#penny- 100$ for my thoughts

[joyswonderland1108]

So I was gonna drop a post about the whole ‘BTS poly’ trope—yes, that one—giving you a little taste from both my neutral, balanced, diplomatic scholar lens 👩‍🏫 and my incredibly biased, Jikooker soul that has seen things™. But then I was like… do you even want to hear my thoughts?

Like… do you want a crumb? A morsel? A penny for my thoughts? No really—please throw actual pennies. $100 bills even. I accept Paypal. Let me monetize the chaos 😌💸

It’s gonna be slightly unhinged, highly caffeinated, sprinkled with Baby Army discourse (some of y’all are precious, some of y’all are feral and need a nap), and held together with 90% sarcasm, 10% academic delusion.

So I’m just checking: are you mentally, emotionally, spiritually prepared for me to say words? Or should I go back to being mysterious and unreadable like a true Tumblr cryptid 🤡

[mrmeepsmadmind]

Please i would love to hear all of the headcannons on Soundblaster i beg we need more of this silly guy

PUTTING U IN MY POCKET AND CHERISHING U FOREVER FOR ASKING ME THIS. i LOOOVEEE YAPPPP!!!!!!!

MY SOUNDBLASTER HEADCANONS / GEN THOUGHTS AND STUFF !!!!!! Warning for dark, mature topics like g*re mention / h*micide ‼️‼️. Not rlly explored but mentioned. No s*xual stuff tho. Still tho, disclaimer, he's an awful cold mech ... who tortures u and twerks to stuck in the middle with you while doing it

best way i can describe how i view Soundblaster is an orca born & raised at SeaWorId who ended up accidentally kiIIing a trainer while playing as a baby and was then separated from his mother, pod, home, everything he once knew.. & luckily released as untrainable into the wild,

but he wishes he was kiIIed instead

he yearns for family, deep down, but can't. have one .

he views his old family as weak & miserable, stuck behind glass to perform for others until they die, & he hates them for not at least trying to fight for him when they took him away. The fact that they couldn't do anything but didn't at least Try just to Attempt . . makes it even worse.

at least he is free to swim the entire ocean as his exercise. But his past follows him everywhere. he is excluded from pods for his nature being even too unorthodox for them, his fin forever drooped. other animals naturally fear him. & he misses his mom ( soundwave ), even though he hates her. He hates her because he misses her .

In my headcanon, SB was made to be a bot with No sentimental attachments, specifically to cassettes, created by Shockwave at the order of megatron. He was made with the purpose of being a bot who could send soldiers off to die without a blink. He was made to be ruthless for the decepticon cause, no one else.

Soundwave Hates SB. The mere idea of SB implies there to be a flaw within Soundwave that caused Shockwave, a mech whose intelligence is renowned, to decide such a severe action as cloning was necessary to fix that. Out of the big three decepticons, soundwave is the bot who deals with empathy the most, although that bar is VERYYYY low considering his comparisons are shockwave and starscream (who is a much better contender than shock in the empathy battle, but star is more involved with his self than outward empathy for others at this point in the war ). Soundwave deals with mentality and communication. Despite his monotone, he does feel. He tunes it out for the cause but thats because he values the cause over the value of others' thoughts, he has to, that's his Job. But tuning out his cassettes' thoughts .... it's. That's when it gets difficult. Soundwave values shockwave for his contributions for the cause with his intellectual gifts and curses. Shockwave making Soundblaster is like if your husband made The Perfect Robot Wife right in front of you and expected you to be perfectly fine with it because thats how you've HAD to be your whole life. If it's better for the cause, than it's better for everyone and everything, ultimately. So just do what you're Assigned to do, soundwave, and simply tune it Out.

SB didn't hate soundwave at the beginning.

i think the whole FAILED clone experiment should be more explored in SB. not just as a 'lol look at sb! Soundwave would NEVER do that! That's so funny!!' like that's cute of course but.. we can also go even further to 'oh my Primus. Soundwave would Never go as FAR to do this . 'and soundblaster just grins with his visor and says ' that's why i'm the Upgrade . ' he's the opposite in some extensions, but similar in some, and that's what makes others so wary, and it's not just from similar appearances, bcs i think that's something soundblaster can try to do something about and has

I think of Soundblaster as WaveWave's fucked up child who fucking hates them, can't stop being compared to them, and can't stop missing them no matter how hard he tries. He's discarded and pretends like he doesn't care, but he's so. Empty. No matter how things he forces into his new cassettes, hobbies he switches to, careers, accents, teams, bodies and parts he keeps in his tapedeck, he's just. Empty in the end.

He's programmed to be ultimately unfeeling. Everything he builds is necessary for his own entertainment, and everything he burns down is necessary for his apathetic functioning, while still desperately trying to wring out at least SOME joy out of it, but always ultimately being unable thanks to shockwave.

SB is intelligent, not to shockwave's capabilities, but he tries. He has shockwave's ability to push and abuse boundaries for the sake of expanding his interest in knowledge, and he has soundwave's observations. He collects information and then He capitalizes on it. HE capitalizes. HE is the cause here, though, not decepticons or autobots, shanix, not even to rule something because it might Seem fun at first .. but then that nagging restlessness tugs him again and he needs to make another cruel move simply for the sake of Moving, of thinking he Can feel. If others, populations, companies, markets, etc, just so happen to be lucky enough to momentarily benefit off that or unlucky enough to be tortured from it, then so be it. He doesn't care. And he's not even saying that to seem stronger to everyone because he Doesn't care (look out for, wonder, worry, valuing feelings, etc. He doesn't view anyone as anything but slight distractions to keep his processor jumping instead of just running) for Anyone, No matter how hard he tries, he always ends up abandoning everyone in the end because abandonment is all he knows. Shockwave and soundwave differ only bcs they tie with his creation. Shockwave is akin to Primus to him, only because SB doesn't care for Primus, but he Does find himself pondering Shockwave, HIS creator because Shockwave made HIM, ties to HIM, tethered to HIM. soundwave is similar. SB hates that, he hates being tethered to anything or anybot. It's just not his programming. He needs distractions so he doesn't have to think about his programming being permanent for at least a few seconds, but it always reminds him it's Never leaving in the end, and part of him doesn't want it to because if he doesn't feel nothing then he'll feel Scared, and he can't tell which is worse

Personal attributes

His voice is booming, dominating, and emphatic because he's learned how to mimic the right inflections, personality, pathology, etc to act alive just so he can remind you he's not in the end because it'll make the pain hit harder for you, & that's Much more Fun in his eyes. He can mimic accents fluently, and sometimes just changes them rapid fire for some shake up. He'll go from a cowboy to Italian in a split for no rhyme or reason, he simply Wanted to. When he Speaks, you Listen.

He views jobs as the same throwaway thing, as he views everything. He goes from a mercenary with a band of bots who admire him for his confident callousness until he burns it all to the ground to explore a new avenue, while success sometimes happens to follow bcs people can't help but worship how indifferently strong he is. Mercenary, pirate, black market, thief, torturer, executioner, decepticon brief ally, autobot brief ally, energon disperser, he wants to do it all because he needs to because it's Different and he Needs differences, not to be quirky for others, but to fool himself into thinking that just for one moment.. he could change

But he never does ! He's stuck in a programmed cycle of apathy and he's dragging others down with him to distract him from the constant spiral

Like how skybound soundwave loves sealife and whales, SB loves dolphins. He loved orcas for their color scheme, but then he researched and further fell in love, trying to model himself into something separate from soundwave without even knowing he's still stuck being eerily similar but still eerily different, not enough to be lovingly regaled the same, nor stand out as a bot truly Different and his own.

Orcas and soundblaster are very similar in many ways. Orcas can even mimic humans.

Soundblaster has STRONG mental abilities. Hypnosis is his favorite. Unlike soundwave, he doesn't care who he hurts with it, he revels in it. Until he's bored. Soundblaster loves to lure unsuspecting bots of all factions by using others' voices and their thoughts to fool everyone, like a siren, but unlike a siren, he's not trying to feed on drunken sailors for survival, he just felt like playing that day . He loves displaying graphic images on his visor or any screen, whether that be a victim's loved one dying from footage he's saved of him torturing them, or just showing them some of his favorite g*re footage because he felt like sharing that day, he just thinks it'll be a neat trick for him to do. His screens often display disturbing, uncomfortable images, with horrifying sounds to match as well

However, SB has weaker sound abilities than soundwave, either from improper training, care, or maybe even an inability to fully replicate what the original can do. His speakers are distorted and sometimes slowed or skipping. Dancing queen slowed reverb YouTube song lol. Happy music is usually not as affected by his radio quality, aside from the occasional audial splitting sparks, so he likes listening to that while torturing.

Back to the sound, his soundwave are weaker. At close distances they're stronger, but far away they echo out and surround instead of always focusing. To help him out, he has an orca-like tail that can extend from his spinal strut to help direct the waves better. But hypnosis is just so much more fun.

SB loves earth, he thinks there's just so many opportunities to have some joy before getting bored! Mimicking a mother calling for her child to lure it away for dissection. Mimicking a baby crying for its mother. Mimicking a puppy and displaying footage of a poor puppy trapped in his car with the windows up and the heat outside is excruciating so a good Samaritan can try breaking the window only to be pulled right in. So much fun!!! Sometimes, he'll even steal a singer's skin and pretend to be them so his hypnosis can easily reach bigger crowds with less effort on his part. Think the movie smile with how he invades them and their effects.

I like to think his human skin disguise's fc looks like st chroma. Just for fun.

Soundwave being able to turn others into his new cassettes is something soundblaster loves to do, and most of the time he forgets he even did it. He loves melding machine and man. He has a dog mech instead of a cat mech, with a human face melted on it. A mix of human teeth and fangs. It used to be a - eh, he doesn't remember. Maybe it was a little girl, at one point. He thinks he got the inspiration from an anime he watched. He likes anime.

His tapedeck is fucking abhorrent. He keeps his skinsuits in there. His cassettes strain and shake, but he always hypnotizes them obedient .

He has a mouth, but the mask doesn't cover directly on it. The mouth is where his chin would be, and from a direct angle, can't be seen until he tilts his helm high up and can even snap it back so the face is dangling on the other side. The mouth has various teeth of various kinds (human, monster, mech, alien, etc) inside, and eyes are everywhere, blinking gums, bloodshot cavern, even on the teeth themselves, since his helm is snapped so far behind him. They don't blink, which is why the tongue is so long, helping to coat them with moisture

Unknown if he has an actual face behind his mask or not.

I think he should have a mini friendship / pls don't kill me sb with bee like he did in the Netflix tf bcs bee is someone whose thoughts DO NOT and cannot match his actual actions bcs theyre selfish and kinda rude and bee cannot allow himself to be Imperfect or the autobot cause and optimus's reputation would be ruined. HES supposed to be their shining light, their hope. If their hope is awful, then what does that say about the cause. I think soundwave and bee are very interesting together in general, but that's another talk another day. But yeah, i think bee feels terrible for sb but also is terrified of him, but bee can't just abandon him . Not like everyone else. Bee CANT be like everyone else, he HAS to better. ...don't tell anyone he thinks that tho- he just wants it implied a little- he just has to be perfect not bcs hes secretly selfish and mean but um! U guys just kinda suck! OOPS, UM. HE MEANS. he'll just distract them by being cute or smthing... & meanwhile soundblaster is watching like 'you're mentally ill. ...I Like That. '

This is how soundblaster talks and views bee, LOL. He just keeps him alive bcs hes entertained by his trauma that bee pretends he doesn't have, which makes it all the more entertaining. I just think the dynamic would be rlly funny, not even in a shipping sense, but a I just think they would be funny sense.

Bee: i mean .. i can't help but feel bad for shockwave.. he used to be a senator.. a Good senator.. he was so kind.. empurata- it's really awful.. he looks so different now.. it must have been so painfu-

SB: WOMP WOMP :P !

Bee:

Bumblebee: ...did you just say Womp Womp to Empurata-

LIKE. i think soundblaster is so fucked up and can be even more fucked up if they just explored him more to really distinguish him but also keep that soundwave association haunting him bcs that mech is Never getting rid of it. I think even if he gets damaged and tries getting repairs, his spark turns down any parts that Don't resemble soundwave's, hence why he has skinsuits to slither into to make himself feel like he can finally relieve himself of soundwave's shadow. Hypnosis doesnt work on him, not even his own. All the mirrors are immediately broken wherever he goes. He's an ill cretin who is also very funny to me. He loves to dance and sing while torturing and is very good at it! But he's also. Awful.

He can't feel, but he can feel some sort of peculiar tie to his cassettes, mainly so he can know their location Wherever they go. He likes to purposefully dispatch his army into losing battles with terrible odds so he can feel their cries shudder from within his spark and that low hidden mouth Grins. And if they end up somehow surviving and winning, then he guesses that's good too, or whatever :/

Bumblebee would be the perfect we have to do good straight man to soundblaster with how compassionate he is.. and soundblaster would be perfect in demonstrating bee's desperation to be liked when bee mistakes soundblaster's tolerance of bee being a good distraction for fondness.. like. Tf could do so much more with sb than just a clone.. bee would be a good big character to help get others familiar with SB !!! LIKE! UGH! THERES JUST SO MUCH POTENTIAL WITH SOUNDBLASTER!!!!! but also transformers is trying to appeal to a younger audience to get new tf fans and keep it alive so i don't think we'll get the soundblaster depth i dream of... if we get more of him at all.. but still.. a m&m can Dream ..

if the name Mr. Blonde from reservoir dogs rings any bells, that's who i associate with Soundblaster as well as orcas to help understand his personality better, to conclude my yap !!!

ANYWAYS!!!! THANK YOU FOR LISTENING!!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE THIS WEIRD THING SM!!! SILLY GUY!!!! MY EMO WIFE!!!! WE NEED SO MUCH MORE OF THIS SILLY GUYYY URGHHHHHHH!!!!!!! URE SO RIGHT! PLS ANON I LOVE U FOR ASKING ME THIS! SRRY THIS IS SO LONG! I THINK IMIGHTVE FORGOTTEN SOME THINGS BUT YEA HERES MY YAP FOR NOW !!!

[distance-does-not-matter]

oh random health update:

my diet has opened back up! ily bread

it is Not the first thing we thought it was

it is, in fact, a second thing. and i have another lab this week and another appt next week

having a dr who listens to you is a game changer

thank you for tuning into penni's vague health updates

[ghostzzy]

i beat stardew valley

[theseinfernalangels]

Heavenly - Bodhi Durran ⛈️

Synopsis: Four times in which you almost kissed Bodhi, and one where he did it for you.

Includes: Fluff, angst, Reader has some issues, maybe a teeny bit suggestive at the end? Friends to lovers, almost a relationship but not quite, mutual pining. Takes place mostly during Fourth Wing and ends in Iron Flame.

A/N: AUGH this is my baby. I’m in love with this one guys. Also, pretend what I wrote about Tyrrish culture is 100% canon and not totally made up for the vibes.

You always liked the snow.

It was gorgeous; the little white specks of frost glided through the air with what looked like practiced ease, littering your flight leathers with faint, watery markings. You enjoyed the fact that it was silent, unlike the rain, which sometimes made entirely too much noise for your liking — it made it so much easier for you to sit on a distant windowsill and stare into space for what felt like hours at a time. Unnervingly, you also liked how it bit at you, the cold. You’d lay in the snow with your lightest leathers on just to feel the wet chill sink into your bones instead of dry, all-consuming heat that seemed to trail you wherever you went.

Most of all, you like the sight in front of you: Bodhi Durran, in his tall, tawny glory, looking particularly…pretty with little flurries settled in his dark curls. A small part of you aches to run your hands through them, to knock the speckles out — but, you decide, he looks like the pinnacle of perfection like this.

Said man peers down at you with a look of cool concern. “You’re going to freeze,” he accuses.

You smile serenely, your eyes tracking the falling flakes as they descend upon you both. 

“Maybe,” you reply. “It would be worth it, to stay out here.”

At once, Bodhi’s eyes soften. He knew your ordeal with heat and fire all too well. 

“Still,” he chides, slipping a toned arm around your waist and pulling you into him. “C’mere. I’d prefer it if you didn’t get hypothermia because you like to stand in negative temperatures without your flight jacket.”

You tense for a moment before slowly allowing yourself to melt into his warm embrace, bracing your face on his chest as you both watched how the snow fell in the late-January sky. No words were needed between the two of you when all you needed were gentle touches and the chilly air.

You feel his eyes on you, so you reluctantly peel your face away from his jacket and tilt your head up to face him. Predictably, he’s smiling — but not a full on grin like usual. No, he’s wearing a smile of pure fondness as his gaze meets yours. You can’t help but catch your eyes on his lips, though; Bodhi has always been handsome, even as a younger boy, but the atmosphere combined with his fuller features make him look downright ethereal.

“A penny for your thoughts?” he prompts you gently, nudging you in the ribs.

The touch makes you flinch a little before you straighten and raise your chin. “How much to keep them in?” you challenge.

He chuckles and raises his free hand innocently. “You got me there. Just wanted to know what’s got your eyes all hazy.”

You barely noticed it; your eyes, although you’d been observing the snow keenly, were less focused on the environment around you and more in tune with the shape of his mouth, the little scar on his lower lip, how his mouth moved when he smiled…

How his pretty lips would feel on yours.

You hum. “Nothing much. Just daydreaming again, I guess.”

Silence. Waiting.

“And,” you add, “the weather is making my eyes water.”

Bodhi lets out an exasperated but affectionate huff and moves away from you briefly to peel his flight jacket off and sling it around your shoulders.

“You know,” he drawls, “you’d think being a Wingleader would establish some sort of self-preservation in you.”

Instantly, you’re enveloped into pure heat, but not the kind that usually bothers you. No, this heat is warm and velvety, soothing in a way that is purely Bodhi.

“Nah,” you reply with the faintest trace of a satisfied grin. “Quite the opposite, actually. It makes you willing to risk everything for this sort of stuff.”

You keep it vague.

This sort of stuff.

The peace you feel as you watch snow fall like ashes.

The chance to have a quiet moment for once in your too-chaotic lives.

The moment of clarity you feel when you stare at Bodhi and pray to yourself, “Loial, I’ve had too much taken from me already. Please do not touch him, too.”

༘⋆༄.°⋆

The air around you is charged and slightly humid as you watch a pair of first-years, two boys, fling each other to the padded ground of the sparring gym. It’s rough, hard, and ruthless…Everything you’ve come to enjoy about training at Basgiath.

It’s usually easy to predict who will come out on top with these sorts of matches. One of the guys, Cael McCleary, had clearly been holding back out of pure nervousness when he stepped onto the mat. You sympathize with him — but you also know that sympathy would get him nowhere, especially against a man like Jamilian Sirko, who you’re pretty sure is half war cannon the way he towers over almost all of the cadets here like a bull in a china shop.

Surprisingly, though, McCleary holds his own against Sirko, using his anxious energy as a means of dodging and weaving faster than the taller boy is able to strike. It’s impressive, no doubt about it — but it’s also a test of endurance. Where Sirko is strong and built like a great wall of pure, dark muscle mass, he can’t use that to his advantage against McCleary, a lithe and reedy guy, for much longer before he eventually tires out. Neither of the two look like they’re ready to drop, though — not by a long shot.

You sigh. Looks like you’d be here for a while.

“Good, you two!” you call from your place on the side. “Hurry it up a little, would you? You’re the only thing preventing your squad mates from leaving.”

A quiet brush of footsteps behind you tells you that someone has come to stand by you for the time being — Bodhi, as told by his gleaming grin. 

“Look at you, being all commanding,” he greets you, drawing out the last word dramatically. “Gods, how long have they been going for?”

You break your gaze away from the fighting cadets to glance over at the clock on the wall. It’s 11:23.

“I think we’re going on fifteen minutes now,” you murmur. “McCleary is really trying to drag this out to get Sirko down. I can’t say I like the timing, but I do admire his strategy.” You pause. “What are you doing here?”

Bodhi nods, his gaze turning analytical. “Of course,” he adds, completely ignoring your question. “I think he needs to find a place to end it. A good kick to the back of the knees or even the throat would do Sirko in good.”

You’re about to repeat yourself and insist he answer your question when a flash of silver catches your eye — a small dagger being slid from the sideline towards the sparring cadets, its hilt extended to where Sirko would most easily be able to snatch it, if he had the balls.

You freeze. Bodhi nudges you gently with his elbow. “What did they agree to beforehand?”

McCleary, although his fingers twitched anxiously, raised his chin and nodded to his friend, who held three small knives between his fingers. “No weapons?” he asked, raising a hand in need of shaking.

Sirko raised an eyebrow before smiling easily, grasping McCleary’s hand with practiced ease. “No weapons,” he repeated, sealing the deal before they backed away from each other in waiting.

“Oi! Break it up, both of you,” you call over to the boys, who are panting and looking a little more than eager to finish it. You gesture to the little blade that both cadets have yet to notice pick up. “Were you not paying attention to their terms? No weapons for this round. I don’t want to see that shit again.” You quickly use your signet to bend the air around the blade and bring it to you for you to grab. 

You sweep it to your outstretched hand and inspect the knife. It’s indistinguishable, really, with no remarkable hilt or quality.

Little tendrils of wind spin the blade by its hilt before you sigh and clear your throat again. 

“That’s enough, you two,” you yell over to McCleary and Sirko. “I appreciate your persistence and endurance, but a match should be over before the twenty minute-mark. Good on both of you.”

A tide of complaints and cheers arise from the sideline, and you stalk over to the first-years with a little look of disapproval on your face.

You hold up the knife so they can all see it. “Who was it?” you ask with a scowl. “They agreed on no weapons, and if you think I’ll let attempts to cheat slide, then you’re sorely mistaken. Tell me who it was and I might even let you walk out of here with all your joints intact.”

The first-years all look jolted for a moment before one is pushed to the front — Opal Keenan. She’s pretty, with flame-red hair that must reach to the small of her back when it’s not in a entirely too-complicated braid. She looks embarrassed for a moment before she schools her face into a look of pure ignorance.

“Please,” she sneers. “Anyone would have been grateful if someone picked it up and used it. Preferably Jamilian — McCleary was bound to lose anyway.”

You immediately bristle, raising your chin and fixing an icy glare on the cadet. 

“Did I ask who you preferred to win?” you snap. “No, Keenan. If you wanted to see the outcome of the match, you should have considered the consequences of trying to aid a cadet in cheating. The crime you’ve just committed is easily punishable, you know. I’d hate to have to carry out the consequences myself.”

Keenan’s taunting smile widens. “A crime?” she mocks, earning a few glares and hisses from the cadets around her. “That’s rich coming from you, you traitorous bitch. I bet your father—“

Her words are cut off swiftly, and you know it’s because Bodhi has come to stand behind you, standing tall and angrily from a few steps back.

“I’m sorry,” he says sharply, pinning Keenan in place with a glare that looks too unnatural for his warm, brown eyes. “Did you not hear your Wingleader? Cheating on either side of a match is punishable by a dishonorable discharge at its lightest. You should be glad she hasn’t already gone to Emetterio to report this. In fact, I should go do that right now. You’re a shameful example of a cadet, Keenan.”

Keenan opens her mouth again, probably to jeer at you again, before she’s cut off again, this time by you.

“I don’t want to hear that shit out of your mouth again. That’s strike two for you. Test me a third time, and I’ll have no trouble letting Leadership know that you’re interfering with matches and being a downright bitchhead to your squadmates and Wingleader.”

For good measure, you allow your power to flow out of you just a little, little tendrils of air wrapping around Keenan’s throat. She startles and lets out a little choked whimper, losing all of her bravado in what feels like milliseconds. You could kill her like this, if you really wanted to — but you feel a warm hand splay on the small of your back protectively, so you lighten it up just a little. “Do I make myself clear, cadet?”

Keenan nods as quickly as she opened her mouth before you release her after a few seconds of drawing it out, just for your own benefit. She stumbles back with a gasp, her hand flying to her throat and staring at you in horror. You just meet her eyes head-on, steely and cold.

“You’re all dismissed,” you order in a low voice. “And keep this in the back of your minds. I don’t care if you think I’m a traitor or not, but if you think you can get away scot-free with cheating in a match for a reason as stupid as that, then you’re clearly not cut out for this quadrant.”

The first-years waste no time in clearing out of the sparring gym, either because of your order or because they don’t want to be the next one choked out by a Wingleader. Opal Keenan is out first, running like the cowardly little bitch she is, and everyone follows, shooting you looks of fear, surprise, and surprisingly enough, a few grins from the people who agreed that the ginger cadet needed some humbling. You sigh and scrub a hand over your face, suddenly exhausted.

The hand on the small of your back wraps around your waist, pulling you into a chest of taut muscle before Bodhi winds his other arm around you, essentially trapping you against him. His chin comes to rest on your shoulder. 

“You handled that really well,” he tells you in a soft voice. “Do you deal with that every day?”

You lean back into him a little. “Not really,” you reply, fixing your eyes out the window and staring into the late-morning sky. “Usually they know to keep their mouths shut around me. I guess someone just wanted to be bold today.”

His quiet snicker by your ear sends a rush of warmth down the skin of your neck. It dies, though, once he catches the edge of your expression.

“Hey,” he prompts. “You want me to tell Emetterio? I’m sure he’ll dish something deserving out for Keenan as soon as he hears.”

You mull over the thought for a few moments before shaking your head. “No. I’m not going to tattle on a first-year just for being a little too uppity. I can handle it.”

Bodhi’s thumb strokes the leather over your stomach idly. “You can,” he affirms. “And you did. You’re strong as hell, Levine.”

His voice lowers. “But I wouldn’t mind kicking her ass if you asked me to.”

You snort and gently jab him in the side with an elbow, only being met by a sputtered protest. “I appreciate the offer,” you assure him. “But I’m gonna let someone else do it in their own time.” You go quiet for a moment before you remember your conversation just a little bit earlier.

“Bodhi,” you grab his attention again, twisting out of his hold to stare at him. “What are you even doing here? This isn’t your squad, and it’s definitely not your wing.”

“So?” he huffs, backing up a little to give you some room. “I’m on break, and I wanted to see you.”

Oh, Amari bless his heart. Bodhi was probably the only man who would ever do such a thing for you. And the way he looks at you right now, like him hunting you down in the middle of your duties was the most obvious thing he could be doing right now, makes you almost brave enough to stand on your toes and press a grateful peck against his cheek.

You restrain yourself. 

“Fair enough,” you concede, and he grins sweetly. “But it’s —“ You turn and glance back at the clock. “11:45. Don’t you have to be at land-nav by 11:50?”

His face falls immediately. “Oh, fuck.”

༘⋆༄.°⋆

The only two things keeping you awake at a time like this is your dragon’s gentle reassurances in your ear, and the fact that you haven’t seen Bodhi in approximately 27 hours. You lay in a long-sleeved slip, glaring at the moon through your window.

“You don’t have to lie to me, Zephyr,” Spéir rumbles. For once, she is less proud and more…sisterly, in a way. “I know you are worrying about the Bright One.”

“…And if I am?” you ask, your mental voice coming out more passive-aggressive than you mean to. “Am I wrong for it?”

A low chuckle ripples through the bond. “Of course not,” Spéir replies. “You are mine, Zephyr, but before I chose you, he was within your grasp and kept in the inner workings of your heart. He is your human no more than you are mine. No need to jump to his defense.”

You sigh in frustration, tearing your eyes away from the glow of the moon before you stare at the door. If you had it your way, Bodhi would be sleeping right next to you, his curls spilling down his face messily as he dreamed. But he wasn’t next to you — and you had a sneaking suspicion as to why.

As if your thoughts had caused it, a faint rapping at your door draws your attention. You flick your wrist to summon a mage light, the glow a soft lavender, before you slip out of your bed and creep towards the door.

“Is it—“

“Yes. He came straight for you.”

You rip the door open, and sure enough, Bodhi leans against the threshold, his battered body looking like he’ll fall at any moment. 

He stares at you, slightly dazed, before he manages a breathy whisper. 

“A thaisce. I’m sorry, but—“

You cut him off by tugging him through the door and pushing a small breeze out to shut the door quietly. You push him over to your bed, urging him to sit on your soft sheets. His knees practically fold in on themselves, making your heart ache. You feel more awake and alert now than you have since he disappeared.

“Easy,” you murmur. “Hey, mhuirnín, easy. Don’t apologize. I take it you just had RSC, huh?”

His gaze meets yours, and for the first time in a long time, he looks exactly like he did when he was a child: Nervous, disoriented, and exhausted.

“Is that what that was?” he asks hoarsely, grabbing at your hands to run his thumbs up and down your wrists. “I thought they would just…I don’t know, have us take notes about it.” He inhales sharply. “But one moment, I’m heading here, and the next, I’m tied up and hazy and our signets aren’t working and Cuir won’t talk to me—“

You hush him, coming to stand in between his legs and running a hand through his tousled hair. “It was the water,” you explain gently. “They drug you to dull the bond so it’s as realistic as possible.”

You crouch a little, forcing him to meet your eyes while you inspect his body for any intensive damage. To your surprise, he looks relatively unharmed past extensive bruising and a split lip. You bring your little tendrils of wind to a warmer temperature and cushion him as you search him. “Anything need to be looked at?”

He shakes his head wearily. “No. They went kind of easy on me. They went after Iris, though. I guess that’s because she has more of a mouth than I do.”

Your eyes narrow, but you say nothing before you do another once-over, just for peace of mind. Bodhi averts his eyes and quietly says, almost sheepishly, “If you want me to go, I can.”

Immediately, you shake your head. “Hell no,” you mutter, nudging his head up with a little breeze. “I’m not letting you leave. I’ve been waiting for you, asshole.”

His face brightens a little, the usual gleam starting to reappear after what must have been hours. “You waited for me?”

“Of course I did.” You scowl a little, nudging his thigh with your own. “I’ll always wait for you, idiot.”

His entire body seems to relax for a few moments before you poke him. “I still have some of your clothes in here. You probably don’t want to shower, but at least change into something comfortable.”

He leans into you in an odd side-hug before rising to his feet. You know he knows his way around your room, so you turn around and close your eyes to let him change without the burden of your intense stare.

“Zephyr,” your dragon prods. “Cuir would like to tell the Bright One that he is here and is sorry that he could not be there.”

“Spéir says that Cuir is sorry he couldn’t be with you,” you tell him, your eyes still squeezed shut. Bodhi looses a rough laugh, and before you know it, the mattress is dipping and he’s tugging you to lay down, now changed into a simple pair of sleep pants and a black shirt. You allow him to pull you down before you grab him in turn and ease his head on to your shoulder, your hands automatically moving to his head to run your fingers through his hair. He shudders appreciatively and wraps a weak arm around your stomach.

The two of you just lay there in the pale lavender light, enjoying the silence of each other’s company. It was unlike Bodhi to be so quiet, but after the ordeal he just went through, you can’t imagine him being lively enough to talk about anything. You resist the urge to dip your head and press your lips to his forehead, although he probably needs the affection right about now.

After what feels like hours of nothing but soft breathing, Bodhi says your name in such a tone that your eyes instantly snap to his.

He hesitates, looking equal parts pleading and embarrassed. “Can you…talk to me? In the Old Language, I mean. I-I don’t care what it’s about.”

You barely suppress an affectionate coo before you nod, smoothing your hands over his back. “Of course,” you say in Tyrrish, your tone growing a tad bit higher-pitched in your native tongue. “I’m proud of you, you know? You look barely scathed, mo laochain.”

His breath catches a little, and you feel a pang of adoration hit you in the gut as he tucks his face into your neck.

“I don’t feel very strong right now,” he admits. “I feel like I could’ve done something to help. To divert attention from the others so they wouldn’t be as hurt.”

“Hey, no,” you say firmly, rubbing his shoulders with a surprising gentleness. “I’m glad you didn’t. I don’t care if that makes me sound selfish, but I’m glad they went easiest on you. Amari knows I’d lose my cool if they did anything else.”

Bodhi stifles a laugh, and then a small groan of pain. You extend a warm cloud to rest over him and ripple over his cuts and bruises.

“Easy,” you say again. “Do not move too much. We’ll go see the healers tomorrow and see what they can do for you — probably more than I can, at least.”

The younger boy’s head rises from the crook of your neck so he can stare at you, his exhaustion apparent in his half-lidded eyes.

“None of that,” he scolds you, as if he’s not the one laying in your arms right now. “You do more for me than any of them could attest to. That’s why I came here and not there with the others.”

“Besides,” he adds, “I missed you. I don’t know how I went years without talking to you, because I think I was going insane by the fifth or sixth hour they kept us.”

For a moment, all you see is him. Not your bedroom, not the glow of your mage light or the moon, and certainly not the silhouettes of roaming dragons out your window. The only two people here, who exist in real time and space, are the both of you. You lean your head to lay against his and ghost your lips right above his ear — the closest thing to kissing him that you’ll allow yourself.

“Well, you’re here now,” you assure him. “And we can talk as much as you need. You should probably sleep, though. I need my favorite person to be somewhat alive tomorrow so that I can keep myself sane.”

Something closer to an actual laugh, a Bodhi Laugh, finally leaves him, making a smile of your own grace your lips.

“Right, Wingleader,” he says in mock-submission. “You talk so I don’t go mad, and I’ll sleep so you don’t, either. Sound like a plan?” 

You flick him in the shoulder blade, but it’s not out of annoyance — more like, in your opinion, thankfulness, because you know what you need at a time like this, alone and in need of someone to lean on.

“Deal, mhuirnín.”

༘⋆༄.°⋆

The sun blazes in your eyes, nearly blinding you in the late July heat. Your head rests on Bodhi’s thigh, his fingers sifting through your hair softly as the two of you watch the sun set on Navarre.

Bodhi looks down at you and frowns, moving his hand from your head to splay it directly in your line of vision. Your eyes flit to his, and he shrugs. “It would really suck if you went blind on your birthday.”

You make a small noise of understanding and smile, curling into him a little more. “Happy birthday to me; I get an honorable discharge.”

Bodhi grins and resumes his motions in your hair, taking care to try and keep the sun out of your face. “I think you mean dishonorable,” he corrects you, “since you going blind is completely preventable if you’d just keep your eyes away from the sun.”

You scowl and shoot a lick of ice cold air down his tunic, causing him to emit a soft shriek of surprise. He glares down at you and flicks your forehead.

“Not funny,” he pouts. “Dammit, Levine, that was cold.”

You try and keep your face still, but the stoicism is short-lived as a smile of pure delight takes its hold on you.

“My bad,” you bluff, staring at him with absolutely no shame whatsoever. “I was aiming for your head.”

Bodhi’s eyes narrow, and you know instantly that he’s about to try to pin you into the grass. You roll out of the way with a yelp, but he’s always been just a tad bit faster than you, so he’s upon you in an instant, wrestling you to the ground while all you can do is hold him off of you. After a few moments of struggle, his hands clamp down on your shoulders, and you’re flat on your back before you know it. The position you’re in is unfamiliar; one hand cradles the back of your head so that it doesn’t slam into the ground, while the other holds him up over you. He’s close — closer than what you’re used to, his nose just an inch or two above yours. His eyes fall to your lips, and he swallows before murmuring, “Got you.”

Your cheeks heat up at the proximity, and you involuntarily sent another brush of wind down his back — this time, more gentle, something of a more affectionate nature that you rarely show. You force yourself to blink and ignore the fact that he’s quite literally eyeing you like he wants nothing more than to slam his mouth on to yours. 

You stick your tongue out at him. “You had an advantage. I was unprepared.”

He breaks from his staring and snorts, wiggling his eyebrows at you. “Right,” he says dryly. “An advantage. You can call it that, sure.”

You scowl but don’t say anything. It feels a little awkward, seeing as he won’t move from his position above you. You don’t dislike it — not by a long shot — but what’s a girl to do when she’s pinned under her best friend (who she definitely doesn’t want to kiss. Not at all.)?

Bodhi blinks as if coming out of a trance before he clears his throat awkwardly and lets you up, leaning back to sit down. You roll up into a sitting position and lean into him. He feels a little stiffer — probably from prior awkwardness, akin to that of the same nature from when you both were tweens and he was still visibly nervous around you. He’s quiet for a second before he starts.

“So,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I know you said you didn’t want anything for your birthday...”

You go still. “You didn’t.”

He waves his hand as if to dismiss your protest. “It’s not big,” he insists, reaching into his pocket. “I know you don’t like gifts very much, and you get overwhelmed by big gestures. I just wanted to do something, since this is your twenty-third birthday.”

In Tyrrish culture, 23 was the age where you were officially considered a woman — not in the physical sense, but in the spiritual sense. It was the aois na laochra, the age of a warrior. You’d almost forgotten about it, since you’d barely taken note of your birthday since your sixteenth — the last birthday you’d been able to have with your entire family.

Your eyes soften, and you swallow the lump in your throat that threatens to make it crack before you respond. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Bodhi shoots you an easy smile. “I know,” he replies casually. “But I wanted to. I wanted to keep the tradition alive, even if you’re the only one it happens for.”

He pulls out what was hidden in his pocket — a small wooden box — and drops it into your palm. “Open it.”

Your thumb brushes against the wood — cherry, sanded and smooth — and on the initials that are carved into the top with a delicateness that’s more than impressive. You have a feeling you know who did this part, and Bodhi confirms it. “He didn’t ask for anything in return.”

You smile before taking a deep breath in and slowly opening the box, your hands a little shaky from the nerves that plague you. Your breath hitches, and you blink down at what lays inside the box: A small ring of onyx with a glittering red gem in the middle. Your fingers hesitantly touch it, and Bodhi is suddenly closer to you, rushing to explain.

“I know you don’t really like big things, so I settled for this. The band is onyx, and the gem is garnet, your birthstone.”

He pauses. “Turn it over?”

You raise an eyebrow but do it anyway, hooking your index finger into the ring and bringing it out so you can turn it to the other side.

You choke out a gasp when you see what he’s nudging you towards, tears previously left unshed brimming in your waterline.

A knight. Two twin wildcats. It’s your family’s coat of arms — the one you haven’t seen in close to ten years. 

You swallow again, your voice breaking. “Bodhi—“

“Hey,” he says gently, pulling you into his lap with practiced ease. “It’s okay, I’ve got you. I just thought it’d be nice, so you could have a piece of them on you whenever you wanted.”

You couldn’t even begin to imagine where he found the time to find something like this, to put the sheer effort in accomplishing something like this.

For once, you don’t care. You just bury your head in his shoulder and allow yourself to sob quietly, shivering when his hands come up to cradle you to his chest.

“Thank you,” you whisper to him in Tyrrish. “Thank you.”

His heart twists, and he clutches you ever closer to him. “Anything for you.”

༘⋆༄.°⋆

Bodhi’s heart pounds in his ears as he runs through the halls of Riorson House, blood spilling into his mouth from just how hard he’d bitten his lip just a few minutes beforehand. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t have time — not when he’s got a very important matter to attend to.

Xaden had scared the shit out of him when he’d suddenly appeared from what felt like out of nowhere, his dark eyes huge and sparkling. 

“Bodhi,” he’d breathed. “She’s here. Go to her.” It didn’t take a genius to know just who he was talking about, and Bodhi had taken off in a flash, abandoning whatever the hell he’d been doing for Jesinia in her little bookish habitat. His legs couldn’t push him faster, and he suddenly wished he could wield distance like Garrick, so he could get outside much faster than the rate he had going for him.

“Cuir,” he gasps, tugging on the string of his bond. “Is it true? Is she here?”

The dragon lets out an affirming rumble. “Yes, Gréine; Spéir and the girl are injured, but they have returned from Morraine alive.”

If it’s at all possible, Bodhi forces his legs to work harder, pump faster, to book it outside with hardly a glance behind him. He finally bursts through the front entrance and skids on the stone path, whipping his head around to look for you — his girl, his love, his light. He spots Spéir first, her massive black form standing tall next to two other dragons. One of her wings is bloody, and some of her scales have been ripped clean off, but she looks relatively fine other than that.

Then, he spots you and books it toward you, not giving damns nor shits about the three dragons that aren’t his that surround you. You’ve barely looked up once he makes it to you, throwing himself into you and pulling you protectively into his chest.

Nine months. It’s been nine months since you’ve been stationed in Morraine. Nine months of not seeing or speaking to you. He doesn’t know how he could stand it. 

Your arms crush him into a hug, and your knees almost buckle from the sheer force of how you hold each other.

He holds you like it’s the last time he ever will, like every promise he’s ever made and will ever make is sealed into your skin with every fleeting second that he presses into your form. No one could take you from him if they tried — not a general’s orders, not even Malek, if he could help it.

You pull away, and he finally gets a good look at you. You’re gorgeous, as always, even with scars lining your jaw and blood covering your face. He doesn’t think he’s seen a more wonderful sight in his life. He presses his forehead to yours, searching your eyes for…Well, just about anything. He’ll take everything and anything he can get from you.

“Bodhi,” you whisper, his name falling from your lips reverently. “Gods, I don’t—“

Your eyes widen as he silences you. Not with words, though; your lips are sealed the moment he grabs your jaw and slams his mouth on to yours, effectively shutting you up. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

His lips are chapped and bloody, courtesy of how hard he bit them earlier, but the metallic tang is the last thing on your mind as he kisses you fiercely and desperately, like you’re his oasis in a desert of nothingness. His light in a vast ocean of shadow. Your lungs burn from the lack of breath, but you don’t have it in you to care, not when he’s kissing you like this.

He finally breaks away after what feels like forever and nothing and presses his forehead back to yours, wiping some of the blood on your face with a calloused finger.

“A thaisce,” he whispers in the Old Language, long-suppressed tears running down his cheeks at the mere sight of your face. “Mo leannan. Mo Shíorghrá. I am never letting you leave my side ever again. Never again. I promise.”

Tyrrendor is where Bodhi grew up, and Basgiath is where he became a man, but in your arms, with your lips locked with his? Bodhi has never felt more at home.

[rinhaler]

DEATH IS NO MORE !

you know you shouldn't be here, right? what would possess you to visit an underground fight club? one of the fighters is kinda cute though...

✧˖*°࿐: 18+ only, no minors.    ✧. ┊ underground fighter!ryomen sukuna x f!reader

Genre: porn with a plot Notes: ty penny for beta reading again! picturing sukuna like this art by @innaillus bc i have had nothing else on my mind for days. Warnings: 18+, fem!reader, violence, blood ♡, daddy!kink, size difference ♡, age gap, degradation, fingering, orgasm denial, pussy spanks, dacryphilia, finger sucking, vaginal sex, choking ♡, creampie, squirting ♡, pet names (princess, sweetheart, baby). Words: 10k

As your heels snap against the pavement, you can almost feel the pulsing bass from the music surge from your toes and throughout your entire nervous system. The music is loud enough to hear, even from a distance, and it only gets louder as you step closer and closer to the abandoned warehouse.

You shouldn’t be here.

The voice is yours, internally. Though it feels like an out of body experienced as you venture head first towards a destination you have no business being anywhere near. The music muddies your thoughts. It’s confusing you, deeply.

Is there a dress code?

That doesn’t matter, because you shouldn’t be here.

The bass is hypnotic. That pounding bass that makes you feel weak and ethereal all in one dizzying bout. It’s like you’re going to a rave, though you’re not even close to being dressed the part. You’ve been at work all day. The last thing you should be doing is trespassing into a building that has been off limits for five years.

You just couldn’t resist, this.

Not with the rumours flying around and the hushed whispers of secrecy luring you in to investigate for yourself.

With the double doors in sight, you finally see that the entrance is being manned. Is it security or just a ticket holder? You aren’t sure you want to find out. They might take one look at you and shoo you away. There’s no way you can leave until you get what you came for.

You slip out of sight as you see another pair of men get out of a car parked near the entrance and approach. Your breathing is egregious, though you try to calm it. The adrenaline swirling through your every vein and muscle is enough to make you pass out. But the agonising desire to enter and see the truth for yourself is holding you steady.

$100 for a ticket.

“Christ.” you whisper to yourself.

You put your hand in your pocket and fish out your purse. As you open it and begin to look, you halt. The way your hands are trembling is abnormal, even for being this worked up. The pumping of your heart transfers to your brain. The pink, mushy organ pounds dramatically against the inside of your skull, and really, you think melodic beat of the music inside must be slithering its way into the creases of your braincells.

There’s a pain behind your eyes. You feel a migraine coming on and you’re all too familiar with the agonising feeling as you often leave your work days suffering from them.

You deepen your breaths in a bid to steel yourself. And eventually, you find the money to pay the fee. So you wait, patiently, for the other two men to enter the warehouse before you reveal yourself from the shadows. There’s an air of confidence to you as you approach the entrance.

Though it fades, slightly, as the man holds his hand up like a crossing guard.

“Women don’t come around here,” he starts, checking a clipboard that looks too small in his comically large hands. He flips through the pages and then looks at you again. “You’re not on the list.”

“I have the fucking money.” you tell him, slapping it on top of his stupid clipboard hard enough for him to almost drop it. He tries to stop you as you attempt to barge by him, though it isn’t a strict action.

More like a warning.

“It’s not a sight a lady should see, I think.” he tells you, still putting your hard earned money into a tin of other generous donations, you expect. His eyes focus on your own as he continues to speak. “You’re rich. Expensive clothes… shouldn’t have worn those here. Gets messy. Be careful.” he tells you. And with that, you enter the warehouse and heed his warning.

You walk slowly, but with purpose. A chill stabs down your spine as you approach a flight of stairs a group of men are running down. They wolf whistle upon seeing you and it curdles in your stomach. You try to keep your head held high as you climb and follow the sound of that intoxicating bass. Wherever the music is coming from is surely the source of the action, too.

The time of day is indicative of the lighting. It’s pitch black outside and it it’s even darker, still, in the warehouse. Though the moonlight manages to break in through the shattered windows enough to illuminate your path.

There’s a smell that you’re beginning to notice that invades your senses. A potent stench that is so specifically masculine and territorial. It’s sweat. Blood, too.

Once you get to the top of the stairs, there are double doors with a red light bleeding through the cracks. The music is louder, too, as well as the vociferous shouting being contained solely by the big, heavy duty doors.

And now, truly, you worry things have gone too far. The doors part and you slink into the shadows, still approaching without hesitation. You’re scared. God, terrified, really. But the adrenaline keeps you from retreating. There’s one goal you have in mind, and once complete, you can return back to your peaceful, suburban life.

A man holds the door as he waits for a friend to leave with him. You watch them walk away together, bragging about their earnings before you slip inside inconspicuously.

The red light contrasts from the rest of the building. And you think your retinas might explode from the change, you don’t let it divert your attention, though. But it’s hard to deny how distracted you are.

As the atmosphere has changed you begin to feel heady from the scent of sweat and testosterone. You do your best to continue undetected as you try to keep to the edges of the crowd. But a few eyes find you. Nudging and laughing when they see a woman, God forbid, enter their sacred male space. You notice there’s no malice mostly. It’s more leering and ogling despite doing all you can to not give them any attention or feed into their sex drive.

But you scream.

Scream could even be an understatement as you feel a tight squeeze on your upper arm flesh yank you away from the crowd and into the background of the room. Your adrenaline seems to die the instant one red eye matching the ambient lighting filling the room like a brothel in a red light district stare into yours.

Half of his face is covered by some sort of black mask.

Protecting his battle wounds, you assume.

There are a few laughs and stares before they’re pulled back to the main attraction. There’s a feeling of embarrassment rushing through you, but you can barely dwell on it as you look up at the man who had dragged you away so carelessly.

He’s easily the tallest man you’ve ever met. At least 6’5 and towering above you like you’re a puny child as you try and stand confidently beneath him. But the little gasp you emit when he bends down to whisper in your ear gives you away, instantly. He smirks, knowing just how scared you are. He knows just how worried you are and how out of your depth you are.

“And just what is a fragile little thing like you doing in my club?” he asks, a tantalising lilt in his words that would have your knees folding like outdoor furniture if you didn’t have one reason and one reason alone for being here. He pulls away from your ear, an intimidating glare staring back at you as he waits for an answer. “You don’t look like you can fight. Not that I’d allow it, anyway.” he tells you.

“I’m looking for someone.” you blurt out, unsure if you should have said that or kept it to yourself. It’s too late, now, and you see a sadistic smile transform his ravenous expression into one of sheer entertainment.

“Oh? Don’t tell me you’ve got a boyfriend you’re worried about fighting here.” he laughs, and it doesn’t go unnoticed how his eyes move from your face to your breasts. They’re covered, entirely. The decision to wear a turtleneck for work has come back to bite you as the sweltering heat feels enough to knock you unconscious.

It’s suffocating.

He isn’t really looking at your tits, however. His eyes instead seem to hone in on the silver necklace you’re wearing. And you can see how his eyes squint as he tries to think of anyone fighting here who’s initial begins with M before letting his dirty mind race at the thought of the letter slipping between your cleavage had you opted to wear something a little more revealing.

“You look like a cop, sweetheart. Not a good place for you to be all by yourself.” he informs you. A cop? You hadn’t even thought about how you’d stand out in that way. “I don’t need the fuzz poking around here, what do you want?” he asks, his voice a little more pointed and venomous as he raises your necklace with a single finger to toy with it.

If you weren’t so frozen in fear, you would have backed away and hid your necklace down your sweater. But you were scared, statuesque. The only movement you were able to perform was moving your lips.

A pretty trait for you to possess, he thinks.

“My brother is here, I think.” you tell him, calmly, hoping your honesty will earn you some favour in his eyes. His eyebrow quirks as he thinks about you possessing a family resemblance to anyone here. “He’s underage.”

He smiles at that. The pieces suddenly all fall into place as he knows exactly who you’re talking about. And he parts space between you both, grabbing the collar of your white, wool coat and pulling you along with him. The two of you get through the crowd with ease until you’re standing at the front.

A shriek leaves you as the losing opponent hurtles towards you, though your self-appointed escort gets in his way before your clothes can become ruined by the blood that has now smeared on your saviour’s skin. You’re sure he’s thankful that he wore a black vest so that you can’t really see the stains on it. Realistically, he probably doesn’t care, you think.

He wouldn’t be running a fight club if he cared about something as tedious as stains.

As he moves out of the way to reveal the victor, your own blood begins to simmer and spill from you. Megumi raises his arms triumphantly, spitting a glob of blood onto the ground next to the wounded man he’s evidently just beaten to a bloody, unconscious puddle. And you could tear his head off with your bare teeth with the rage that you feel.

But you can’t.

Not when the man who led you here steps into the makeshift ring of people surrounding them and hands him his earnings. And your brother smiles, gratefully, as he accepts and counts it.

“There’s someone here to see you, kid.” he tells him, tilting his head in your direction. Your foot taps against the dirty warehouse floor as you wait for him to notice you. And boy does he notice you. “Oh, are you that scared of her?” he laughs, noticing all of the colour draining from Megumi’s face as he processes the fact that you’re here. That you’re really here.

“The fuck are you doing here?!” he asks, running up to you and attempting to conceal the money as best he can. But it’s too late, you snatch it from his hand and look at him with contempt.

“Me? What are you doing here?! You’re seventeen! You’re not Tyler fucking Durden, Megumi.” you slap him upside the head and drag him away from the crowd. “I’m furious, I don’t even know where to start with you.” you tell him as you approach the heavy doors that are keeping this disgusting little community trapped in the sweaty, blood soaked room.

“Get off.” he shakes himself loose. “I left my stuff in Sukuna’s office.” he announces, leaving before you give him permission. You huff, following him up the steel stairs as you continue your onslaught of verbal abuse and anger at his sheer stupidity.

He should see a doctor, really. But you worry he’ll get in trouble if the police get involved. And he might end off worse, still, if he rats out this place and gets everyone else in trouble. It’s too much, you know you’ll have to cover for him.

You could cry, now. But you aren’t sure if it’s anger or genuine upset. And honestly, you don’t want him to see you cry over this. Weakness is not something you need him to see right now, you want to keep it together. You’re his guardian and you can’t be soft with him just because he’s your brother.

He picks up his gym bag from a locker in the room. Your eyes are laser focused on him, all of the trust you felt towards him is long gone. And now, you aren’t sure if you’ll ever be able to take your eyes off him again.

“Megumi… how did you even get involved with this?” you ask him, earning nothing more than an infuriated grunt as if you have no right asking. How dare you care about him and his wellbeing when you’re all each other have? You want to scream, to fucking scream at him for being such an idiot. “I thought you were getting bullied at school. I asked you if—”

“Drop it. Can we just go?” he asks.

“Tsk.” you kiss your teeth. Your gaze suddenly stolen as the man you can only presume is Sukuna walks into the office like he owns the place. He does. You close the distance between yourself and Megumi as his sadistic boss sits on a comfy looking chair behind an old battered desk. “Give me your phone. Go wait in the car. Do not go anywhere.” you warn him as you hand him the car keys.

He sighs, placing his phone in your hand before turning to leave. You don’t look at him, though, too focused on Sukuna to even pay him any mind.

Your blood continues to boil, bubbling under the surface of your skin as you look at Sukuna. A smarmy smirk plastered on his face as he kicks his feet up onto the desk. So, Megumi leaves. He knows better than to push you when you’re this pissed.

“Before you start, princess,” Sukuna stands back up and circles around the desk. Your eyes vibrate with fury as you watch him, backing up as he gets too close. “I didn’t force him to do this.”

“Don’t call me princess.” you tell him, shutting down the cutesy pet name in an instant the minute you get an opening to speak. You rest you hand on your hip as you point at him furiously. It’s rude, you know it’s rude, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not after seeing your little brother like that. “He’s just a kid. I don’t want him involved in this stuff, I’m trying to be a good role model and you’re fucking everything up. He’s not coming back, ban him.”

“Fuck no.” he chortles. “He might be a kid but he’s good. I pay well. ‘n I like him, I do. He’s a moody little brat but he makes me laugh and earns me a shit ton. I’m not banning him for you. Or anyone.”

“Maybe I should call the police, see what they have to say about all of this.” you threaten, immediately regretting it, when the smile drops from his face and is replaced with something akin to bemusement. He hadn’t expected you to threaten him. But the incredulous stare is soon replaced by another smile.

“You wouldn’t risk getting Megumi in trouble… nice try though.” he speaks, leaning back against his desk and crossing one ankle over the other as he folds his arms. He’s thinking. Genuinely thinking of a way to compromise. “What do you do?”

“I’m… a doctor.” you tell him. Earning a set of raised eyebrows and an amused scoff as he looks you over once more. He supposes it explains the fancy clothes and snooty attitude.

But—

“You’re too young to be a doctor, aren’t you?” he wonders.

“I’m a primary care physician.” you tell him. He nods in understanding, but you’re confused now. You shake away his questions and his interest in you before staring at him again with intent. “This needs to stop. I’m not going to call the police but I’m not letting my brother come back here, it’s too dangerous. He’s a child.”

“He’s a man, you’re babying him. He made three grand tonight, he’s earning money and staying out of trouble because he has an outlet for his anger.” Sukuna tells you. The amount of money he’s made surprises you, and you’re holding it in your coat pocket right now. He’s going to be down $100 after you take it out of his earnings, though. But still. Even you can’t deny that it’s impressive. “Stuck up princess. Snooty doctor. Think you can come in my fuckin’ club and tell me what to do? Fuck that.” Sukuna claims.

He doesn’t say anything else as he waits for you to speak. But, truthfully, you’re still thinking about Megumi. The fact that he needs an outlet for his anger is worrisome. You’ve tried to get him to see a therapist, but he isn’t interested in the least.

It’s been hard being a single parent to him when you’re too selfish and irresponsible to even look after yourself, let alone a teenage boy. He probably thinks you’re useless. You have no control over him, really. All you do is make sure he’s fed and has a place to sleep and get his school work done.

But after discovering this, you’re sure he hasn’t even been bothering to attend school.

“Oi.” Sukuna speaks, stealing your stare again as you’re finally brought out of your troubled gaze. “You’re a sheltered little princess, aren’t you? A place like this is just full of scum to you.”

“I don’t care about this.” you laugh, minimally, not really seeing the funny side but you have nothing else to offer by way of expression. He hesitates a little, seeing the defeated look in your eye. “The injuries and psychological damage these places can cause…”

“Not everyone’s got a fancy college education like you, girl.” he tells you, patronisingly, as if you don’t know that. But he doesn’t let you interrupt. “Some people need a quick buck to get out of trouble. Other’s like the thrill. But who the fuck are you to come into my club and tell us all we’re wrong? Comin’ in here in your doctor clothes… looking down your nose at us.”

“That’s not—”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what you’re doin’, sweetheart.” he continues. “You get to sit behind a desk all day and tell people what pills to take to feel better and then go home to your cosy house in the suburbs without a care in the world.”

“Don’t fucking patronise me.” you warn him, though you don’t have the muscle or means to back it up. He reminds you a lot of how your dad used to be. You didn’t particularly take shit from him, and you certainly won’t be taking it from Sukuna if you can help it. “If you’re letting a seventeen year old walk away with three grand, I’m sure you’re making a lot more money than I am behind my desk. I work hard. You’re lining your pockets from other people’s pain.”

“Only a little,” he smirks at that, knowing you’re right but not entirely. “I fight. I bleed.”

And you scoff. It’s so fucking archaic and you can’t help but pace around with your hands on your hips as you try and decide where to even start with that. What can you say, really? Congratulations? No, definitely not. You stop in your tracks as you realise how close he is to you, now, deciding he wanted to close the gap between the two of you while your mind was elsewhere.

You breathe a little heavier as you fall backwards onto the couch behind you while he towers above you. His eyes rake over your body as he drinks you in. The slight fear lingering below the surface, shrouded by a cloud of false confidence as you do all you can to not succumb to his intimidation.

His arms almost cage you in.

Almost.

He’d let you free yourself if you tried to escape.

But you aren’t trying.

You’re just staring into his eye.

And he likes that.

“Watch me.” he orders. The sentence is soft but with a hard, seductive edge. It’s an offer despite it sounding like a command. You aren’t sure what he’s asking you to watch but your heart rate is imploring you to decline, whatever it may be. He tilts his head, it’s barely noticeable, and somehow you do notice. You notice the way his eye flits from your eyes to your lips. Not once, multiple times. He has no shame, he doesn’t care that you know he’s looking. He doesn’t act on it, anyway. “Watch me fight.”

“Pardon?” you ask, instantly. Bewildered that he would even dare to dream that you’d do something so idiotic. Your brother is waiting, patiently, for you to take him home. Unless he’s stolen your car, of course. But you’d like to think he knows he’s in enough trouble than to do something so stupid.

“You’ve never seen a fight. Watch the best at work, you might change your opinion. Watch me.” he repeats.

He watches as your eyes glaze over with a watery sheen, smirking. There is a breeze left in the wake of him quickly freeing your body from his caging arms and heading towards the entrance to his office. Your breathing is intense and your hands begin to shake. You think to text Megumi and check he’s okay, before remembering that you have his phone.

You look over your shoulder to see Sukuna leaning over the railing. He’s yelling about something but your ears are ringing in your confusion. The music isn’t helping, either. You look down at your phone to check the time, not even really taking it in before you place both Megumi’s and your own in each of your pockets.

Sukuna returns, entering with a cool swagger before leaning on the edge of his desk again.

“You’ve got ten minutes to decide.” he tells you.

Decide?

You’ve already decided. There’s no way you’re sticking around to watch him beat someone within an inch of their life. Or vice versa if his opponent proves to be too much. But with his physique and confidence, you doubt he’ll lose. And almost as if he’s read your mind, he smirks.

“I’m going to win.” he informs you, a cocksure grin saturating his lips as he drinks in your reaction to his words. You cross a leg over the other and fold your arms, still determined to remain and appear defiant as you listen to him. He can sense you’re weakening resolve, though. “I always win, princess.”

“Don’t call me that.” you remind him, and he tuts in response. You can’t tell him what to do. You can try, but he won’t listen. And he hears the wavering in your words. Your desire to appear cold and callous towards him crumbling the longer you spend time in such close proximity to him.

“I think you like it.” he tells you, smiling. “Why are you still here?”

“I’m thinking.” you tell him in turn, scowling as you decide whether or not to leave right now or actually think this through. If you leave, you know your pride won’t allow you to change your mind.

“Don’t have all night for you’re thinkin’, doll.” he speaks. “Oh… I know, how about we make a little wager?”

“No.”

“Awe, c’mon, live a little.” he laughs, menially. He smirks as he hears you gasp whilst lifting you up like you’re nothing. He sits you down on his desk and for some reason you find yourself tightly wrapping your legs around his waist. Your chest heaves, panicked from the process. You aren’t sure how that happened and you can’t seem to shake any of it away. Not when your fingernails are digging into his biceps and your lips are ghosting each other’s. What is he doing? “How about if I lose, I’ll tell Megumi he can’t come around here anymore.”

“You said you’ll win.”

He smirks, at that. Scarred hands nip and grab at your entirely covered flesh. He wishes he could just rip the material off you right here, right now. But he wouldn’t feel right about sending you to your car in torn clothing, telling your little brother exactly what kept you busy for so long.

“That, I did…��� he speaks as if recollecting an ancient memory. But he looks at you, eyes traversing your body again. “So what—”

“’m not betting with you. I know you’re gonna win.” you tell him, moving your head back slightly so your lips are no longing tracing each other. Instead, you’re looking at him intently. “You’re just trying to get me to agree to something that I won’t be able to back out of. ‘m not stupid.”

“No, you’re not stupid.” he agrees. He tucks some hair behind your ear and grabs your chin so that you can’t break your stare from his own. “I know we both want the same thing right now, though. That pride will do you no good, y’know.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you lie, feigning ignorance as the heat between your legs begins to pool and seep into your panties. You hope he doesn’t notice. God you hope he doesn’t fucking feel it. You hope that your trousers will protect you, the fight should be starting soon. “I’m taking my brother home… but I hope you enjoy your little fight.”

“You’re not going anywhere or you would have left already.” he tells you, matter-of-fact. “The things I could say… I’m gonna say it all after I win.”

“I won’t be here. ‘n I’m not giving you my number.”

“You’ll be in the front fucking row watching me.” he sneers.

You inhale a sharp breath as he forcefully moves your head. A finger hooks into the collar of your turtleneck, lazily pulling it downward to reveal the bare skin of your neck. His lips are close, breath dancing over the expanse of your skin. It’s a battle to withhold the shudder that is creeping through your veins. It makes your eyes water, a tear threatens to spill but you refuse to let it. You weld your eyes shut as he continues to torment you, and they appear even more watery when you open them again. The way your body trembles is harder to mask, though it’s nearly imperceptible as you accept you need to release it. All you can do is hope that he hasn’t noticed.

But he does.

The intensity of your breathing increases as you think he might kiss your neck. Your eyes flutter shut in preparation, but all he does is tease. And when you feel a near empty chuckle fan across your neck, your eyes widen once more.

“It’s time, princess.” he tells you, pulling away completely. He doesn’t wait for you to respond, heading towards the exit to his office before turning back to face you. “Come.”

And like you’re a voice activated toy, you follow him. He quick steps down the stairs while you struggle in your heels. You cling to the railing as you descend, and he waits patiently for you at the bottom.

He’s agnate to a God in this warehouse. You see how people respect and admire him as he enters the room. People part for him so that he can walk through with ease with you in tow. You’re really going to watch an authentic fight.

You wonder how different it will be in comparison to movies. You’re scared, shaking, but part of you is telling you that you need to see it. You need to see the state that Megumi could one day end up in if you don’t scold him correctly.

“Should I go easy on him, sweetheart?” he asks, loud enough for the crowd to hear. “She’s going to decide your fate tonight, listen up.” Sukuna tells his opponent. You want to kill him yourself for drawing everyone’s attention to you. You struggle to find words, mouth drying every time it opens.

“Just… don’t kill him.” you shrug. “But don’t get yourself killed, either.”

He laughs, shrugging his shoulders too. Neither of them look scared, though you suppose that’s the point. Neither of them would be doing this if they didn’t think they could win. They wouldn’t be here if they were afraid of getting hurt.

“She wants me to go easy on you…” Sukuna smirks.

You watch, nervously, as they circle around the ring for a while. He looks at you, briefly, as you fiddle with your necklace as you try and occupy your mind.

A ragged breath leaves you as they both lunge at each other. The way Sukuna dodges and weaves away from each and every attempt that should be hitting him is almost like watching a beautiful ballet.

It’s art, here.

Between these walls and amongst this audience. It is a true art form that is celebrated and enjoyed. The casualties don’t matter, not even a little. Everyone is a willing participant, even you, now. You could have left but decided not to.

It’s for Megumi, you tell yourself.

You need to be better and act better for him. And you can’t possibly do that without the knowledge of how truly dangerous this can be.

But now, seeing it for yourself, you’re starting to understand.

Sukuna is strong. Heavy fists affix themselves to his opponents face again and again until he’s on the ground. Blood pours from the man’s nose and you think he might suffocate from lost teeth and gurgling blood pooling in his throat.

And Sukuna… he’s been starved of this.

You start to think that maybe he doesn’t fight as regularly as he claims. It seems too easy for him, now. No one can beat him, so what’s the point? But he has missed this feeling. The feeling of seeing blood gush from an adversary who whole-heartedly believed they could take him on.

He takes pleasure in it, violence. Particularly the brand inflicted by him. He profits from it regularly, but this is a rare treat nowadays. He’s happy to sit in his office and let idiots do what idiots do as long as his pockets and wallet fill with each event.

This fight… it was on a whim.

Was it just to impress you?

He straddles his opponent as he repeatedly smashes the same fist into his face again and again and again. And he’s laughing. It’s maniacal, borderline insane laughter as you see blood spatter and clots form and congeal against the poor man’s skin.

And why…

Why are you loving this?

You can practically feel hearts and glitter adorning your eyes as you watch on in horror, unable to turn away. You’re mesmerised by it. You should be ashamed, really, you’re meant to be a doctor.

If you were a good person, you’d be breaking this up. You’d be rushing to the man’s side and calling an ambulance to help him. Instead of watching on in astonishment, you should be doing all you can to keep him alive after such a vicious assault. But instead, you’ve sunken to the balls of your feet so that you can be on their level and watch each and every punch land with excruciating detail. You don’t want it to stop. You could watch this forever.

Watch him forever.

You’re sick.

This is sick.

“Sukuna!” you yell, standing upright again and looking down at him. He stops short of landing one final blow to his opponents bulging and split nose so that he can look up at you. There’s worry in your eyes, and it makes his brows furrow. His eyes squint as he examines you. He isn’t sure how to read you or what you might be thinking. But he realises worry isn’t the only thing lingering behind those glimmering, wide eyes.

Something else entirely resides there that he’s longed to see since the moment he set eyes on you.

“Sorry, I got carried away.” he speaks down to the near dead man beneath him. “Were you done or did you want to keep going?”

“D… Don—”

“Thaaaaat’s great.” he responds to the man’s choked attempt to end the fight. Sukuna jumps to his feet, barely a scratch on him, and walks by you without looking back. You hasten behind him, almost unable to keep up in your stupid shoes. You see a man hand him something before walking away. You scrunch your brows as you look between them both.

Oh, he’s been paid.

He reaches the top of the stairs to his office and holds the door open for you to pass through. You duck by him, hiding in the room like you shouldn’t be there. You shouldn’t. You feel so small and inconsequential when you’re near him.

It’s his height, you realise.

It’s effortless intimidation. He’s a giant and you have to crane your neck just to look up at him when he’s close to you. His giant frame and bulging muscles don’t put you at ease, either. If you make him mad enough, you wonder how far he’d go. Would he use his strength to his advantage? Maybe he’d just take pity on you.

“You’re still here.” he rasps, locking the door behind himself and closing the blinds to the room. He likes the privacy as he counts his money. It excites you, for some reason, to see so much in a big fat wad. He looks up at you briefly before focusing back on it. “You liked it.”

“No.”

“Yeah ya did,” he laughs. You watch him as he collects a heavy looking bag from another locker in the room. It’s different to the one Megumi used. It looks shinier, newer. Sturdier. “I can tell you liked it.”

“Well, I’m going now.” you start, turning to walk away before he stretches out an arm to stop you in your tracks. He walks you backwards until your ass collides into the edge of his desk. He doesn’t pick you up, though. He just sizes you up, slowly, purposefully. And what a pathetic size you are in comparison to him. “Megumi needs me…” you whisper, meekly.

His presence is truly all consuming as he lords above you. You’re trapped between his large frame and the tattered old desk that resides in this seedy office. He could afford something nicer. But what would be the point if the place gets raided?

“We wanted the same thing earlier,” he starts. His voice quiet but commanding, still. You look between his lips and his pressuring gaze. He smiles, at that, he can see the way your mind is running rampant with thoughts of him. The dirty criminal who wants to fuck you on his desk. “Bet ya want it even more now.”

“N-No.”

“Yes.” he argues, placing a bloody hand on your pristine coat and making a mess of it. His hand snakes around to your waist, eventually. You gasp when you feel him tug your body closer to his by your belt loops, grinning as the little noise you make hits his ears. “Stutterin’ over yours words and making pretty sounds for me, sweetheart. Did you get all excited from seeing the blood? Bet ya did… bet you’re wet from seein’ daddy get violent.”

You gulp, heartily, your breathing gets heavier the more he speaks. His words rush straight to your cunt and you can barely ground yourself. The only thing keeping you from floating is your fingers curling around the edge of the desk as he continues to tease you.

“You’re fucking frigid.” he continues. Your eyes begin to water as he undoes the button on your pants and goes to pull down the zipper. You grab his hands to stop him, though it’s in vain. “Why are you so frigid, huh? When was the last time you had a good, hard, fuck?” he asks you, each word dripping like venom in a bid to make you squirm.

“That’s none of your—”

“Stop being such a bitch.” he tells you, slight laughter leaving him as he speaks. “Let me guess… got too occupied with your career, right? Bet you had a long term boyfriend who wouldn’t know how to fuck you properly if his life depended on it. ‘n then you got saddled with the kid… bought a vibrator and a plastic cock ‘n thought that would make do… you’ve never been fucked before.”

“Stop it.” you tell him. You turn your head away but he quickly forces it back with one heavy, dominating hand. “I have to go.”

“Sure.” he agrees, not letting go or moving aside for you to leave.

Nothing is said, not another word. Several beats of silence pass by as you stare at each other. The hypnotic music continues to play outside, though it’s muffled slightly by the locked office door. It isn’t enough to mask how hard either of you are breathing. Panting. Unable to break your stare from each other as the silence, that cogent fucking silence gets louder and louder.

Not another word is spoken as his lips press roughly against your own. You kick off your shoes and he kicks them aside as you continue to kiss him. Your hands are all over his body, grabbing and squeezing his skin as you lose yourself to the feeling of his lips. He forces down your trousers so that they’re resting around your thighs before lifting you onto the desk. You moan, desperately, as he breaks the kiss to fully remove them from your legs.

He lets them fall and kicks them away in the opposite direction of your shoes. The kiss breaks once more as he laughs lightly as your hips begin to rock eagerly for him.

“Knew you were wet for me earlier, y’know.” he tells you, kissing you briefly before deciding to tease you further. “Felt how your cunt was droolin’ when I lifted you on here before.”

“You’re vile.” you tell him, not caring that much as you lock your lips with his again. His attitude, the way he talks, the way he is. It’s all so nauseatingly macho and you thought you were better than this. You thought you knew better and wanted better for yourself. But having it presented so perfectly for you… you were always going to succumb.

“You like it, you like me.” he continues, forcing your snow-white coat down your arms and off your body. The way his knuckles continue to gush blood, you expect the liquid to seep and stain the white material and paint it the same red as his eyes. “Mmmm, I’m right. Why else would you be so wet?”

The air is snatched from your lungs as he pushes your legs apart from each other one at a time. You don’t dare close them as you watch him pull his vest over his head and reveal his perfectly chiselled body in all of its glory. It’s pervasive. It’s gorgeous. You aren’t even sure it’s humanly possible to look this good.

A soft ‘unf’ sound leaves you and you feel him sink his bloody knuckles inside of your panties. Deft fingers swirl and tease around your firm clit, and your mouth seals shut.

“Tell the truth, princess.” he swipes two fingers over your clit at a heightened pace, desperate to coax another utterance of admittance from your soft lips. “You wanna get fingered by a dirty old man. Go on, let me be your bit of rough, sweetheart.”

“Fuck.” you breathe, unable to withstand his filthy mouth. You’re truly powerless to being spoken to like this. Maybe you’re tired of people speaking to you so politely day in day out.

He doesn’t respect you, though.

Right now you’re nothing but a wet, desperate hole, with a pretty face attached.

“Let daddy finger you, yeah?” he asks, and you can’t stop your eyes from filling with water. He thinks it’s adorable. How the mighty hath fallen for nothing more than a few little rubs on your neglected clit. It makes him sick, truthfully, how many precious little things like you go without being touched properly. You’re about to learn, now, just how quickly you can become addicted to a person and the way they touch you.

“I should- I r-really have to go!” you tell him, still so desperate to remain defiant to the bitter end. He knows you’re bound to crumble any second. You’re biting your lip to keep quiet, but it will do you little good. Not when you are instinctively widening your legs for him. Wider than you knew they could go.

He pushes a single finger into you, hissing when he feels just how tight you really are. If he didn’t know better, he’d assume you were a virgin. He presses the heel of his palm against your clit, constantly adding pressure to the needy nub as he continuously pumps and curls his finger in and out of your sopping hole.

“Sukuna! I can’t d-do this, I shouldn’t be here.” you tell him as you wrestle with your guilt.

“This is exactly where you should be,” he tells you. “You’ll feel better when you cum f’me. Maybe you’ll stop being such a stuck up bitch.” he laughs, again, because you don’t dispute it.

No, instead, you lean back and rest your hands on the desk. Your hips roll urgently against his hand, chasing the stimulation to your clit. He looks down between you, tugging at your panties with one hand until you take the hint. You stop rutting against him, closing your legs so he can pull them down without stopping his rough touches.

They come down enough, the white lace dangling on one ankle as he forces your legs apart again. His vision meets your cunt. The way you’re swallowing one finger with ease now calls him to add another.

And you hiss from the stretch, but your humping doesn’t relent. You’re taking his fingers all of the way to the bloody knuckle until your eyes cross from the pleasure. And he grunts, at that, an attempt to conceal the moan lodged in his throat.

He revels in the way your cunt clenches as he allows a glob of spit to drip to your clit. His jaw hangs low as he massages the heel of his palm into it harder. The way you wriggle from his touch is better than any drug he can imagine existing. It’s addictive, seeing a once so proud woman regress to a needy little pet from the touch of a common man.

“D-Don’t stop.” you whisper, unsure of where that even came from. It was entirely involuntary. Your brain begins to fog as he repeatedly batters your g-spot again and again until your vision turns white. “Fuck, fuck! ‘m cumming, Sukuna! Ah- aaah~!” you cry out.

And just as it was getting good. Just as you were about to topple over the edge, he withdraws his fingers.

“You’re a real slut when you get going, aren’t you?” he smiles, landing a wet slap on your twitching pussy. You yelp, but don’t speak. “Barking orders at me like you’re in charge. Remember who’s office you’re in, now. It ain’t yours, princess. You’re spread open on daddy’s desk. Know your place.”

“I’m s-sorry.” you whimper, trying to focus and ignore the aching pulse you feel between your thighs. You need to cum, now. You need him to make you. It’s not fair, you can’t comprehend how close you were before he stopped you from reaching your high. “I’ll be good, d-daddy, just don’t… please don’t stop.” you beg, the title feels foreign on your tongue. But you don’t hate it.

He tuts, slapping your cunt again and again, repeatedly striking until tears spill from your pathetic, wet eyes.

“Fuckin’ love it when you look at me like that. Needy little whore.” he chortles, moving away from you entirely as he goes to grab something. “I’m gonna do something no one else will ever be able to do for you, jus’ because you look so pretty.”

“Wha—?”

“Lose the sweater, now. Wanna see your pretty tits,” he commands, lifting up the bag he grabbed from his locker earlier. “Hurry up. You need to be naked for this, you’ll enjoy it more.”

You do as you’re told, hurrying to strip yourself of the restricting material that has been suffocating you all night. And you toss it God knows where, breathing a sigh of relief as you feel cooler despite the sweaty heat that is trapped in the office with you.

“Good, good girl.” he smirks, unzipping the bag. You brace yourself for whatever he’s about to pull out. Some kind of sex toy, you assume. Knowing his ego, it’s probably a mould of his cock, hoping he can double stuff you.

But he doesn’t pull anything out.

Instead, he tips the bag upside down. There’s no time to think about what horrible things he could be pouring onto you. Because it doesn’t happen. Instead, you’re showered in bank notes. You laugh, excitedly, as you feel a never-ending stream over hundred-dollar bills pour over your body and onto the desk.

Sukuna laughs, too, admiring the sight of you dressed in nothing but money.

His money.

And it’s everywhere.

You writhe around on the desk before looking at him. He pulls down his sweats, hungrily, just enough to free his length. And, fuck, he’s huge. You knew he would be just by looking at the rest of him. It’s a scary sight, but you don’t care. He was right, no one else will ever be able to do this for you.

“Fuck me.” you request, opening your legs for him again. “Want daddy to fuck me stupid.” you finish.

And he doesn’t need to be asked twice. His fingers are shoved between your lips for you to suck as he lines his threatening cockhead up with your throbbing cunt. You’re too distracted by the taste of his fingers to properly react to how he stretches your hole.

The taste of copper stains your tastebuds along with the flavour of your essence. He watches you, intently, as he bullies his cock all of the way to the hilt without remorse. Though he hadn’t realised he’d been holding his breath while examining you, panting desperately when he’s fully sunken into your restricting walls.

“Took that like a champ,” he praises you, withdrawing his fingers from your lips and opting to squeeze the sides of your neck instead. “Fuckin’ gorgeous, swallowing me like this.” he smirks, thrusting his hips shallowly to help you adjust. But the composure is lost when he feels how tight you’re wrapped around him. Like you’re claiming what yours as if he belongs inside, buried deep in your cunt to depths no one has been before.

He's yours.

“Fuuuu—” you start, cutting yourself off as you pout and groan through every pummel of his hips against yours. “Daddy! D-aaddy!” you wince, unable to believe how perfectly each vein adorning his cock stimulates you so beautifully. His leaking tip serves as a painful reminder to how irresponsible you’re being to fuck a literal stranger raw.

But you don’t care.

You honestly don’t care as you think about the desperate desire you feel burning between your thighs for him to fill you up like you’re his. To be claimed in such a disgustingly primal way by this behemoth of a man while you just lie there and take it is the only thing higher on your list of priorities than actually getting to cum yourself.

“No one will fuck you like this again, hear me? No one.” he reminds you. And all you can do is nod dumbly as you can’t even find it in you to formulate one word on your tongue to say in response. “Not a doctor, not a lawyer. No one will fuck you in the money they earn like this. And you look so pretty, princess. Knew you’d like it, can act high ‘n mighty all you like, but you like the blood money, don’tcha?”

“Y-Yes.” you barely managed to squeak out.

“Yes what?” he repeats.

“Y-es, daddy,” you pant, forcing yourself to fix your eyes on him as you speak in a feeble attempt to ground yourself. “I l-like the money.”

“Little money slut.” he chuckles, the angle he fucks in you seeming to hit deeper and deeper the longer it goes on. “I should fuck you up against the window, let everyone see how fucked out you are. Hah? Show everyone you’re not such a stuck up princess after all.”

“N-No, please, don’t.” you beg, gasping as he pulls his cock out of you and drags you away from the desk. He pushes your face against the window and you instinctively close your eyes. Your back arches as he slots himself into you from behind, powerless to his body as he starts fucking into you again. And you’re so thankful for the blinds, despite the fact the ridges dig into your skin as he ploughs you. “Fuuuuck, ‘Kuna, fuck, s’big!” you tell him, feeling him deeper still as he hits you from behind.

“I should let them all see what a whore you are.” he laughs, fingers gripping deeply into your sides as he uses you for leverage to pull you down on his length whilst battering into you. “Pretty mouth is droolin’ for me, look like you’re gonna break.”

Your heart begins to race as he reaches for the cord to open the blinds. There’s no doubt in your mind that it’s something he’d do. You brace yourself, preparing to be put on show for all of the lecherous men below to see.

But instead, he picks you up and forces you to bend over the table again. Your feet don’t even touch the ground as rams his cock into you again and again and again.

“Megumi wouldn’t be able to live it down if everyone knew how much of a slut his sister is,” he tells you. “He’d get the shit kicked out of him every time someone described what your face looks like when you cum.”

Fuck, Megumi.

You’d forgotten all about him, waiting in the freezing cold car for you while his pseudo-boss fucks your brains out.

“Don’t,” you huff, “tell him, about this.”

“Of course not, I’ll be your dirty little secret.” he laughs. “You are a vessel for my cum and nothing more.”

You’ve never felt such self-hatred for yourself as those final, scathing words have you cumming violently around his cock. You tremor and shake as you finish, collapsing entirely onto the desk as he continues to plough into you.

“Fuck, fuck!” you cry, feeling even more embarrassment wash over you as you think you might have pissed yourself. But he gasps, amazed, admiring the stream of clear liquid gushing from your cunt drenching him and his money on the floor.

“Awe, baby just squirted. What that your first time?” he laughs, fucking into you harder so that he can follow you along in your bliss. He bends over, his mouth lining up with your ear so he can whisper more of his rendition of sweet nothings into your ear. “You’re shaking ‘cause of me. A-And now, you’re gonna have to drive your little brother home with every drop of my cum in your cunt.”

“Please, please fill me up. Need it s’bad. Wanna be full of you…” you babble, reality still not fully resonating with you as he carries on fucking into you at a brutal pace.

He grunts and moans as he cums deep inside of you. You’ve made some mistakes in your life but this has to be one of the better ones. Despite your healthcare knowledge telling you that you should know better, you’ve never felt so content as you feel him shoot rope after rope of searing hot cum into your womb.

He pulls out, wiping his dick off on your ass cheek before fingering you slowly.

“Keep my mark inside of you.” he utters, forcing you to squeeze your thighs together so you don’t waste a drop while he gathers your clothes for you.

He hands you your underwear first while he keeps looking, and you pull them up quickly. It feels so revolting and lewd as his cum leaks into the seat of your panties. You sigh as you feel the cold letter M on your chest before you can dress yourself.

“I don’t have a first aid kit here.” Sukuna speaks, not looking at you as he hands you the rest of your belongings.

“I’m fine.” you tell him, quickly pulling on your sweater and instantly feeling sick as the warm material meets with your hot, clammy skin.

“I’m not.” he tells you, watching as you pull up your trousers and fasten them in a hurry before slipping into your high heels again. “Bet you have one at home. You’re a doctor, you’ve gotta look after people.”

You eye him up, cautiously, before your expression changes to a smile. “You’re asking to come home with me?” you wonder, pulling on your coat and making sure you still have two phones in your pockets as well as your purse and Megumi’s wad of cash. “But Megumi will—”

“I’ll drive behind you. C’mon, princess, don’t want my cuts do get infected, do ya?” he asks.

You cannot believe you allowed his dirty fingers inside of you. As good as they felt, it was so stupid. You’re sure there’s probably blood stains on your inner thighs because of him.

Though the thought of him all over you makes your cheeks fill with warmth.

You just nod, opting not to speak as you head towards the office door. You walk ahead of him, finding confidence in your strides again. He puts his vest back on and makes sure he’s decent before leaving the office. He watches you leave ahead of him and stops to talk to his favourite subordinate.

“Clean the mess up there. And I’ve counted the money so don’t get cute.” he says, handing the key to the office over before following your path out.

He’s a little surprised how far ahead you’d gotten. Long gone from the building as you approach your car.

The guilt of leaving Megumi alone for so long got to you, he thinks.

“Hi.” you say, simply, sitting behind the wheel of your car and hoping not to have to talk much for the ride home. He’s a moody teenager who rarely has a word to say to you. And for once, you’re hoping it’ll stay that way. You adjust yourself and quickly put on your seatbelt so that you can drive off without another word.

“What took you so long?” Megumi asks, huffing as he looks at you. His eyebrows knit as he sees his bossapproach with a confident swagger. He wonders if he forgot something or he didn’t pay him the right amount.

Sukuna leans into his open window with a shit eating grin on his face. He wants to question it, to question you. But his eyes meet your not so pristine white coat as he turns to look at you again. “Is that blood?” he asks, eyes looking up at you as he waits for an answer.

You look down at your jacket, holding your eyes closed with a sigh as you realise what a nightmare it’s going to be to remove the stains. Megumi leans in closer to you, moving your hair out of the way as he examines you.

“Um…” you mutter, too frozen to even continue starting up the car.

“It’s on your face and neck too. What did you—?” he stops, turning around to look at Sukuna and see if he can fill in the blanks in his mind with any form of answer. But they’re filled, instantly, as his eyes fall to see Sukuna’s bloody knuckles. “For fuck sake.” he speaks, quietly, covering his face with both hands as the revelation dawns on him.

“I’ll be right behind you, lead the way.” Sukuna winks as he walks away from your car and heads towards his own.

You don’t say anything, copying your brother’s action as you both sit in silence and absorb the never-ending supply of cringe filling the atmosphere. Until eventually you decide, this won’t do. Sukuna honks the horn of his Mercedes to signify that he’s ready.

So you start to drive, fleeing the scene while your partner in crime follows behind.

“Fucking good role model you are.” Megumi speaks sarcastically. “I can’t show my face there again. Why do you ruin everything?”

“Nothing happened!” you lie, earning a scoff from him.

“Let me get this straight. You came here to tell me to stop fighting, and then you fucked the man who pays me to do it. So, am I allowed to fight or not?”

“Obviously not, Megumi.”

“You’re a fucking hypocrite.” he scathes, turning his head to face away from you while he sulks. “You can’t tell me what to do after this. Some fucking moral compass you got there.”

“Oh shut up.” you respond, trying to keep a cool head as you continue. “Nothing. Happened. I watched him fight and I hated it, we talked it out and here we are. Stop being so pissy.”

“Why’s he following us home, then?” he wonders, turning to face you and see if he can detect an honest answer or a lie from you.

“He doesn’t have a first aid kit.” you tell him, which is true though it isn’t really an answer. And you feel his green eyes burn into the side of your face as he waits for you to elaborate. “I’m a doctor, he needs his wounds tending to.”

“… Oh my God.” he starts. “Oh my God you actually fucking like him. You’re so embarrassing.” he huffs, pulling a cigarette out of his jeans. He closes the window to light it and opens it again just as quickly. You’ve never liked that he smokes, but you know nothing you say or do will stop him.

Just like the fighting.

And then, you find yourself laughing. Unable to stop yourself as you think about what a stereotypical angsty teen your little brother is. And, God, you’ve made yourself into his biggest enemy just because you care about him. But now… Christ, you’ve gone above and beyond.

“I lied. We fucked. And it was great.” you laugh harder when you see Megumi’s horrified expression the longer the conversation goes on.

“I can’t stand you.” he sighs. “He’s never gonna let me forget this. What is wrong with you?”

“Serves you right, you little shit. Lie to me again and see what happens.” you warn him, your laughter lets up a little as you try and focus on being serious.

You’re never going to be his mother, and you’d never want to be. But what you can be is his big sister. You can be an annoying pain and embarrass him whenever he acts up. But you’ll always be here to take care of him and keep him on the right track when needs be.

“I love you, shit head.” you smile, and he sighs.

“… love you too… bitch.”

© 2023 rinhaler

m.list | chapter two

[etherealily]

ᴊᴀɪʟʙɪʀᴅ // ᴛʜᴇᴏᴅᴏʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛᴛ

Theodore Nott + fem!dealer!reader. Spliffs + Cuss words.

This was from my poll. Other fics of mine. If you have the time.

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Desc. : You're his dealer. Needless to say, he's intrigued.

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"You have a problem, mate."

Theo knows that, he doesn't need Lorenzo to tell him, but honestly, he could not give any less fucks. Cigarettes are amazing. They calm him (something everyone around him needs), they make him happy (something he needs), and plus, they make him look cool. That's just something the world needs.

In short, he needs smoking.

Unfortunately for his Death Eater reputation, though, he has more of a proclivity for Muggle cigarettes, and that's really not something he can openly state, ask for, or find.

That's where you come in. His little jailbird.

A mudblood (though you don't like being called that, for some odd reason. Theo thinks that's weird. No shame being what you are, no matter how pathetic), from quite the interesting neighbourhood in your little Muggle town in your little Muggle city. All in all, you've got access to what he needs.

And boy, do you get it for him.

It's quite funny, in all honesty. You get the rest of the mudbloods things back that remind them of home, you refuse to bring back things that are illegal in Muggle Law, but you have a special soft spot for him, so you bring back cigs.

Maybe it's not a soft spot, because it does cost him a pretty penny. Well, galleon.

He's not complaining, though. He is curious, he'll have to admit that. He's been going to class with a potential outlaw? Beautiful. Finally, something fun to think about in this school.

Theo really doesn't know much about you besides the fact that you're a mudblood and you didn't have the money to pay for Hogwarts, so some higher-ups here at Hogwarts who cared enough had pulled some strings, blah-blah-blah, and you're basically in worse debt than you probably had been, back in London, only this time, magical.

Though he thinks your kind are impure, he does wonder what it's like to grow up in a turbulent neighbourhood without magic, and then one day, get some fancy letter that says you are magic. He's pretty sure your rowdy little mates would have taken the piss out of you.

You don't seem that impressed by Hogwarts, though. In fact, come to think of it, you haven't seemed impressed since the start, and even Theo had thought the Quidditch field was impressive, back in First Year. Either way, you seem quite at ease here for an illegal-shite-smuggling-Muggleborn.

It's actually quite lovely, this arrangement. Every Sunday, you're both meeting a little ways away from the Greenhouse, and you're slipping two packets into his hand just as he's slipping twenty galleons into yours.

However, this week's been different. You'd slipped him a note during Transfiguration that you couldn't supply him this week.

Bull. He's almost 100% sure you're just wanting to go off with your Mudblood mates so you can reminisce and probably smoke a cig or two. The cigs that you don't sell to him. Probably the fancy ones. The better ones. So, yes, naturally, like the addicted, withdrawal-undergoing-chainsmoker he is, he follows you.

And he's right. Whatever that is, the smell tells him it's not just what you usually sell him. It smells terrible, but you seem to like it, so he's sure he will, too.

You've been holding out on him, and that's not the deal.

And he's about to tell you as such, but he's proven debilitatingly right about why you couldn't sell to him this week, if the clicking of your stupid little Mudblood gang's footsteps is any indication.

All of them, lucky for Theo, have unanimously agreed that you should be the only one selling. Because you have the sneakiness that comes with growing up in a rough neighbourhood and he's just sure that you're the only one who'd actually keep his secret. Not tell people he couldn't live without something Muggle-made.

"We're lucky wizards haven't perfected summat better than spliffs, or we'd all be floating on wizard-blunts by now.", you declare.

"D'you ever think the Chosen One, stay with me now, d'you ever think he had chav mates back in Surrey? That he ran around robbing Tescos with?", someone asks.

Raucous laughter.

He has no bloody idea what any of that's supposed to mean. It's worse than Greek and Latin to him. It's intergalactic speak in a Cockney accent.

Though, he has heard you use the term "spliff", before, and you might be smoking one of those. Granted, he doesn't know what a spliff actually is, but if it was summat you and your mates liked smoking, he needs a hit of that.

That was the bloody arrangement, it was!

"Get me the best Muggle cigs, and don't tell - or sell to - anyone else."

Simple, easy to follow.

An idiot could follow it, actually.

There's a reason Gryffindors aren't the smart house, he supposes.

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Theodore's biggest flaw is probably his patience. And possessiveness. Yeah, that's... that's a big one.

He doesn't like the fact that you're selling better cigs to others.

Alright, fair, you probably weren't demanding any money from your mates, but still.

This is stupid, he's aware, but he doesn't like the thought of you giving anyone else any form of cigs. That was yours and Theo's thing.

Money or not, "spliff", or not.

God, was he pathetic. Needing a girl to supply only him with cigarettes. Eurgh. He's disgusting himself, right now.

Enzo's told him, time and time again, that if there ever comes a week that you're not supplying him with cigarettes — Enzo doesn't and won't ever know that they're Muggle — to take it as a sign that he should try quitting.

And that's what he's doing right now, as well. Theo's ready to Reducto himself in the mouth.

"One week without those things and you're in the worst mood yet. Grumbling, sulking, moping. This is why I'm sayin', unless you wanna be a liability, you should quit. Cold turkey."

"I'm not moping. And it's not 'cause I don't have the cigs."

"Then what is it?"

"She's been holding out on me!"

"Is that really such a shock, mate? This is a mudblood Gryffindor we're talkin' about."

Theo scoffs. These non-smokers. They'll never get it.

"The deal was, don't give anyone else the best, only me."

"God.", snorts Enzo, grunting as he stands and stretches before pointing at him in amusement. "You almost sound jealous.", he declares, slapping Theo on the shoulder and scurrying off up the stairs in a fit of guffaws before he could be hexed.

"I expect to get what I pay so much for!", yells Theo, before running his hands over his face. Not his best moment.

And, not to mention, he'd also smelled your regular cigs on some bloke passing by him during Potions class. Meaning two things. One, you'd been not only holding out on him on better cigs, but two, you're also selling his usual cigs to someone else.

"Um, Mr. Nott?" The tiniest voice ever, belonging to the tiniest face ever, with a tiny hand that held a tinier piece of paper.

His head whips around. Oh, a First Year.

"Yeah?"

"I was told to give you this."

He takes the note and squints down at it.

"Ten. Bring money."

Brilliant. "Gryffindor girl?", he asks, and the child nods in the affirmative. "Alright, great. Uh, one second.", he mumbles, reaching into his pockets and fumbling around before producing a Chocolate Frog. "Here, thank you."

He's pretty sure this is a muggleborn child, but still. All he needs to do is not touch its hand when he gives the box to him, and he's fine, not contaminated. You've probably (and hopefully) never realised this is the same reason he's glad the cigarettes come in packets already, before giving them to him.

Rechecking that his wallet's full of the money he owes you (and some extra), he shoots up, practically zooming out. It's been a week or two since he's actually seen you. And your cigs. Usually, you'll smoke one or two with him right after the sale, and honestly?

That's the best part of this whole deal.

Someone who gets it. Someone who he's inexplicably drawn to, in every way, and the only person he probably shouldn't be drawn to.

A mudblood, Gryffindor criminal.

Oh, his life's poetry. And a joke. His life's a limerick, actually.

"Nott."

"Jailbird.", he nods in greeting, settling down nicely by you in the moonlight. "How's it going?"

"Fine. How's by you?"

"Won't lie, was about ready to off myself. My mate pinched my cigs in a bid to get me sober, so I was suffering."

You laugh, softly, and he swears that just gave him a stronger hit than ten cigs could. "Yeah? How'd that work out for him?"

Grinning, he flashes his wallet at you, matter-of-factly. "Brought last week's amount, too. You better have extra to make up for it."

"Sorry mate, I actually don't. But, I do have your regular supply of Marlb—"

"Whoa, what do you mean you don't?"

You furrow your brows, a cock to your head. "I just don't."

Yeah, 'cause you're selling to others, like some sort of... sales whore.

"No? How convenient."

"'M sorry?"

"You forget I've been comin' to the greenhouse long before I started buyin' from you, so I was out on a walk last Sunday, and guess what I saw."

You sigh in realisation, shaking your head. "Listen, Nott—"

"What? So you'll give away the good cigs to your best mates, but give the trash to me, at an unreasonable price?"

You're close to tears of laughter. This is what you loved about selling to purebloods, no matter what it is. Muggle trinkets like cameras, a ballpoint-bloody-pen, whatever, or even illegal things like Theodore Nott's cigarettes — they're always itching for better. They want the newest, they want the best, and they want them now. "Those weren't cigarettes, Nott."

"Yeah? So you just smoke quills, now, do you?"

Ooh. Business idea.

"No, Nott, they were spliffs."

"Yeah, I know, a cooler type of Muggle cigs!"

"Uh..." He wasn't technically wrong. "Spliffs aren't, uh... they aren't exactly cigarettes, Nott."

"What?"

"They're pre-rolleds. They're blunts, they, uh... have weed in them."

"Weed as in... Gilly?"

"Weed as in cannabis."

He frowns, picking at the grass next to him. "Yeah, weed, of course."

So sue him, he doesn't pay attention in herbology, and it's evident.

"'S a drug, Nott. Gets you high. Out of your senses."

Oh. Oh. "And what, you were all doin' drugs on school premises?!"

"Oh, please, like I don't know about your Slytherin gang and your obsession with the Sage of the Diviners! No wonder Trelawney loves you! You act like you're there for her and not that shite."

He scoffs. "How does it matter? I'll buy it from you. All you've got."

"I don't deal drugs, Nott.", you say, standing up with a little huff before patting the dust off your clothes. "And since you don't want your normal cigarettes now, I'll bid you good night."

"Twenty galleons for each box.", he mutters, offhandedly. He knows he'll win this. He's seen you. Your soft spot for him, for the most inexplicable reasons ever. He's sure even you have no explanation for it.

But whatever. Fact of the matter is, he's just doubled his usual amount.

"Forget it, Nott. Go to sleep!", you call, as you continue your way back to the Tower.

"Twenty for each individual spliff."

He's ashamed to admit how aware he is of your presence, so much so that to him, it's like the wind has stopped howling, the stars have stopped flickering, and the world has stopped all activity, all because you've stopped walking away at that offer.

"What?"

He turns, and he's met with a bemused sort of glare, your arms are crossed, and you look two seconds away from tossing him into the Lake for the Squid to deal with. "Say that again. Slowly. With the knowledge that one pack has seven pre-rolleds in it."

"Money's no object, jailbird. You know that.", he drawls, now rolling over onto his back. "I'll go higher. How much ever you need — which you do — but with one condition."

"You have a condition for me? The one who's providing you with the stuff you need so you don't go into withdrawal?"

"You need to smoke them with me."

You snort. "Yeah, that'll happen."

He rises up, clapping his hands together to dust them off, as he saunters back to you, who's leaning on one of the greenhouse walls in absolute contempt and disbelief. Beautiful. Just how he likes you. Just how you looked the first time he'd asked if you could help him out with some Muggle cigs. "Why not?"

"I don't sell weed, Nott, alright? Cigs are barely legal, but thankfully we're both eighteen, but weed is not. So, stop."

"Alright, how's this? I pay for one. We smoke it tonight. Never askin' for them, later."

"Why?"

"Never had one before. Figure you're experienced, and if I die, you'll shove some activated charcoal down my throat, eh?"

You lick your lips, squinting up at the moon. "You serious, Nott?"

"Yeah. Just tryin'. What's the harm in that?"

Rubbing absentmindedly at your neck, you mull it over for a very long while, looking around and into the greenhouse, possibly for Filch's stupid little cat or Sprout herself. "Fine. One. But you do exactly what I tell you to."

Beautiful. "Yeah, you got it."

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"Is this heaven?", he slurs, because it seems like either the stars or his breathing are moving at a snail's pace, and it's definitely making his eyes move even slower to yours.

You have to fight a giggle, and it's clear from your quivering lips and your twinkling eyes, and the way you roll them as you gaze up at the stars as if they would give you the strength to suppress it.

"No, seriously, because I feel like...", he struggles, and that's never bloody happened before.

"I know."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Wind kisses his hair, and yours, as well. Yours takes it better than his.

Looking back at the stars in intoxicated stupor, he stretches his arms out above him, hiding some of them from his eyes, and then revealing them again. It's stupid, he used to do this when he was seven, and evidently "spliffs" made him revert. "Why are you not taking any drags?"

"You need someone to help you if you green out, don't you?"

"Yeah, but, aren't you tempted?"

You scrunch up your nose, shaking your head. "Nah."

"Why's that?"

"Can't control much in my life, anyway. I like the calm that weed gives us, but not the loss of control over my faculties."

"What, so you think I want to lose control?"

You shrug. He scoffs. "I hate that face you're makin', by the way. You can tell me what you really think. Worst case scenario, I get miffed and kill you."

Chuckling, you sigh. "I dunno, I feel like it's the opposite for you, it makes you feel more in control. Probably why you started smoking, anyway."

"I started smoking, because I liked the smell and having summat for my hands to do."

You nod. "Yeah, you know best."

He sits up at that, elbows over his knees. "Fuck off, no. Sit up. Go on, then. Tell me why I really started smoking cigs, according to your expert opinion."

"Well, y'know, uh, that- uh, that thing, there.", you mumble, gesturing at his sleeve, his wrist, where the disgusting Dark Mark lay etched into him. Well, disgusting for you. You were about 98% sure he checked it out in the mirror every morning and posed with it.

"Tread lightly."

"Subconsciously, I think, uh.. y'know when you hold a cig like so?", you explain, holding an imaginary cigarette to demonstrate, "I just think since it covers up your Mark, you smoke."

He hates this. It makes unnecessary amounts of sense.

After a few moments of quiet, you back down. "Sorry. You can get back at me. Tell me your worst assumption about me."

The corners of his lips curl down as he shakes his head, watching you sit up by him. "I got nothing."

"Oh, come on."

"I— well, I don't know. Doesn't matter what I assume. Because this isn't about me, is it, jailbird?", he murmurs, smirking for a moment before ruffling up your hair. "Summat in your hair by the way."

After watching you struggle to get the feather out, he rolls his eyes, picking it out for you. You laugh. He frowns, the corners of his lips turning up. "What?"

"I thought you weren't supposed to touch me."

"You know about that?"

"It's quite obvious with the way your pinkies go up when you take the packs of cigs, all refined and princess-like, just to not come into contact with me.", you mutter, stretching.

"It's not personal, it's—"

"It's very personal."

"Well, fine, let's just count this as a, uh... spliff induced lapse of judgement. Yeah?"

You hold your hands up in mock surrender. "Just go ahead. Not like I'd want to touch you, anyway."

"Ah, so there it is. You won't sell me more spliffs because it's a pride thing, then?"

"No, idiot, I won't because you're a pureblood and I'm Muggleborn! Guess who's more likely to be arrested for drugs on school grounds."

Oh. Well, that made sense.

"Whatever."

"And besides, you're not worried you'll get contaminated if you're around my 'mudblood air' this long?", you hiss, snatching the spliff away and taking a drag, as if that hadn't been exactly what he wanted you to do all along.

He's not sure how long this spliff will take to work, but he's hoping he can unravel your very essence by plying you with it.

Perhaps he's just bored.

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"I dunno why, but I'm just oddly intrigued by you, jailbird. I don't know much about Muggles — thankfully — but it can't have been easy, I suppose, getting some owl drop a letter onto your head in your dingy little neighbourhood. How'd it even find you?"

He's rambling, he knows, but he just... he can't figure out what it is that he wants to find out from you.

"That's what you're intrigued by? The logistics of it all?"

"No, no, I mean, you come here, to Hogwarts, you're not even remotely impressed. It's a magic bloody castle."

"So? You lot are more likely to be impressed by us back down in the trenches of Surrey. And I've never actually been to jail."

"Yeah, but you've had close shaves, yeah?", he asks, inconspicuously lighting another spliff. What? He needs you pliant so you can sate his curiosities.

"Well, yeah. But that's only when I was, maybe, thirteen. Third year."

"Didn't you nearly get suspended in Fifth Year because the Muggle Ministry—"

"Alright, alright, let's talk about your crimes, then, Mr. Death Eater!", you snicker, pushing at his shoulder. He shakes his head.

"Dunno what you want me to say."

"Probably that your Dark Mark's pounding at your veins and putting you through undeniable agony that feels like a vat of lava, because you just let a Muggleborn touch you."

He raises a brow at your disturbing description. "Charming."

You grin triumphantly, shrugging.

"But as I said, we'll count it as a spliff-induced lapse in judgement."

"Fine."

"This, too, yeah?"

It happens before you can see it coming.

It feels like a swirl of stars, a blanket of the deepest merlot, and it's intoxicating. Even more so than the strongest spliff in the world.

It takes you a while to pry him off your lips. But you do.

"Nott, hey, weed makes you do this, just relax, take a couple breaths."

"Does it make you sell my cigs to others?", he grits out.

"Sorry?"

"I smelled your nicotine on some prick in my Potions class."

"That is by far the creepiest thing anyone's ever said to me."

"Answer the question, mudblood."

Your jaw clenches, and though he doesn't feel remorse, he does sort of feel guilty. There really was no reason to use that word, although he still wasn't sure why it bothered you so much. Alright, so it's a slur. Big deal.

"If you're talking about Felix, I didn't sell to him, I snogged him."

He's not sure what answer could have been worse.

"And, what, that's your little boyfriend, then?", he spits, rolling his eyes as he holds your jaw even tighter, if that was even possible.

"No, he's not."

"That's why you won't kiss me? 'Cause you're trying to stay loyal to a bloke who isn't even your bloody boyfriend? Come off it."

"Hey.", you scoff, shoving at his chest. "Fuck off, yeah? You hate every single thing about me, it's taken being absolutely blitzed for you to even look me in the muggle-born-eyes, and you're acting like you can dictate what I bloody do?"

"I pay you!"

"For cigs, not to follow your orders like a fuckin' dog!"

"I just had to taste second-hand halfblood, so, I'm not sure who's going along with who in this dynamic."

"God, fuck off with this blood purist shite!", you yell, inducing a tiny smile.

Alright, he's just had a revelation. This is what he wants to find out from you. Your limits. Your boundaries. What it takes to tarnish your self-respect to shreds.

Not for a mission. Not because you're a mudblood. Just 'cause.

And he's pretty sure that the next moment — when you're about to say something stupid and he shuts you up with the hardest kiss probably known to mankind — that he's one step closer.

That's good, though. He might need a jailbird to teach him a couple things for when the Dark Lord regains power.

Though he's not quite sure about letting you live, though. You've got too much on him.

But he does like you on him.

Decisions, decisions.

----

This was queued, so I may not respond immediately. I appreciate you, though!

[triptuckers]

unfamiliar - rooster

Request: nope Pairing:  bradley "rooster" bradshaw x reader Summary:  after a night out rooster wakes up in an unfamiliar place Warnings:  mentions of alcohol, swearing, rooster is drunk, mentions of being hungover, mentions of sex Word count:  1.9k A/N: rooster would 100% be a chatty drunk. fight me on this. anyways I rewatched top gun again and had this one sitting in the drafts. bit of editing, blasting my rooster playlist, and voila! enjoy!

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penny holds the door open as you stumble through. the cool evening air outside is welcoming after the crowded bar. you look over your shoulder to thank penny.

'drive safely.' she says.

'will do.' you say.

you make your way over to the small parking lot. it takes way longer than it normally would. the reason why, is because rooster is leaning almost his full body weight on you and he's a great deal taller than you.

as you're searching for his car, he's talking your ear off. half of the time he's talking so fast you can't even understand him. he's talking about a number of things, switching topics so fast you conclude he's just thinking out loud. maybe that's what alcohol does to him. it's been a while since you'd seen him this drunk. then again, nothing got him as riled up as hangman daring him to do a drinking contest. hangman was still in there, but you'd decided it was time rooster went home.

just as rooster starts to become a little too heavy for you, you spot his familiar ford in the distance.

'thank fucking god.' you mutter.

you start to make your way over to it, careful not to let rooster face-plant on the floor. when you get to the car, you remove his arm from your shoulders and lean him against the car.

'where are your keys, rooster?' you ask.

rooster gives you a lopsided, drunken smile. 'wouldn't you like to know?' he says.

'yes, in fact, I would like to know.' you say, getting slightly annoyed at him. you think about how long it's going to take to get him home. especially since the trip from the bar to the parking lot took so long already. 'I would like to know so I can get you home.' you say.

'my pocket.' says rooster.

you look at him, waiting for him to get them out. when he doesn't, you groan.

'for fuck's sake, rooster.' you say, approaching him to get the keys out yourself.

'woah there, slow down, honey.' says rooster as you reach in one of his jean pockets to get the keys. 'take me out on a date first.'

'just getting the keys.' you say. 'can you get in the car yourself?'

'yes ma'am.' says rooster, playfully saluting you.

you roll your eyes but fight back a smile. all of this takes you back to a couple of years ago, when you and rooster had just started at top gun. the two of you had quickly become good friends. you were both excellent pilots, which is why you weren't surprised to see him when you got called back to top gun to train for a mission.

meanwhile, rooster is getting in the car. or rather, trying to. he's opened the door to the driver's side and getting in with a lot of knocking his elbows and head against the car, cursing loudly as he does so.

you reach out to grab the back of his shirt and pull him back. when he gives you a confused look, you point to the other side of the car.

'the passenger's side, idiot.' you say.

'this is the passenger's side.' says rooster.

you chuckle. 'in england it would be, but we're still in the u.s. other side.' you say.

rooster gives you a very confused look, turns to the car, back to you, and then walks around the car to get in the passenger's side.

'this night is gonna be even longer than I thought.' you mutter softly.

you get in as well and start the engine. rooster is very particular about his car, and would never let anyone else drive it. but you know he'd be even more annoyed if you left his car in a bar parking lot for an entire night. after making sure rooster fastened his seatbelt, you back out of the parking spot and get onto the road.

'I don't know where you're staying 'cause you don't live here anymore, so you'll need to give me directions.' you say. 'you think you can do that?'

'yeah.' says rooster confidently.

nope.

he's too drunk to remember the way to his place. while you're driving, he's giving instructions, and you're following them. but after a while, you begin to realise he's not giving you directions at all. he's just randomly shouting out for you to go left or right.

as you stop at what feels like the hundredth red light, you turn to look at rooster. his eyes are halfway closed and he's tapping his fingers on his leg in a rhythm.

'never thought I would end up in this situation.' you mumble as you take a left when the light turns green.

rooster is still giving you random directions. he doesn't seem to notice you're not following them. finally, you pull up to your house.

'alright, here we are.' you say.

you get out of the car and walk over to the passenger's side. inside, rooster is softly singing a song. you smile and open the door.

'let's go.' you say.

you all but haul him out of the car. rooster leans all of his body weight on you again as you walk to the door. your nostrils fill with a mixture of alcohol, sweat, and rooster's cologne.

you make sure rooster doesn't trip over his own feet as you walk the few steps up to the door. it takes you a while to unlock it, but you're finally inside.

you try to walk to your bedroom without knocking over too many things. when you lay rooster down, it doesn't take him more than 30 seconds to fall asleep.

you smile softly and bend down to pull off his shoes. you wrestle the blanket out from under him and pull it over him. after grabbing a pillow and a blanket for yourself, you move to the living room to sleep on the couch.

it was a fun evening, despite having to drag rooster the entire way home. you were excited to start training for this mission. while you reunited with some other friends a well, you had been the most happy about seeing rooster again. you hadn't seen him for a while, and you were glad to see nothing had changed between the two of you since you both left top gun.

you knew you were in for some exciting flying, and lots of jokes during training.

when rooster wakes up the next morning, his head feels way too heavy. he squeezes his eyes shut and buries his head in his pillow, wanting to sleep a little longer.

but as he inhales deeply, he smells a familiar perfume. and it's not his. he lifts his head slightly, wincing at the movement.

he did not own soft, orange coloured sheets. as he looks over to his nightstand, he sees a digital alarm clock. when did he get that? behind it is a collection of perfume bottles, sunscreen, and a couple of books stacked on top of each other. rooster rarely read a book.

trying to ignore the ways his head throbs, he pushes himself up on his elbows, taking in the room. his eyes roam over the closet - much bigger than his. he sees pictures on the wall, of people he doesn't know. there are some with him in it, though. on all of them, he's standing next to a familiar girl.

his heart skips a beat when he realises exactly where he is. your bedroom. how the hell did he get here? more pressing: what did he do after he got here?

rooster sits up and swing his legs over the side of your bed. he notices his shoes neatly placed next to the bed. after putting them on, he slowly rises to stand and walks over to the door.

when he opens it, a beam of sunlight directly hits his eyes.

'ah, fuck.' he curses as he shuts his eyes.

'good afternoon to you as well.'

rooster peels open one eye to see you sitting at your kitchen table, a steaming mug in front of you.

'hi.' he says.

'I've got coffee or water, and a couple of painkillers.' you say, pointing to the kitchen counter.

'thanks.' says rooster.

he takes the painkillers, chugs the glass of water, then pours himself a cup of coffee. he takes a quick look around the room as he walks over to the table.

there's a folded up blanket on the couch, as well as a pillow. you've got your hair undone, not pulled back in a bun as is regulation. you're wearing an old top gun shirt, and you've got one knee pulled up to your chest wedged between the table and yourself.

rooster thinks you look so at ease here.

he remembers he's in your home. of course you'd be at ease here. it's been too long since he's been here. some things have changed, some haven't. the photo taken at the end of your time at top gun is still up on the wall behind the couch.

'can I ask you something?' says rooster, fixing his attention back on you.

'of course.' you say.

'how did I get here?' he asks.

to his surprise, you snort softly as you take a sip of your coffee.

'I had to drag your ass over here. you know, you're heavy.' you say.

rooster raises an eyebrow, gesturing for you to go on.

'hangman dared you to a drinking competition. you lost. I had to bring you home, but you couldn't remember where you're staying. so I took you here.' you explain.

'a drinking competition, huh?'

'figured i'd let you sleep it off.'

'thanks.'

'no problem.'

rooster is quiet as he thinks, trying to remember anything about last night. he remembers drinking at penny's. playing pool. or darts? then waking up here. in your bed.

but you weren't next to him. by the looks of it, you slept on the couch. he mentally scolds himself for letting you sleep on the couch in your own home.

'can I ask something else?' he says.

you nod at him.

'last night, did we...?'

he let's the question hang in the air, but you know what he means.

'what? have sex? rooster, I would never take advantage of you like that. you were shit-faced drunk. I got you inside, and you started snoring the second your head hit the pillow.' you say.

'I don't snore.' says rooster, his ears turning red.

'oh, you definitely do.' you say.

'I don't. and thanks.' says rooster. 'for letting me crash at your place.'

'of course. you'd do the same for me.' you say. 'now finish your coffee and get up, you're driving me back to the bar so I can pick up my car.'

rooster frowns. 'you took my car?' he says.

'yeah, yeah, I know, I drove your precious car. don't worry, it's fine.' you say.

'she better be.'

you roll your eyes at his words. 'what is it with men and naming their cars? they're always in love with them as well.'

'I'm not in love with my car.' says rooster.

'sure you aren't.' you say over your shoulder as you head into the kitchen to put your empty mug away.

no, rooster is not in love with his car. but his eyes follow you until you're out of sight, and a part of him hopes some of you perfume might linger on him for a little while longer.

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rulesHere’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Marit

[noctiva]

Penny for your thoughts, tiva darling??

Wanted to pick ur brain some more about our favorite deranged murder malewives :3 what do you think some of Toby and Ej’s favorite positions are in bed?? 🤔 (word vomit incoming bc that’s just what I do here ig)

I feel like Jackie boi would be into the more primal shit (go figure!!) like rlly into manhandling and just how absurd his size is compared to yours and takes full advantage of just wrangling you abt however he sees fit as if u were a little doll,,,like fuckin u from behind but towering over you and taking hold of ur neck so u have no choice but to stare up at this BEAST behind u just goin ham grunting and growling away….yum (I need to draw this skghfjfnfj)

But for our Toby!!!! Absolute mad lad. He’s actually a funny one bc I can see him liking to be a bit sweeter at times,, seeking out positions were he can see ur pretty face and watch the expressions and hear the sounds he pulls outta u best. But I cannot lie I’m a SUCKER for rlly mean rlly ruff and tuff Toby where he just wants to push u to ur limits and see how much he can make u endure. (This is why ur writing just DOES things to me) Like absolutely ravaging the shit outta u while keeping u in a headlock type beat LMAO ur drooling all over his bicep as he ruts against ur pretty ass and u get to listen to all those husky breaths and whimpers in ur ear abt how good u feel :((( #winning

Perfect counterpart to Jack having to be a bit more gentle and mindful of his strength no???? My princesses make me so crazy ✊😔 I’m unwell :’)

-🧃

oh I will GLADLY answer this

You hit the nail on the head with Jack. He’s well aware of the difference in both size and strength between the two of you. So, he’s careful - so not to accidentally hurt you - but he’s using his difference in strength to a FULL advantage

His favourite positions include…

You on top, regular or reverse cowgirl, he doesn’t really care - just so that he can grab hold of your waist and bounce you up and down on him like a doll. You don’t even have to do anything tbh, he’s doing all the work

Standing - is there anything better than having you moaning and clinging to him while he holds your body tightly and fucks up into you? For Jack, no tbh. He loves how you just go so pliant, grappling into him with trembling fingers as his claws dig into the meat of your ass

Mating press - c’mon, we saw this coming. Just absolutely pounding you into the bed dude LMAO he just loves bending your body to his will, Pushing your knees right up to your chest, damn near folding you in half as he presses down on your calves, keeping you riiiiight where he wants you

Doggy, but he’s a little mean with it - claws digging into your hips and pressing your stomach flush against the bed, forcing your body into a mean arch as he sinks into you over and over again. Sometimes he’ll snake a hand around your throat and pull you up towards him - back flush to his chest as you gasp for air

Toby on the other hand is a bit of a wild card tbh. He likes a little bit of everything - so long as he’s inside you he’s happy lmao

But if he had to choose…

Face off 100% - He just loves your pretty face, and wants to see it up close in personal when it scrunches up and contorts in pleasure. Loves making out with you while y’all are fucking too, so this is perfect. You on his lap, pressed so close he can feel every breath you take - moaning into his mouth with each roll of your hips

69 - LOLLL yeah I’m throwing this out here because dude loves to eat pussy, and what’s better than that? You choking on his cock while he does it. Big fan. Even after he cums he’ll still be up in it though, leaving you gasping and moaning right next to his dick as he fucks his tongue into you

Missionaryyy - He’s a lover boy, okay? Plus, he loves playing with and sucking on your tits while you tremble beneath him. Bonus points because it’s just so easy to bury his face in your neck and get his teeth sunk into your flesh

Backshots, but against a wall - Nasty fucker sksksjsk. There’s just something about the way you crumple. How your body slips further down the wall with each thrust, how your legs get shaky and your knees buckle, leaving him to practically hold your whole weight up as he fucks into you. Loves it. You look so pathetic.

Bonus round!

Toby’s a fan of fucking you in front of mirrors. Getting to see what’s going on from every angle. How your ass jiggles when you ride him, how your eyes roll back when he’s fucking you from behind. The type to get a mirror installed above your bed LMAO

Jack’s blind, so he’s big on touch and taste. Caressing and licking every inch of skin he can get at. Mapping out your entire body with his fingers and tongue.

Toby’s up for bondage. Like forreal, with ropes and gags, or just him tugging his belt off and using it to tie your wrists together. (Lovessss fucking you from behind like this. Using your bound wrists as leverage to pull you back onto him with each thrust)

Jack LOVES getting head. He knows he’s big, even your pussy can barely take him sometimes - so getting to hear you whimper and whine as you struggle to open your jaw wide enough for him? Exquisite.

Toby will fuck you quite literally anywhere if you ask him. Bathroom? Outside? On the kitchen table? Sure! Let him at it!

Jack’s a tease. Tbh the first 30 mins will probably just be him lazily dragging his claws across your skin. Feeling the goosebumps that raise on your body, hearing it as your pulse picks up.

[respectthepetty]

I can say with 100% confidence that I would hate Sorn if the actor playing him wasn't so fine. Look at this pretty bitch. I ain't saying no to making out with a man who looks that's good, especially when that man is fine ass Boat.

So I'm super proud of Jun for standing on his anger throughout the tenth episode of My Stubborn and proving he is not Captain Save A Hoe. Jun showed Sorn that if he didn't want to enjoy the consistently delicious meals at home, then Sorn can be community property.

All's I know is Jun is God's strongest solider for saying no multiple times and making his boundaries clear because it couldn't be me. Not ever. Never. *bites bottom lip*

But Jun repeatedly rejecting Sorn allowed us to see Sorn being messy in a light color and showing up at Jun's job to beg him to come back. Sorn changed his entire color in hopes of getting Jun back, yet he was denied! *eyooo*

But before figuring out where Jun was, Sorn had lost his mind (and his color) being isolated in his own little box of misery since only Champ was sparing him any pity.

Honestly, if it weren't for Champ asking Tai to give Sorn some grace, I think from the look Tai was giving Sorn, he would've packed up all of Sorn's shit and had him in Vietnam before Sorn could even shed one more tear over Jun.

But I'm sure Sorn won back some brownie points with Tai after telling him to get it in first; then, lock up his place. That's true friendship. Even though they are at odds, Sorn didn't question his friends' situationship and even encouraged them to have that good sex in his air-conditioned house before exiting.

However, him showing up at Pink Person Penny's place unannounced scored him no points with June, so I appreciate that Penny was looking at him like the crazy fool he is.

The girls probably got that good-good too after Sorn left, so basically, Sorn is the only one not getting any. *jajajajaja*

Which means Sorn was miserable back in his black when he finally caught a glimpse of Jun after weeks of not seeing him.

Yet Jun proved that he is stronger than a K-pop stan when their bias goes into the military because he did not budge!

There were several times that I thought this Heavenly Human was going to show Sorn some mercy, yet he continually twisted the knife deeper into Sorn's heart.

And that little sadist on my shoulder screamed "MORE!" like I was a spectator in Ancient Rome watching a champion gladiator getting torn to shreds. Seeing men cry from their own stupidity heals me.

But I'm going to give Sorn one single kudo for talking to Jun's boss, so Jun wouldn't get in trouble for Sorn starting his bullshit during work hours, which shows that he learned from their incident with June to not mess with Jun's internship.

Then Sorn returned the next day in black to beg Jun for kisses, but Jun basically told him the only way Sorn was going to ever kiss him again was if he kissed his ass while he walked away, and Sorn took that as a personal challenge.

(at that job just looking like an indie rock album cover)

Then Jun death gripping that white binder between him and Sorn was the epitome of leaving room for Jesus.

But eventually, love won, and Sorn showed he was dedicated to giving his heart lollipops to Jun.

And Sorn continued to prove he is just a pendejo in love as he showed up in red to rescue his man from the girlies and aunties lusting after his wounded body.

I'm going to give Sorn another kudo too because when he was trying to guilt trip Jun (who still did not give that man any relief) when he was fully back in his color and element, no matter how extreme he was being in his fictional scenarios, he still made sure that Jun was with him. He would be late every day seeing Jun. He would get fired from his job and couldn't get Jun his favorite foods. He would have to move home and fly back every weekend to see Jun. He would ruin his life for Jun.

But he just needed to know if his Heavenly Human was in this with him (and not moving on to Jom).

qué pobrecito

His Heavenly Human was annoyed and probably questioning what he did in a past life to fall in love with this moron in this life.

But the simple fact is that Jun is in love with Sorn and, thankfully, Sorn is now fully aware that he is in love with Jun, and has been for years. The pink = 💕love💕 lighting tells me so.

And they ended the episode looking ready to get married in their respective colors.

(even though Sorn still has a problem with listening and consent, but I cannot expect this sonso to be perfect after a lifetime of fuckery; gotta therapize the fuckboi out of him. Frankenstein's monster was not built in a day or whatever the Romans say)

. . . But hey, they are wearing each other's color next week!

[euphoria-looney]

This au makes my eyes watery, good job with the fic author🤩, this I can't help but be unsatisfied with the batfam, like imagine an au where (name) died brutally, like it was their birthday too. Ughhhhh pls author can you make this a fic???

👾🍑Anon

"When our hands grew cold, we just froze up~... I'm closing my eyes right now, I'm rewinding you again." Rewind by Wonder Girls.

(sorry the title is so long. I'm in love with the song.)

So Much More.

Special

Divider creds: @dollywons and @aquazero

“You made it just in time [name]” the salesgirl, Sherry, also business owner of the bakery cheered.

“Sorry, I know you have a date. I'll make this quick.”

The bakery was [name] 's favorite place since they had learned how to drive and even now when they have become famous, they make sure to drop by at least once a month making sure to give lots of cash into this place.

It held significance to them. Their comfort place.

Here they could do any assignments in peace, once when they were so nervous to play a piece at their concert Sherry had allowed them to practice at the cafe, it brought in a bunch of customers, and it gave them an ego boost certainly.

The glass cover that displayed all the sweets, Sherry, who would take in a personal request for cakes, whether that be a marriage cake, a gender reveal cake, or a birthday cake, she would do it.

Today would be a birthday cake.

The birthday person is getting it for themselves.

“Don’t fret that sugarplum. I wanted to stay just to give it to yah’ alrighty, here you go!” 

Handing over the cake that was in its plastic-designed box, it would be a surprise what the cake would look like and the flavor would be (f/f) Sherry knew them too well to make any other flavor.

“You didn’t bring anyone with you to keep you safe?”

I shook my head

“I wanted to celebrate it alone, not force my staff to celebrate it with me.” Sherry sighed, shaking her head.

“Well, I stayed behind to give you this cake and also say, happy birthday [name]” Sherry held her warm hands over their cold ones before letting them go.

“Thank you, Sherry.”

“Stay safe, [name]”

“You as well.”

Going on their phone they realized they had to run to the convenience store to grab some milk as they had run out of it the other day, and cake doesn’t taste as good without some milk, what they also didn’t expect was an armed robbery taking place at said grocery store.

It also didn’t help that Joker decided to attack not too far away.

Tonight would be a shit show.

They didn’t know what happened. One second they held their cake with one hand moving it so they could arrange where their grocery would go and the next thing they knew bullets lodged into them.

The cake splattered on the ground, comically, the top was intact with the words. 

“Happy Birthday, My Angel!” The top part is designed with frosted flowers. Then at the bottom part another message “The Spectacular [name]’s 23rd Birthday!!!”

‘Damn, Sherry did a good job with this one… it’s so pretty.’ [name] could only think in their head.

“Holy shit, you got them! Hurry, make sure they’re dead, and take the car, it's worth a good couple of bucks, no?” One of the robbers giggled and seemed feminine.

[name] could only stay on the ground feeling a leg kick their body flipping it over.

“Umm, just to be cautious, put a couple more in them.”

Three teens, two boys and one girl no older than 17(?) did said action.

Too bad they didn’t hit any major organs so [name] was left to bleed out, moderately fast, but still conscious.

They at least planned a will, it wasn’t something they imagined would happen.

Profits are split equally among their staff and handing over their business to Astro and Penny to cooperate. And they’re 100% sure nobody would want their dead body. And a bunch of donations to the Bakery, orphanages, shelters, and a personal share to Sherry.

“Hey, what’s with this car, fingerprint to start?!”

“Damn it, come on! Nightwing and Robin are coming over here!”

“I thought the Joker was distracting them!”

"We took too long, idiot! Crap the cops in front of us!”

“Put your hands in the air!”

“Search the area,” Nightwing told Robin.

“I was already doing that.” Robin sassed back.

“Holy shit! [name]?!” Nightwing spotted their body lying there.

“Hey! Hey! Stay with me!” He gently shook them.

“Stop that… you’ll make it worse.” They weakly shoved him, rasping out their words.

“What happened?!” Nightwing was afraid, afraid for his sibling, the one that had left the house 5 years ago, the sibling he’d never hang out with.

“You got to press on the wound to stop the bleeding…” They choked up before spitting out blood. It stuck on their chin, eyes slowly blinking.

They wanted to laugh. Maybe this is what frogs feel like blinking.

“I know that! Stop talking!” He squeezed them tighter, hoping to stop the blood by a bit. The sound and the pain made [name] wince though.

“Shit, I’m sorry, big brother is so sorry for yelling at you, I’m so sorry for everything, just hold on, please just hold on” 

[name] was going into a hysterical state at this moment. What are you sorry for? As a vigilante not being able to save a civilian? Or is it the years of neglect? 

“Did you find something?” Robin came over, only to be shocked himself.

“[name]-!”

“Don’t just stand there! Call for backup! Someone! Anyone!” Nightwing yelled.

“Don’t worry, I’m right here… I’ve got you.” Nightwing kept muttering to them, holding them close but… god, it wouldn’t stop flowing out. 

The blood.

“Hey, Dick?” That caught Nightwing- otherwise your big brother Dick off guard, you knew his identity?

“How-“

“I don’t wanna die…”

He froze suddenly feeling their body shake as their hot tear slipped out of their eye and onto his shoulder.

“Don’t say that, you won’t, I wouldn’t allow that…” 

Their sniffles were never-ending as they used whatever strength they had to grip his back.

“I want my mama…” they cried rubbing their head on his shoulder.

Dick could also feel tears well up in his eyes.

This isn’t how he thought he’d meet you again, but did he ever think he was going to meet you again?

He promised after this he’d never leave you alone.

All those years you’d chased after him why didn’t he try to also put in effort?

“… could you do me a favor?” They suddenly asked.

“Anything.” He answered immediately.

“Could you sing me happy birthday’?” They started taking short, shallow breaths.

Dick trembled before looking over to see the nicely decorated cake.

“Happy birthday to you~” he starts

“Happy birth-“ their hands start to drop.

“[name]!-“

“Keep going… keep going even when my hands drop, until you finish.” They clutch onto him, lower now, but they still gave him comfort even at this moment.

"Alright, alright." He nodded. "Don't think of anything, don't say anything, not even a word. Just give me a smile, " he asked in return.

They complied. Even in this abnormal situation they still wanted to celebrate their stupid birthday.

“Happy birthday, dear [name]~” he could hear himself hiccuping from crying.

“Happy birthday to you…”

“Again.” They demanded, little tears still coming out.

And like they commanded he obeyed, he kept singing to them even when their hand finally fell and their breathing stopped.

Even when they felt cold as a corpse.

He kept singing.

Hugging them tightly, no matter how limp they seem to be.

"Hey Dick, anything important tomorrow?" A small [name] appeared tugged on his shirt.

"Yeah sorry [name], Damian asked me to do something with him before you did, you understand right? You're older and Damian- he's been through a lot, hm?" Dick ruffled their hair.

"But it's-"

"Sorry, I have to leave now!" News broke out that another villain caused a ruckus in this city.

[name] could only rub their arm with their other arms, tears streaming down their face, as they could only sniffle.

"But... it's my Birthday..." They whispered to themselves seeing the retreating figure of Dick fade away.

—

It wasn’t even an argument that losing one of his children once was painful, so when Jason returned from the dead it only solidified his promise to himself that he’d never let another one of his kids perish.

It seemed he wasn’t the only one notified of what was occurring by Damian but everyone was.

When they showed up at the scene with medical equipment, it was too late.

Instead, stumbling into a Nightwing holding onto [name] 's corpse singing Happy Birthday to them.

—

At least they had a body to hold a funeral for this time around.

They ordered a glass coffin to preserve their body in.

Of course, out of common courtesy, they invited the people close to them.

The door to the reception slammed open.

(Why am I imagining the scenes in Miraculous with Adrien’s dead mom, ykw? Imagine [name]’s funeral exactly like that, the batfam are rich for a reason.)

“How dare you think you guys have any right near their body!?” In storms Penelope, and Astro also came in.

Penelope, a doctor at the highest medical institute known worldwide, approached the mourning family.

Astro had a cold look following behind.

Penelope took Bruce’s collar gripping onto him with pure rage.

“You guys want to play the part of the loving family now?! How about when they needed it?! Huh?!” 

Astro placed a bouquet below [name]’s coffin giving a prayer before putting a hand on Penelope's shoulder.

“That’s enough, pray respect to [name], there’s no point arguing with them. You should know but now with what [name] tells us, they’ve never cared.”

She scoffed before shoving Bruce away and patting herself off.

“That’s a lie! We did care for them.” [M/D] called after them right when they were walking out.

“Says the woman who kept pushing her delusional self onto [name], what? Were you trying to replace their real mother? Look at all that jewelry and that veil. Please, what is this fashion show for you?” Penny had to get held back by Astro.

“Show some respect! Be lucky we even invited you!” Damian retorted.

“Enough! This is a funeral, not your drama show.” Duke butted in, distressed by the situation, he didn’t know [name] too well but it’s not his fault… he didn’t even know you existed.

With that the silence ensued and everyone stayed to respect [name].

Here lies, [name], they did more than expected of anyone. From donating to building connections, there was so much more they could’ve done in their life. Wasted at the mere age of barely 23 years old.

Isn’t funny they died on the one day they were always alone on their birthday? Now everyone was there. Not to celebrate though.

May they rest in peace,

[name] [last name].

Penelope is 067 in my crossover fic and y'all know Astro and Sherry are the shopkeepers as well so yeah they exist in this au.

Halfway through I realized that I hadn't introduced Penelope in the other fic so... oops.

Also if the ending seems rushed or ass, don't mind it. ❤

Anyway hopefully the person who wrote this request sees this and everyone else too but just in case here is the taglist and anon 👾🍑, I hope you see this!

@cozmie @nxdxsworld @overcaffeinatedfreak @strwberryglass @leiiasurez @randomlyappearingartist @sirenetheblogger @a-lurking-fae @darktrashpoetry @frankie-moon3 @mynameisnotlaura @blackcat2270

[bunnithechubs]

an extra long one as compensation for me not posting anything slate in months <3

transcript below:

S: So, what do we think about this venue for the ceremony?

D: It’s a bit small but I like it, what about you babe?

[Seph and Darius look at Penny who is silent]

S: You don’t like it…

P: Well, I don’t hate it. It’s just not giving what I wanted for the wedding. W

S: hat exactly is throwing it off for you? You wanted great views and expensive. This is literally where the Feng’s got married. You don’t even want to know how much I fought for us to even get a tour!

P: I know you worked hard for this Seph, and I appreciate. Darius and I both do, but… it’s just not sitting well with me. We can keep it in mind in case the other locations don’t work out.

S: Darius… any support here?

D: Seph, I like the place but if Penny isn’t sold then we can look elsewhere. If anyone gives you a hard time then call me. I don’t want you stressing more than you have to.

P: I can already tell you don’t like this for the ceremony but how about the reception?

D: You already know I love this place, boys love it too, so I’m sold on a reception being here.

S: Penny… thoughts?

P: Can I be honest or do you want me to be nice?

S: I would love to hear you say you love this and let me put a deposit down.

P: I can be… convinced to host the reception here. I’m just not sold on the idea of making us all travel.

S: They do receptions here all the time, they have it down to a science. If you’re worried about travel they said they can get everyone here in under an hour.

D: I might need to hire them for my next trip, under an hour in this city? That’s impressive.

P: It takes a lot to impress Darius.

S: Does that mean we like this for the reception?

P: You can put the deposit down.

S: Thank god, that’s one thing off my list.

S: Thanks for meeting with me before Penny gets here.

D: Of course, everything okay? If she says no to this location I might lose my shit, Darius.

D: [Sighs] I know. I’ve been trying to talk to her about her picky-ness. I think it’s the baby. You know she’s not like this normally and she loves you.

S: Oh I know. However, I need you to stop being such a push over Darius.

D: I am not a complete pushover. I just know this wedding means a lot to her and I want it to be perfect.

S: It’s your wedding too and honestly she listens more when you speak your mind.

D: I know, but I think this might be the one. F

S: or all out sakes I hope so, she’s here so put on your big boy pants.

P: Hey baby!

D: Hey there beautiful, how are you feeling still sick?

P: Nope! I think it was just morning sickness. Hey sis, you look pretty- had a date with lover boy?

S: Thanks and he wishes. He’s in the valley but said he’s coming back this weekend.

D: Are you ever going to be nice to Jasper?

S: A man like that? You can never be nice to. Honestly, I think he might have a kink for being ignored.

P: Oh my god, this is place is beautiful! They do weddings here?

S: They don’t actually but Darius promised to donate enough money to keep them in business for a decade so they compromised.

P: So no one has gotten married here before?

S: I think like over a 100 years ago was the last event they hosted. How about you guys explore inside while I find my contact?

D: Sounds good, see you soon.

D: What do you think, love?

[Penny stays silent just staring at Darius]

D: What? You don’t like it?

P: My sister made you meet her early didn’t she?

D: [sighs] Yes.

P: What did she say?

D: She’s just a bit frustrated with finding the ceremony venue. Asked me to put my big boy pants on.

P: I figured as much. I can’t blame her I’ve been a bridezilla.

D: You have, so maybe you should be a bit more… aware of your sister’s feelings too.

P: I’ll take her out for lunch this week and talk with her.

D: I’m sure she will enjoy spending time with you that doesn’t involve wedding planning. By the way, she said she will lose it if you hate this place.

P: Well, it’s a good thing I love it.

D: Me too and I think it was worth all the no’s. Zeph nearly screamed when I told him we were looking at the botanical.

P: If Zeph loves this place then I would have said yes earlier.

D: Please do not tell you sister that.

[tulippanes]

from the host: first and foremost, thank you all so much for 300 followers !!!!! omg i love you all so much and im so grateful for the support; i didn't do a milestone event for 100 & 200 because im all honesty i was scared and still felt pretty new😭 so this basically me stepping out of my comfort zone LMAO anyway plz join or i will deactivate out of embarrassment

welcome to Love Island, with your host, Dar! fiji is beautiful, isn't it? hope you had a safe trip because things are 'bout to get a little rowdy. here you will find love, possibly heartbreak, or maybe you'll find no one at all! who's to say when the future is unknown?

𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝗽𝗼𝗼𝗹 𝗼𝗳 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝘄𝗵𝗼 𝗰𝗮𝗺𝗲 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘆 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗠𝘂𝘀𝘂𝘁𝗮𝗳𝘂, 𝗝𝗮𝗽𝗮𝗻…

Denki Kaminari, Eijirou Kirishima, Tenya Iida, Hitoshi Shinso, Tomura Shigaraki, and Tamaki Amajiki

𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘀𝗲𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗱 𝗽𝗼𝗼𝗹 𝗼𝗳 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁𝘀 𝘄𝗵𝗼 𝗰𝗮𝗺𝗲 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗠𝗶𝘆𝗮𝗴𝗶 𝗣𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗲𝗰𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲, 𝗧𝗼𝗸𝘆𝗼, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗛𝘆𝗼𝗴𝗼 𝗣𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗲𝗰𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲!

Yuu Nishinoya, Ryunosuke Tanaka, Asahi Azumane, So Inuoka, Kenma Kozume, Taketora Yamamoto, Morisuke Yaku, Koushi Sugawara, Kei Tsukishima, Tadashi Yamaguchi, Takahiro Hanamaki and Satori Tendou

YOUR SCENARIOS ARE...

1. You're coupled up! How does the first night go? 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 or 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭

2. Finding connection right away can be a little difficult to crack. What are ways he tried to bond with you? 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞

3. Aw, he's jealous of a new bombshell. What are his reactions? 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 or 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭

⤷ kenma kozume

POST CASA AMOR:

1. You stick, he twists.. What's his response? 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 or 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭

2. He sticks, you twist.. What's he feeling? 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 or 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭

3. You stick, he sticks.. Penny for his thoughts? 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 or 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭

𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘁��𝘆 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗼𝗶𝗰, 𝗵𝘂𝗵?

Katsuki Bakugou, Shoto Todoroki, Mirio Togata, Keigo Takami and Izuku Midoriya

𝘄𝗵𝗼 𝗸𝗻𝗲𝘄 𝘃𝗼𝗹𝗹𝗲𝘆𝗯𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗸 𝗼𝗳 𝗮𝗻𝘆𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗲𝗹𝘀𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝘀𝗶𝗱𝗲𝘀, 𝘄𝗲𝗹𝗹, 𝘃𝗼𝗹𝗹𝗲𝘆𝗯𝗮𝗹𝗹.

Tobio Kageyama, Shoyo Hinata, Daichi Sawamura, Testurou Kuroo, Lev Haiba, Tooru Oikawa, Hajime Iwaizumi, Koutarou Bokuto, Eita Semi, Atsumu Miya and Aran Ojiro

YOUR SCENARIOS ARE...

1. You catch his eye and he pulls you for a chat. How does it go? 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 or 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭

2. He tries to win you over, how so? 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞

3. It's up to the fans to vote who he couples up with.. and you're picked. What goes through his mind? 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 or 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭

POST CASA AMOR:

1. You stick, he twists.. What's his response? 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 or 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭

⤷ katsuki bakugou

2. He sticks, you twist.. What's he feeling? 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 or 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭

3. You stick, he sticks.. Penny for his thoughts? 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 or 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭

𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗮 𝘀𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂, 𝘂𝗻𝗹𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗱𝗼𝗻'𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗮 𝗯𝗲 𝘀𝗮𝘃𝗲𝗱?

Hanta Sero, Neito Monoma, Touya Todoroki, Shota Aizawa, Taishiro Toyomitsu (Fat Gum) and Atsuhiro Sako(Mr. Compress)

𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗳𝘂𝗹, 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗺𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝘀𝗽𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁

Issei Matsukawa, Akaashi Keiji, Wakatoshi Ushijima, Kiyoomi Sakusa, Shinsuke Kita, Rintarou Suna and Osamu Miya

YOUR SCENARIOS ARE...

1. He flirts, of course he does, but how does he do it? 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 or 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭

2. Temptations, temptations, temptations.. just how tempting is he? 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞

3. He admits his connections with you, wanna know about it? 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 or 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭

⤷ shota aizawa

POST CASA AMOR:

1. You stick with your original couple, how does he respond? 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 or 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭

2. You twist and couple up with him, what flows through his mind? 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 or 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭

𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗼𝘀𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗶𝗿𝗲𝘀, 𝗼𝗿 𝗻𝗼𝘁. 𝗳𝗿𝗲𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹!

can be any character listed above, or a mha/haikyuu character that wasn't listed! (will also accept characters from different media if wanted, i'll do my best to characterize them)

YOUR SPECIAL SCENARIOS ARE...

1. You're the bombshell! How swayed are they? 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 or 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭

2. It's Casa Amor week, you're time to shine! How will they react to your and your want to connect? 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 or 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭

don't know how to request? no worries, we got you covered.

simply send an ask, examples provided down below:

the villa w/ izuku midoriya, scenario one, drabble bombshell katsuki, scenario one, oneshot casa amor w/ akaashi, scenario one, drabble

or maybe you want post casa? then just twist it up a little:

the villa w/ izuku midoriya, post casa amor scenario 1, drabble

scenarios with option of drabble or oneshot won't be written again once one option is chosen (i.e. if someone chose a oneshot for a scenario with a character, it won't be written again as a drabble with the same character)

characters who have been requested for all scenarios will be crossed out!

END OF EVENT: JULY 31TH 2025 (may be extended or shortened)

[hooksbooks]

This is the second of two books I bound for @renegadeguild's Tiny Books Bang. The story is brilliant (like a confession) by kathkin (@penny-anna) and was typeset by @wolfsbanesparks. It's a Clark/Lois identity reveal story where Lois confesses her feelings about Clark to Superman. Let me tell you what, identity shenanigans is a trope I never get tired of no matter how many stories I read with it.

I had the idea to cover the book in blue bookcloth with the Superman symbol on the front, and then re-cover the book with white cotton shirting with a functional button placket so you could unbutton the shirting and pull it aside to reveal the Superman logo underneath. I thought about having the placket extend from the front to the back and having the symbol on the spine, but I was worried about longevity and if it would be awkward to hold the book open to undo the buttons so I ended up doing it just on the front cover.

I had some normal-sized shirt buttons I was planning on using, but luck had it that I found some tiny buttons at a garage sale the morning that I was going to sit down and sew the placket and buttonholes, so that was serendipitous.

I tried my best to balance the necessity of having enough wiggle room in the shirting so that you could pull it to the side and see the symbol underneath without having so much that it looked weird when the buttons were closed. I'm not sure I for sure succeeded--I think the book looks a little weird when buttoned shut. Possibly it would have worked better with shirting that had a bit of stretch in it rather than the 100% cotton that I used, or perhaps the book is just too small and it would have worked better in a larger format.

I used yellow polka-dot endpapers because the Superman symbol is very red-blue-yellow. I already had blue bookcloth and a red bookmark so I wanted yellow endpapers, and what I had was polka-dotted. I also sewed a charm in the shape of Clark's glasses onto the end of the bookmark.

Technical details:

Sextodecimo size (approx. 2" by 3")

Sewn-on endpapers

Rounded but not backed

Trimmed with a utility knife and a straightedge clamped down to my worktable

Things I especially like about this bind:

I'm really proud of the idea of opening up the "shirt" of the cover and seeing the Superman symbol underneath. It's a really fun idea, and I think I pulled it off as well as could be expected on such a tiny book.

The glasses charm is adorable.

Things I'd like to change/improve for next time:

The shirting pokes up weirdly at the top and bottom of the front cover when the buttons are closed. I don't think there's any way I could have improved things on this tiny of a book, but I probably wouldn't do it again unless the book was at least a quarto.

The shirting made the front covers quite thick. I added an extra spacer of cardstock between the cover and the endpapers to help the inside of the covers not be so lumpy, but I feel that they're still a little out of proportion. Likely this wouldn't be an issue on a book with a larger format.

Overall feelings: Fairly pleased. I didn't knock it out of the park, but the idea was good and I did a pretty good job.

[mentalmeles]

Well. While the brain rot has me, I wanna talk about some lines in ‘Trust Love’ that have been bothering me lately. Mostly how they blatantly reference Penny and how she just might return once more.

Yes, it’s that kind of Penny posting. If you don’t subscribe to the Penny 3.0 theory or think she should stay dead, please carry on and let me have my silly little thoughts in peace. Also this is 100% Nuts and Dolts propaganda. I will not apologize.

ANYWAY! Onto the lyrics!

Right now, your hopes are shattered / Just pointless ever after

This line obviously talks about the loss of hope. Penny, time and again, has been the character to symbolize hope. The most obvious time this has been done was during Jinxy’s auction in Volume 9.

Ruby is inexplicably drawn to the jade marionette, which we all know turns out to be one of Penny’s swords. (And ofc let’s not forget that weapons are considered an extension of their owners in this world.)

Without knowing why, Ruby wants it and tries to wager for it. But Jinxy asks for something in particular—something Ruby has lost.

“Enough hope to fill [a] jar.”

I also want to point out that the pov making it look like the jade marionette is fitting inside the jar as well as the star charm tied around the top are not at all coincidences. This is the show telling us point blank that Penny is the personification of hope. Or at least Ruby’s hope.

But Ruby just lost her. She has no hope left.

But in time, you'll find / Through love, your power just shines

(I felt the need to put this gif here since it is exactly what plays during these lines in the Volume 7 intro, so let’s just sit and think about the implications of that for a moment. Cool? Cool.)

When you don't know where to turn to / And you're sure all hope is gone / When the day you waited for won't come / And dark won't yield to dawn / Trust love and open up your eyes

Now these lines are what get me. They talk about Ruby losing hope and direction, caught in darkness. Now, while this is the intro song for Volume 7, it’s clear that Ruby has not lost her hope yet. If anything, she just got a big chunk of it back.

And I’d argue that even In Volume 8 when shit has hit the fan and it just keeps coming and coming, Ruby hasn’t lost her resolve yet. There are definitely moments when she comes very, very close to it and she falters, but she does end up maintaining it for the most part.

(I can't find it, but imagine the gif where Ruby is looking down at Penny's unconscious body and is tearing up while saying "It's all...too much." Wow. Such a pretty gif.)

(It's also funny how these moments where Ruby's doubts are the strongest are taking place when Penny is seriously wounded and incapacitated, now isn't it? Surely that's just a funny coincidence...)

But then she and the rest of team RWBY fall into the Ever After and, after learning about Penny's second death, Ruby's mental state just falls deeper and deeper.

But then the lyrics tell Ruby that all she has to do during this dark and harrowing moment is to 'trust love.' Who's love is she supposed to trust? The song has been relating to keeping hope up till now, so it's not a stretch to say that she's supposed to trust the love she had for Penny, platonic or otherwise.

Trust love, the truth is there, but sometimes in disguise

These lines are certainly interesting when put into the context that they're also related to Penny somehow. Personally, all I can think of is when Penny transferred the Winter Maiden powers to Winter. I'm definitely not the first to mention this, but it's awfully suspicious that the aura glow was yellow and not green, isn't it? Sure, there were motes of green, but that isn't what happened when Fria gave Penny the powers previously. So why the change? Unless the truth, while there, is disguised. The truth is that Penny is dying and giving up her power, but it's disguised somehow...

The way's uncertain but we're together / Movin' toward the light / When we trust in love and open up our eyes

Mention of Ruby being together with someone. Obviously, this could just be referring to team RWBY or the whole group being together, united under the mission of saving Remnant from Salem. But, again, when mostly every other line has been tied to hope--and by extension Penny--, it's hard to believe it's talking about that. So, maybe a reunion with a certain someone that hasn't happened yet? A reunion that will bring Ruby back towards the light--towards regaining her hope--once and for all? I mean, if Ruby's character arc in the second Justice League crossover movie is where her arc will go in the show proper, it's not too far of a stretch.

(The reason I mention the Justice League crossover movies is because Ruby's arc in the first movie was very reminiscent to the arc she had about her leadership role in Volumes 7 and 8. So, since she became very self sacrificing in that movie, diving headfirst into mission after mission with no regard to her safety, maybe that's what will happen in Volume 10 too? Maybe having the potential of getting Penny back will be the thing to make her stop?)

Anyways... I don't know if any of this really made any sense and I might just be rambling nonsense, but yeah. Some things that I noticed and felt the need to shout out into the ether.

Thanks for reading!

[veturiusofserra]

when you know, you know | s. r.

𑁤 synopsis: in an interview she opens up about how easy it is to be loved by Spencer, sharing the story of how they met and how his love inspired her music.

𑁤 pairing: spencer reid x singer!reader

𑁤 words: 1.090

𑁤 disclaimer: This was 100% inspired by something my bf said a while ago, and I love the song. I hope you will enjoy it too <3

“As we reach the close of our conversation, one thing’s bugging me. In your song “Margaret,” there’s this line ‘when you know, you know.’ Like, how do you just know someone’s the one? I’ve been through my share of relationships, yet I haven’t experienced that kind of thing you sing about. In your song, it’s all so clear-cut, like you can predict the future. It reminds me of a kid believing in the tooth fairy – sweet idea, maybe not quite real. But that’s probably what makes the song so good. It talks about this perfect love where everything just clicks, and all your worries disappear. Maybe that’s what I’m still looking for, or maybe it’s just for some lucky people. Either way, your song paints such a strong picture of love that it makes me wonder if I’ll ever have a ‘Margaret’ of my own.”

“It’s funny, right? The answer everyone gives is so simple: “you’ll just know.” Like love hits you like a lightning bolt, destiny calls, happily ever after guaranteed. But maybe that’s the problem. We get this picture-perfect idea of love from movies and books, and then we miss the real thing when it’s right under our noses. We set these high expectations, these checklists of what “the one” should be like. And if someone doesn’t tick every box, we write them off. It’s like searching for a flawless diamond, forgetting that even the most beautiful gems have tiny imperfections. Because guess what? We all mess up. You make mistakes, I make mistakes, everyone does. Maybe that’s what makes a real connection so special – accepting someone, flaws and all. Speaking of which, there’s this story I wanted to share with you.”

“We're all ears!”, the interviewer and the crew smile with waiting faces.  

“For the longest time, I believed I was destined to give love, but never receive it.  Maybe because... well, let’s be honest, I can be a bit self-absorbed, lost in my own head and neglecting others. But even with the no love life mantra, there was always this yearning for a family, a deep desire for children I could call my own. The ‘what ifs’ terrified me, though. Would I be a good parent? Would they be happy? Could I provide for them? Eventually, I resigned myself to a life of music, making people happy through my art, having a few friends, maybe a tragically young death – you know, the artist’s curse. 

Then, I found him. We both know Penny, but run in different circles. He’s in law, I’m an artist – about as different as you get, except for maybe a shared love of fancy vocabulary. We met at Penny’s birthday party, and while he claims it was love at first sight for him, I just thought he was the most handsome man I’d ever seen. But that was it. He was too shy to introduce himself, and I was sworn off men at the time. Funny how fate works, right?  We never crossed paths before, but after that night, it seemed like everywhere I turned, there he was. That’s when I decided to take a chance, and boy, I was so scared!

All those stories about soulmates and butterflies? They weren’t for me. Anxiety had been my constant companion for as long as I could remember. Butterflies just meant another battle brewing in my head. What I craved was peace, a steady hand to anchor me until I was ready to set sail. So, I built a friendship with him. We shared secrets, dreams, and vulnerabilities. He turned out to be a brilliant mind, a walking encyclopedia with an IQ of 187. Yet, he never made me feel inferior. He found humor in my quirks, and we seemed to complement each other perfectly. The more time we spent together, the more his words resonated: “We were designed for one another.”

And then, it hit me. Love. Deep, unexpected, and all-encompassing. It felt effortless, a perfect fit. But fear gnawed at me. It was all so new, so unfamiliar. Just as I was drowning in uncertainty, Penny, our mutual friend, reached out. She had something to show me – “Margaret.”

“She wrote it?” she asked, intrigued.

“Well, she started it,” I clarify. “Inspired by him, she penned the first lines that night after the birthday party. She couldn't shake the image of his longing gaze, a sight she’d never witnessed before. It felt sacred, a raw glimpse into his heart. The initial draft, rough around the edges, went something like this: ‘just writing for a friend. My shirt's inside out, and penmanship is messy. He met her on the rooftop, and she wore white. He said, ‘I think I’m in trouble.’ He saw flashes of the future.” A gentle smile graces your lips. 

“Seriously, that’s adorable.”

I nod, a blush creeping up my cheeks. “Right? Her words sparked inspiration within me. I wrote the rest, my mind consumed by-”

“By him.” she prompted, leaning in.

“He made love feel simple. Loving me was effortless for him, a stark contrast to the struggle I’d always imagined. It was like breathing, a natural and easy rhythm. He helped me discover the light that had been hiding within me all along.”

“There’s a saying,” the interviewer began, “to be loved is to be changed.”

I smiled. “I prefer a different one: to be loved is to be known. Because maybe, just maybe, he saw the affection within me all along, the part I couldn’t quite see myself.”

“You are indeed full of affection,” she said warmly. “Thank you for sharing this story with us.”

“Thank you for listening. I know it's a cliché, but there truly is someone out there for everyone. You never know what tomorrow holds, but deep down, a tiny spark ignites within us, guiding us towards that love. Trust it.”

“That wraps it up for our interview with the lovely Y/n! But before we say goodbye, there's one more message for her. Can we play it, Jonah?” A nod later, the studio fills with the sound of a familiar voice.

“Hey there, love. Just wanted to say congratulations on the album! You poured your heart and soul into it, and I’m incredibly proud. But hey, can you come home soon? Two days feels like an eternity without you. Miss my other half. Love you tons, sweetheart. And everyone listening, stream Ocean Boulevard! Dex says hi to mom, too.” A meow erupts in the background, eliciting a laugh from you and the studio crew.

thoughts? or prayers idk