whatever you’re trying to say dies out when Seungcheol nips at your warm skin. The rational part of him, somewhere deep, deep inside, knows that you're right. He can't keep paying your fines for complaints of loud music and loud sex.

The part of him that's currently working on painting a bruise on your collarbone doesn't seem to care all that much.

"I'll pay," he repeats, between leaving a few more marks on your skin for good measure. "As many times as I have to—"

“Jesus Christ,” you cuss, your chest heaving as Seungcheol’s hand moves higher and higher up your shirt. “My neighbors are so fucking sick of me, and it’s all your fault.”

“My fault?” Even through the haze in his head, Seungcheol can't help the low scoff that he lets out. He wants to say that he couldn't care less about your neighbors— wants to say that your pretty mouth makes up for the noise, but something else catches his attention. The brush of his fingers on bare skin.

His eyes go wide, his brain suddenly clearing.

"You're not wearing anything underneath your pajamas," he deadpans, his voice coming out in a low drawl.

Of course, that adds up. You hadn’t been expecting Seungcheol, after all, so he can’t blame you for foregoing the underclothes. Still, it only stokes the growing flame in the base of his stomach. Especially when you move your head back against the wall so you’re looking right up at Seungcheol, the ghost of a smirk on your face.

“Wanna check for yourself?” you taunt.

A low groan falls out of Seungcheol's mouth as soon as you ask that. Like clockwork, his hands go to the hem of your shirt, pulling the fabric up slightly. Just a little bit, just to see if you're really not wearing anything beneath.

"You always like to tease," he says, his voice low. That hint of a smirk on your face is only serving to drive him that much crazier. "Go on, then. Show me, since you want to act all cocky."

You give him half an eye roll that’s more affectionate than anything else before reaching over to the back of your pajama collar. You pull the top over your head in one deft, swift movement. Seungcheol's eyes go wide for just a moment, taking in the sight of you, undressed, in front of him. It never stops shocking him, never stops making his heart thump a little harder, his breath coming out a little more labored.

“Happy?” you half-joke, your voice low.

He looks at you, up and down, before his eyes go back to your face. His hands move from your hips to your waist, fingers tracing over the sides of your chest as he shakes his head.

"Not yet," he says. "But I will be."

His hands keep tracing over your skin, his touch light— almost feathery, as he keeps his eyes fixed on your face. There's something about seeing you so exposed like this that's driving him absolutely insane, something about you being entirely at his mercy that's making his eyes grow dark.

He leans in, bringing his lips just past your ear. "Turn around," he murmurs, almost like a command.

He sees how you swallow hard, how you take in the familiar darkness in Seungcheol’s gaze. You know him, have known him for years, and that comes with trust. Unflinchingly, you twist around in his arms to press your chest against the wall.

He has you practically trapped, all against his chest and the wall. His eyes look at you up and down, taking in your bare shoulders and back, the way you've submitted to him so perfectly.

His hands go to your hips again, and his eyes look over your back, following the line of your bare spine. "What do you say we find a use for this wall besides me just pushing you up against it," he murmurs. "Hm?"

“Yes, please,” you whimper, and as soon as you agree, Seungcheol's hands tighten on your hips, his grip almost bruising as he pulls you a little closer to him. You're not going anywhere, not when he's got you like this.

He leans in, his body practically pressing up against your back, his chest against your skin. He bites down on your shoulder, pulling a strangled whine out from somewhere deep in your throat. "You look so goddamn pretty like this, love," he murmurs against your skin.

His hands move from your hips to your chest, tracing the skin there before he brings them up to your throat. He presses his fingers against your pulse point, feeling the thump thump thump of your heartbeat.

He can feel your heart thrumming against his hand, can practically hear you shaking. It's driving him absolutely insane— you, underneath him, trembling for him. The knowledge that he's got you like this, the fact that you're letting him take control, letting him do whatever he wants.

He moves his mouth to that spot on your neck again, the skin that's so sensitive that it makes you whimper and shiver. He always finds it so easy to tease those sounds out of you, and always relishes in doing it.

His hands stay at your neck, his fingers still pressed against your pulse point. This had always been one of Seungcheol's little habits— a single finger on your pulse point, as if he liked seeing which actions would make your heart rate spike, which words would have it hammering.

Seungcheol presses his lips on your skin again. "You're so loud."

He marvels at the way you ball your hands into fists, the way you shake all over with poorly concealed want and need as he keeps nipping and marking. "‘M not," you gasp, lurching forward against the wall. "‘M perfectly— hng!"

Everything is working in his favor.

You're shaking, and your heart is racing, and every noise you make is just more fodder for him. God, he loves it. Loves being the one to make you absolutely tremble and shiver like this. Loves the fact that he's the only one to make you feel like this.

"You're mine," he says again, bringing his mouth closer to your ear. He bites the shell of it, hard, before letting out a low hum.

This is his favorite place in the entire world— right against your back, feeling your body heat against his chest, his tongue running over your skin. He loves how reactive you are to him, how sensitive you are, how your body just melts under his touch.

"Say it," he mutters against your skin. "Who's in control?"

There it is. The million won question.

The whole reason you started these rendezvouses in the first place. He had been spinning out of control, and you had been lonely, and you clicked into place like magnets.

You give in, like you always do. The words are a soft whimper, almost a shout in your otherwise empty apartment. "You. You're in control, Seung."

That's all he wants to hear.

He digs his fingers into your jaw and wrenches your head so it's turned to look at him, his lips inches from yours. Even if there's a little pain, nothing in him is stopping. "Good," he mutters, his breath hot against your lips. "Good girl."

The kiss that follows is absolutely messy, the kind of kiss where it's just tongue and teeth and raw need. It's worlds different from the soft and easy kisses that Seungcheol asked for earlier, when he first came in complaining about five unanswered texts.

"Seung," you groan as you pull away for air. "Please—"

When you moan his name, it's like something snaps.

He growls low, his fingers slipping into the waistband of your shorts, gripping the fabric hard enough that there's a very real chance of them ripping. "Please what?" he mumbles against your neck. "You need to tell me what you need, love. Use your words."

"I hate you," you whine, and Seungcheol nearly smiles. He knows you’re not fond of begging, but he needs to hear it from you. At least, he wants to.

"You know what I—" you’re saying, but dammit, his control is already razor thin as is. He rips off the last fabric of clothing on you until you’re completely bare, pressed entirely up between the wall and him.

Somehow, your mind still has some shrivel of coherence to complain, "I liked this set, asshole!"

He grins against your skin at your words, chuckling at your whine, at the way you're just reacting to him. You can act annoyed, you can act like you don't need him, but he knows. "I'll buy you a new one," he hums, finally letting go of your shorts and letting them fall to the floor in tatters. "One for me to rip to shreds all over again."

That thought alone makes his blood sing.

It takes you a great effort to turn around, but somehow you manage. Seungcheol is still fully clothed and so your bare chest presses against the front of his shirt. The sight of you, naked, his hands at your hips, pressed right up against him, against his chest like this— he's gone.

And then you’re asking him, low and sweet as he has you caged in, "Where are you going to fuck me tonight, Seung?"

He can't even manage a word for a moment, his hands holding you so tight that he's definitely going to leave marks on your skin, his eyes fixed on your face.

He swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry at the question. "You want me to say it out loud, hm?"

You go to steal the upper hand for a minute or so, and you do it so effectively. Your hand rises almost lazily to his neck, your finger instinctively finding his pulse point. He feels his heart rate speed up as he watches, just watches, you do it. You stand on your tiptoes to raise your lips directly to his ear.

All he can feel is the thunder of his heart racing against your hand. You seem to notice it, too, if the smile on your face is any indication.

"How about you just show me instead?" you say, and he’s convinced he’ll pass out then and there.

"You're a brat," he mutters through gritted teeth, his hand moving up from your hips and up your spine. "A brat who needs to be taught a lesson."

He takes a shuddering breath, almost completely lost in your little game, before he snaps back to himself. Seungcheol's hand leaves your hip and goes to your hand, gripping your wrist hard. "On the sofa," he says, and it’s nothing short of a command.

He practically drags you on to the piece of furniture, watching intently as you fall back with a small oomph. Seungcheol stands on the edge of the couch as you prop yourself up by the elbows to watch him right back.

The sight of you underneath him— your hair splayed against the cushions, your eyes half-lidded and fixed on him? It's absolutely perfect. It's the kind of thing that he wants to keep in his mind forever, the sight he wants to always be able to remember.

He lets out a noise under his breath as he undoes the button of his jeans, the sound of the zipper going down obscenely loud in the quiet room. "Gorgeous,” he breathes.

He gets his jeans undone and kicked off, his shirt following them not long after, and then he's on top of you, caging you in, his hands either side of your head, staring down at you.

The look in his eyes isn't something he really gets to show often— that raw need, that want, how desperate he is for you. He wants you, God, he wants you so badly, and you're letting him have you.

He dips his head to your neck, his lips against your skin, his breath hot against your pulse point, still absolutely obsessed with that spot. His hands find your wrists, pinning them back against the couch, while his knee finds its way between your thighs, pressing up against you.

You arch and squirm underneath him, visibly distressed with the facsimile of friction that you’re getting from his knee. “Seung,” you pant, grinding your dripping core against his knee. It sends a jolt of electricity through him. “Please— don’t wanna wait any more—”

“Where’s all that snark now, hm?” he teases, his teeth running over the skin on your neck. But he’s not any better off, his own self-control slipping through his very fingers as his hips grind down against you desperately.

"Been driving me insane, love," he whispers, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the line of your neck. "Been dreaming about this for days. Missing you—”

A low keen escapes you, and he can only echo it as you tug at the last piece of material separating you. “Can we get this off already, please?” you huff as you hook your fingers at the waistband of his boxer shorts.

He groans against your skin, his teeth finally letting go when he lifts his head to look down at you, the expression on his face looking like he's fighting for control. "God, yes," he groans, lifting his hips just enough for you to tug them off him.

He kicks them off once you’ve yanked them down, and his hand— which has instinctively gravitated to your pulse point— feels how the beat absolutely skyrockets. One of your arms goes around his shoulder and the other, surprisingly, clutches his jaw.

You’re looking right at him as you say, "Fast and hard, Seung."

"Yeah?" he says, just the slightest hint of a surprise in his voice. "You want me to be rough with you, love?"

Seungcheol was usually a sweet lover. He liked taking his time, liked being gentle and responsible even in bed.

But there were particularly rough weeks, terrible days, where he just needed a means to an end. Where the sex was an outlet, where the best thing you could be for him was his.

He waits for your permission, because he still always remembers to ask no matter how far deep you’re in. The agreement comes in the form of the best three words.

"Ruin me, Seung."

You know him too well. You know how he works, you know how he thinks, and you know him better than anyone.

He groans in response to your words, his head dipping down to drag his teeth gently over your collarbone. He's trying to hang on to his control, he is, but it's a losing effort.

"I will, love." His breath is hot against your skin, his hands finding your hips. "Just give me a minute—"

He shifts, just for a moment, to find the condom in his jean pocket. He goes through the motions until he's back on top of you again, one hand coming up to grip your hip again, the other coming up to rest against your throat. He looks down at you, his eyes almost glowing.

"You trust me?" he mutters. His hand at your hip tightens; his hand at your throat barely clenches around your pulse point, his eyes never leaving yours.

You can feel it, see it. The way the little threads are beginning to unravel and fray. The way this was no longer Seungcheol of SEVENTEEN; not the leader, not the idol. This was something different entirely, someone else completely.

"I do," you whisper back, your eyes so full of adoration for him that he has to bite back the urge to scream. "I trust you, Seungcheol."

His full name is what really does it for him, because then he's pushing in, and you’re gasping, whimpering, trying to adjust around him and the fact that you’re practically clenching him on the get-go. Seungcheol eases in, nice and slow, because you’re too tightly coiled for him to do more than carefully bottom out. You’re both heaving, your breaths coming out as gasps; your own breaths are sharp, harsh, because Seungcheol is still choking you a little.

His head dips down to your shoulder because he needs something to hold on to, anything, while his mind spins. His head is dizzy feeling you like this, feeling you around him so tightly. He's trembling, his thighs shaking, but he's holding himself back as long as he can.

When Seungcheol gets as far in as he can possibly get, you let out twin groans. He’s completely sheathed inside of you and you’re fluttering around him in a way that’s dangerous.

“Y’can move, Seung,” you reassure him after a moment, the words coming out strained with desire. “As fast and hard as you want.”

You sound strangled, just like he feels, and it's taking him a mammoth amount of control to hold himself back. He groans against your shoulder at the sound of your voice, the words you say. He wants to move, to thrust, but he's trying to have some semblance of composure.

"Love," he says, his voice wrecked. "I—"

His voice breaks. It breaks, because there is only so much he can take, and he's beyond that point now. There's a tremor in his thighs, his hands clenching in the cushion below you.

You drag him right back down, with the sound that you let out that’s halfway a whine and a sigh. One of your hands goes to rest in the space between Seungcheol’s shoulder blades, as if to steady the two of you.

Your voice is surprisingly firm when you speak. "Let go," you command. And then, softer, "I need you."

Your words, your voice— it's in complete conflict with the situation you're currently in. And yet, it works. He lets out a sound, one that's somewhere between a growl and a whimper, his breath hot against your skin. And then he's moving and he's holding nothing back.

He's hard, brutal, and he's taking. His teeth on your shoulder; his breath against your neck; his nails digging into you.

It's a relentless, dizzying pace. Seungcheol bullies into your weeping cunt, fast and hard, and it draws out the most obscene sounds from you. Gasps, whines, an occasional scream when he hits a particularly sensitive spot. What has him seeing stars is the fact that you can't seem to settle on a name to moan. "Seung— Seungcheol— Cheol—"

Yes, you're saying, yes.

Seungcheol loses himself, utterly and completely, in you. You're on the edge, he can hear it; he can feel it, and God, he wants to hear you say his name. Every single one of them.

It almost sounds like a mantra, your voice, as he takes and takes and takes, his breathing harsh, ragged.

You go through all of the names you have for him, breathless and wrecked, until you can't even say anything because his hips are snapping into you with a ferocity that's rare but not unwelcome. Your pornographic moans reverberate in your otherwise empty apartment, and Seungcheol thinks he might go insane.

"'M close," you choke out. "Cheollie, baby, I'm— ah, fuck— Seung—"

His breath catches at your words, his eyes closing for a moment as he groans. You, you, in all your perfect, glorious, undone state. It’s a sight he wishes he could capture, freeze in time.

He lets out a whimper, his words almost slurred when he responds. "Love— I—"

He's never been this rough, never this intense. You're the only one, the only person he's ever let himself go like this with. The only person who he's ever let see everything, take everything.

He's on the edge, he's there, he's—

"C'mon," he whines, his voice barely above a whisper, his hand clenching hard around your hip. "With me, love, please."

It's a miracle that you can even nod, can even find your voice as Seungcheol keeps on going with his erratic, stuttering thrusts. "With you," you gasp.

He snaps into you, then, and you arch up with a scream of his name. There’s the familiar white-hot flash of pleasure; the impossibly tight clench of your walls around him.

He stays buried in you for several long moments, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his heart pounding so hard he can feel it in his ears. He has never felt so utterly spent in his entire life, never been so completely, utterly drained of energy. He's weak against you. He’s weak because of you.

"God," he finally manages to mutter.

He lifts his head, just enough to be able to look at you, but he can't even muster a grin. He's spent and he knows you know that.

His hand comes up slightly, to brush the hair off of your forehead. "I think..." he says, his voice thick and hoarse, "I think I ruined you, love."

You let out a breathless laugh, one that you have to push out of your heaving chest. "You—" you try to say, but the words don't form, not at first. You take a few moments to take in some air, to gulp past the lump in your throat. "You're a fool."

His lips twitch into a tired but genuine smile at the sound of your laugh. It’s a soft sound that he's always thought sounds beautiful, especially coming from you.

A hoarse, broken laugh of his own escapes; his hand coming up to rest at your jawline, his thumb gently tracing over the warm skin there. He's still catching his breath, but he's slowly gathering himself.

"Am I a fool?" he asks quietly, leaning his forehead against yours. "What does that make you, then?"

You’re a fool, too, he thinks to himself. For letting me have this.

Instead of answering him, you press a small kiss to the corner of his mouth. It’s the only answer he’s going to get from you for now, it seems.

He lets out a soft huff, moving his head back just slightly, his eyes closing. "You're beautiful, you know that?" he says quietly, his voice still rough with fatigue.

"Every time," you respond. Your own voice is strained, almost tired, but there's a hint of amused exasperation. "You say that every time, Cheol."

His eyes opened once again to look at you.

"Because it's true," he says simply, his voice soft and sincere, the hand resting at your jaw moving to brush your hair back from your face. "It's always true, love."

He lets out a soft sigh, his eyes tracing over your face, taking in every inch of you. His eyes pause at your lips for a moment, his tongue gently wetting his own, his gaze finally moving back up to meet your eyes.

You thread your shaking fingers through the back of his hair and answer his unspoken question. "Kiss me soft and easy, Cheol," you whisper.

The moment the words leave your mouth, he's in action.

He leans forward without a second thought, the hand not buried in your hair going to rest on your hip, his lips meeting yours in a soft, gentle kiss.

There's no heat in it, no want or need. Just a soft press of his lips against yours, gentle and slow.

It's languid and unhurried. Like there's nowhere either of you have to be after this. For a moment, you can pretend that this is normal— that Seungcheol will not have to leave, and that you’ll not have to change into new pajamas because he'd broken yours, and that you can be... well, something, anything aside from what you are now.

But it's wishful thinking, you both know, so all Seungcheol can do is kiss you. He lets out a soft sound, almost a sigh, as his tongue slides into your mouth, his hand on your hip tightening slightly. His other hand is in your hair still, his fingers gently tracing over your scalp, his body almost melting against yours.

He will have to leave. He always does. But for now, he's here, with you, and you feel perfect, and—

Five minutes, he bargains. Five more minutes.

And then things end, not really by your own accord.

The sharp, shrill sound of Seungcheol's phone ringing breaks through your haze. You pull away, a bit jolted at the foreign sound— at something other than your words, your breathing, reverberating in the room. It takes you a beat too long to realize someone is calling him— his phone in his discarded jeans— in the godawful middle of the night.

He lets out a loud groan, the sound tired and drawn out, and he can't help but rest his forehead against your shoulder once again, letting out a resigned sigh.

"God, save me," he mutters, his voice rough. "What time is it?"

You chuckle lightly. "Go on," you urge softly, not because you want to but because you have to. "Answer."

Seungcheol lets out another loud, drawn out sigh, his shoulders slumping in obvious defeat. He reluctantly lifts his head from your shoulder with a grumble, but he can't quite stop himself from pressing a kiss to your cheek just before he shifts up and off of the couch.

Once he’s reached down to grab his phone from where it's stuffed in the pocket of his jeans, he answers without looking at the caller ID. "Yeah?"

"Hyung!"

It's Soonyoung— of course it's Soonyoung— calling.

"Are you still at the company?" the younger member asks. "I think I forgot my headset in one of the practice rooms, and Minghao said you didn't go home with them."

"It's midnight, Soonyoung."

You shit over on the couch, careful not to make any sound. Not to give Soonyoung any suspicion that Seungcheol might be somewhere where he shouldn't be. You press a small, reassuring kiss to Seungcheol's hip as Soonyoung goes on to whine, "Yeah, yeah, I know. But it's the expensive headset, hyung. If you're still there, could you check? Please?"

Seungcheol lets out a huff— a mixture of resigned affection and irritation— at the feeling of your lips against his skin. He can feel the exhaustion deep within his bones now, and all he wants to do is go back to snuggling into you for the night.

But he can't say no to Soonyoung, especially not at this time of night.

"Fine," he grumbles, letting out a huff. "Which practice room?"

You can hear the moment Soonyoung practically brightens with triumph.

"Third floor!" he says happily, and you bury your face into Seungcheol's side to keep yourself from laughing. "You're the best, hyung! I'll buy you a meal tomorrow for the trouble!"

He reaches down with the hand not holding his phone, pressing his palm to the top of your head, pushing lightly down. A warning of don't laugh. "Just be thankful I'm your hyung, kid," Seungcheol grouses.

Soonyoung ends the call soon enough, saying some things about sending Seungcheol a photo of his headset so he knows exactly which one is missing. When it's back to just the two of you again, you tilt your head up to look at Seungcheol.

"You're really going back for it tonight?" you ask, even though you already know the answer.

The corner of his lip twitches into a half smile at the way you look up at him. His eyes takein the sight of you— his hand on the back of your head, his fingers gently twisting strands of your hair.

"Of course I am," he sighs. "I can't say no to him, love."

You shift upward so you can sit side by side with Seungcheol. Both of you have yet to put on any clothes, but you’ve at least gathered your bearings enough to form coherent words now.

"You can't say 'no' to any of them," you tease as you press a gentle kiss to his cheek. There's an almost blinding affection in your tone as you say, "You and your goddamn boys."

Seungcheol reaches out, wrapping an arm around your waist to tug you closer to him. Briefly, he presses his lips against your hair. His eyes are almost tender as he speaks.

"They're my boys," he says, his voice soft.

You let the words hang there for just a moment. It’s an admission, one that both of you have known for the longest time, but it's also a reminder. It’s the reason why you and Seungcheol can never be more than this—because he has his boys, and he would never do anything to jeopardize them.

You press your face against the column of his neck for just one more precious moment. You’ve never been selfish about Seungcheol, but there were nights when you thought about it. Just… thought about it.

The thought never wins.

"Let’s clean up, get dressed," you whisper into his skin. "So you can head to the company sooner."

He lets out a soft, almost painful exhale. He knows what you're thinking, what you're feeling; he's thought about it himself, as well. He hates having to leave you, hates having to say that he has to leave you. But his boys are his boys, and one day all this will be over, and then...

He can't think about it right now, though.

Instead, he nods, pressing a light kiss to your temple. "Yeah."

It takes about ten minutes or so for you both to gather everything together. Seungcheol still looks tired, though for different reasons now. He’s essentially traded one exhaustion for another.

As he puts on the shoes he left in your entryway, you lean against your doorway with your arms crossed over your chest. "I’ll be holding you accountable for my pajama set," you warn him. "And for tomorrow’s noise complaint."

"Yeah, yeah," he huffs, taking a step toward you. "Don't worry, I haven't forgotten."

His face softens as he reaches you, his hands coming up to grab your elbows, gently pulling you closer to him. "Sorry," he says. "Again."

"You’re not sorry, " you sigh pointedly, more out of spite than anything. It’s the truth—he’s not really that apologetic about losing control every now and then, about your neighbors knowing you’re being pulled close every so often.

When you bury your face into his chest, he lets out a low, gruff chuckle, his chin resting gently against the top of your head. His arms wrap around you, holding you tightly against him, just like every single time before.

"You’re right," he murmurs. A quiet, affectionate admission. “Not sorry. Not even a little.”

He holds you there against him, his eyes fluttering shut as he allows himself just a few more moments before he has to leave. You both stay there, allowing yourselves that moment, until the tension in Seungcheol’s shoulders fades and your annoyance at your torn pajamas ebbs. It could’ve been five minutes, maybe less, but then Seungcheol’s phone pings with a text—surely Soonyoung asking if he’s found his headset.

You’re the one who takes the step back, putting some distance between you. "Drive safe," you tell Seungcheol. "Text me when you’re there."

Resigned. That’s the only way to describe the smile that tugs at his lips. "Yeah," he says. "I will."

True to his word, Seungcheol does indeed send you a text about an hour or so after he'd arrived at the company, informing you that he was there and had found Soonyoung’s headset.

He's still exhausted, and all he wants is to be back. Back inside of you, back with you. But he can't do any of that. At least, not right now. Not at this point.

I miss you already, is the only other thing he adds to his text.

Your text comes in only moments later, like you had been waiting by your phone.

you're a fool. head home. take care.

A soft sigh escapes him the moment he reads your text, his eyes flickering over the words you'd typed, the harshness of it. It's another layer of protection for the both of you, but it's still not easy to read.

He's about to respond with something snarky, some light-hearted joke to tease you a bit, but he stops himself at the last moment. He knows that you're right.

He needs to head home. He needs to take care.

And he’s an absolute goddamn fool, in more ways than one.

#seungcheol x reader #choi seungcheol x reader #scoups x reader #seungcheol smut #scoups smut #seungcheol imagines #scoups imagines #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #svt smut #seventeen smut #➤ ylangelegy: mine #➤ ylangelegy: svt #( am i happy with this ? not ... entirely! but it's here! LOL )#( i think i've mentioned once before that i'm not very good at smut so this was dizzying )#( but it's also The longest svt fic i have in my drafts. i just cant be assed [yet] to beta it )#( anyway.... enjoy [???] <3 )

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