#i have NEVER said anything about it EVER to ANYONE so ofc nobody would know

[gor3-hound]

don't hold your breath(nobody's home)

ft. leon kennedy x fem!reader

cw: 18+ content, dead dove, uncle-niece incest, non-con, loss of virginity, very minor blood description, forced alcohol consumption, alcoholism from leon ofc, reader gets slapped, age gap, guilt, one threat, fingering, p in v, non-consensual creampie, crying, idk leon feels entitled cause his brother sucks, reader hinted at having nice tits idk

a/n: sorry if this sucks ass... my motivation for writing has been non-existent w real life stuff n all the drama so... i feel like this is awful but here we are. title from razzmatazz by idkhbtfm... not proofread i'm sorry </3

word count: 1.9k words

Leon knew he had a drinking problem. He just hadn't realised it had gotten this bad. He couldn't even get his dick up with viagra anymore. He frowns as he looks down at the brunette he was planning to fuck, tempted to try and just push it in soft.

He ends up just kicking her out to drown his sorrows. He wasn't dealing with this shit tonight, not when he was seeing his asshole brother tomorrow. Pretty wife, perfect kids. His job pays better than Leon's ever will, and he didn't need to undergo years of trauma. Lucky bastard.

Leon does what he does best that night and drinks enough whiskey so he can pass out without worrying about the nightmares coming to ruin his night. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

He hasn't seen you in a good six years. You were still playing with dolls and shit when he last visited. Makes him feel stupid when he brings you a plushie as a gift. Clearly he forgot how time worked, cause he still expected you to be thirteen. You still hug him and say thank you, sweet as ever. When his brother said he'd be watching the house and looking after you, he didn't expect to see you so... grown. Too old to need a babysitter, really. Even if your parents are gonna be gone for a week.

He gulps as his hands settle on your hips, trying to prevent you from pressing against his hardening cock. Down boy. At least his dick still works. It just took his college-aged niece to get it up. Doesn't help that you've got your tits smooshed against his chest.

Therapy was gonna be a doozy this week.

He could only pray that this doesn't turn into anything. The last thing he needed was his dick being the thing that got him thrown into prison for doing something stupid to you, no matter how cute that body of yours is. That's a new one, he thinks, mentally slapping himself for even thinking about touching you like that. He'd never do it, of course. That's sick, and he knows it. He's just so frustrated. And you're hot. A total babe. Somehow, you managed to get a better rack than your mom. Must be the Kennedy genes coming in. Leon's got tits for days.

He knew he had a drinking problem, but he never thought he'd lose himself this much. He never thought about hurting anyone. He's not a bad guy. It's just that every time he tried to be with someone, he just couldn't get his body to react the way he wanted. That's what the oxytocin was for, he thought, already thinking about taking a swig of whiskey from the flask in his pocket. If only that fucking stuff worked on him. The part of his brain that controlled his cock seemed to be permanently on vacation, and his wires clearly got crossed somewhere if he wants to fuck his own blood.

Whatever. He could get through a week alone with his niece without any trouble. He's faced worse monsters than the ones making themselves present in his mind right now. He'd keep his distance, and all would be okay.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

That didn't work. Of course it didn't. You were just as clingy with him as you were when you were a kid, following him around like a lost puppy. He's convinced he's clutching the glass of whiskey in his hand hard enough to shatter it as you curl up against his side. His cock is throbbing, and he seriously hopes you don't notice how the fabric of his jeans is getting a little strained.

You really need to stop with those tits. He's gonna lose it if they brush his arm one more time. He's not sure what it is about you, particularly, that has him acting like a teenage virgin again, but his self-control is wavering by the second. He hasn't paid a single second of attention to the movie he was meant to be watching to keep his mind off of you.

Fuck this.

He takes a swig of whiskey that drains half the liquid in his cup in one gulp. Liquid courage and all that. Maybe he'd drunk a little too much while he was here, ‘cause his brain clearly isn't working right. Not when he's pinning you to the couch, kissing your neck despite your protests.

“Leon… Leon, what're you doing?” You force out, small hands pressing at his chest as if you'd be able to knock him off. Cute. He'd fought creatures six times your size. You didn't stand a chance. 

He starts undressing you, and you start writhing and crying, hitting his chest with clenched fists. He swallows the lump that builds in his throat, wiping the tears that fall down your cheeks.

“Shh… it's okay, I'm… I'm gonna take care ‘f you.” He murmurs, his voice slightly slurred from how much he'd drunk. You cry even harder when he presses a finger into you, making the guilt rise up faster in him. That's not fair. He's being nice. God didn't bless him with much, but at least he gave him a fat cock. You should feel lucky he's prepping you. Not making him feel bad.

“Hey.” He warns, shoving another finger in just to shut you up. You finch when he scissors you open. Poor thing. “That's enough. One more complaint for you, and I'll just force myself in.”

Shit. Now he really does feel like a monster. He's not drunk enough to handle the pure terror on your face at his words. He fumbles on the coffee table with his free hand as he lazily pumps into you with the other. Glass? No. Bottle.

Maybe you need some, too. Get you nice and pliant so you'll take his dick without bitching. Not a bad idea. He twists the cap off with his teeth, gulping some of the liquid down himself. He takes another mouthful before leaning down to kiss you, spitting the liquid into the back of your throat. He keeps your mouth on yours even as you try to jerk away, making sure you swallow it.

You really are adorable as you start coughing and spluttering. Such a sweet thing, you probably hadn't even drunk before. He lifts the bottle to your mouth, pouring some more into your mouth before setting it down, covering your mouth. “Swallow.”

He starts thumbing at your clit as he fingers you, relishing in the ways your whimpers turn into soft moans, your hips bucking against his hand. He manages to coax an orgasm out of you with a few more touches, a big smile spreading across his face.

“There we go, sweetie. See, that wasn't so bad, was it?” He coos, unbuttoning his jeans. The sound of the zipper has your eyes widening in horror, and he tuts softly. “What're you giving me that look for? It's your turn to take care of me now.”

There goes the begging and pleading again. It has his brows pinching together as a frown tugs at his lips. You really are his brother's kid. So goddamn ungrateful. He just took care of you, and now you just want him to… what? Fist his dick in the guest room?

He smacks you so hard your head snaps to the side, your breaths coming out in short gasps. You look better like that, tears stinging your eyes but your body completely limp. He can see the fight draining out of your eyes.

“I was gonna be nice.” He mumbles, brows furrowing as he lines his tip up with your entrance, forcing himself inside in one thrust. He groans loudly, shuddering as your tight heat envelops him. His eyes look down, locked onto your cunt as he fucks into you with long strokes. He freezes when he notices blood. He's not sure if he's happy or disgusted that he's your first. No wonder you put up such a fight.

You keep weakly begging him to stop, but your pussy is gushing all over him. It's not his fault he can't stop – you're giving him the hottest look he's ever seen, and your puffy cunt is so fucking greedy for his cock, sucking him back in everytime he starts to pull out.

“S-sorry… I'm so sorry…” He grunts, picking up the pace of his thrusts, groaning at the sound of your punched out moans as he drives into you with as much force as he can muster. You almost sound like you're enjoying it, but you're still fucking crying and he can't take it. His heart hurts.

“Baby, please…” He whispers, squeezing his eyes shut so he doesn't have to see the betrayal on your face. His arms tremble as he holds himself up, sloppily fucking into you. “I'm sorry… just stop cryin’, please…”

Every time his hips smack the fat of your ass, you're moaning out a ‘please’. With his eyes shut, he can pretend you're begging for more. That you like this. That is, until you start saying ‘stop’. He winces, but the movement of his hips doesn't falter.

“Fuck, baby… please stop begging.” He pleads, throwing his head back as his tip kisses your cervix. He whimpers as it makes you tighten around him, angling his thrusts to hit that spot each time he fully sheaths himself inside of you.

“I-I can't stop…you feel so… fuck. So fucking good. M'so close.” He groans. He can't even find the strength to pull out anymore. He buries himself balls deep in your cunt, grinding himself into your tight heat.

“L-Leon… please.” You say weakly, chest heaving with heavy breaths as panic sets in, your hands pushing at his chest. “Y-you gotta pull out, you can't… you can't.”

“What?” He breathes out, cracking his eyes open to look at you again. He looks genuinely confused. Why would he ever pull out when you felt so good? He can't bring himself to. “Baby, no. I'm cumming inside of you. Can't pull out now.”

That seems to bring your fight back. You start struggling under him again, punching him with all your strength. Luckily, that's not a lot. Especially when you're sluggish from your first time drinking and getting fucked. It's Leon's lucky day.

“Shit, baby. Don't look at me like that.” Or do. He's gonna cum if you keep staring up at him with that wide-eyed expression. “No need to be so scared, princess. I just… shit. Can't help myself.”

Doesn't take longer than a minute after that for him to finish. He buries his face in your neck, whining as he cums. His cock kicks inside of you, the warmth of his release filling every inch of you. You start sobbing all over again, slumping weakly against the couch.

He lies on top of you, his weight pressing you down into the couch. He pets your hair like you're a doll, his fingers carding through your hair.

“I'm sorry, baby. Forgive me. I'll be so good. Do whatever you want. Didn't mean it.” He murmurs, kissing your cheek over and over as if he's trying to get you to relax. He keeps it up until you fall asleep, wrapping you up in his arms.

When you wake up in the morning, you're fully dressed in your bed. You almost think it's a dream until you feel the dull throbbing between your legs.

[strawberryya]

The art of seduction - part one

pairing: jeong yunho x reader

synopsis: Since she left you, it feels like your life has been turned upside down, and you're struggling to find your footing. He sees that, and he wants to help. Or maybe it's not as pure as that. Perhaps he's just looking for a new plaything — an artist to inspire, or someone to slowly destroy.

word count: 4.5k

genre/cw: angst, smut, suggestive, fantasy, thriller and/or romance, yandere themes, supernatural au, faery au, leanan sídhe!yunho, human!reader, they/them pronounces for reader, I tried my best to keep all descriptions gn as well - I welcome all feedback on this area ofc, grief and death depicted/mentioned, specific smut warnings will be listed in each part.

rating: 18+

a/n: this has been a big project for so many people this year, and I would like to thank all of the inspiring people in this collab for all the fantastic ideas that has been contributed to make all of these fics possible. it has been a journey writing this, but this fic is only the beginning of the even longer journey that yunho and our mc will be going on ;)

this is part one of my first fic for the wonderful collaboration thrill of the hunt, hosted by @cultofdionysusnet - check out the other exciting and thrilling stories on the official master list here!

the second part to this story will be found here once it's posted. if you wish to be tagged in the continuation you can dm me, send an ask, or comment on this post <3

network tagging: @svthub @cultofdionysusnet @k-labels @kvanity-main

“Oh, he’s the most wonderful man I’ve ever met, y/n! He’s perfect… I didn’t think anyone could be so perfect until he came into my life. He makes me feel like I’ll never need anything ever again… like he and I are enough forever. I need you to meet him someday soon! I wanna introduce you to him, I promise you’ll love him too!”

You never got the chance to meet him. The more you think about it, the more you regret not making more of an effort to do so. Your best friend Anna had been in love with someone, and you hadn’t even had the chance to meet the man she spoke so fondly of. 

“I haven’t been feeling very good lately, y/n… I’ve been to the doctors and they say there’s nothing wrong. They said it’s all in my head, that I should go talk to someone… y/n, do you also think I’m making myself sick?” 

She only got weaker after that. 

And he had seemingly fallen off the face of the earth after she became bedridden. 

She said he came to visit, but she wasn’t in her right mind in those final weeks. Nobody had signed in at the reception. Nobody had seen a beautiful man with dark brown hair that gleamed blood-red when the sun shone. During all that time when she was admitted into the psychological ward at the city’s second-largest hospital you and Anna’s mom were the only visitors. 

They said she was mad…

You had wondered a lot about who he might’ve been during those times when she had talked about him as if she had just spoken to him, but nobody had seen anyone in her room. Had he been a fraction of her imagination the entire time? Or had her mind created a lie based on a man who had left her before her illness took over her mind and body? 

When she passed he was the one piece of the puzzle that you couldn’t let go of. If you had tried harder to meet him, would her illness have been caught earlier? Could it have been found and treated before it took her life…?

You’ve been staying late at the studio lately, trying to get through your feelings about losing her through your art. The shadows in the room seem to close in on you at every chance they get, and you don’t fight them. Hugged by the darkness is somehow better than being left so completely alone. 

The brush strokes soothe you like nothing else is able to. Fizzling seas crash along the shore, a looming tree stands barren and alone, and her face appears in the dark clouds. 

The only things you know to be true are that: she is gone, you are in pain, and you can only paint this one single picture. The lonesome tree at the cliff, watching the storms and waves trying to pull the ground away from beneath the large oak tree. You paint it over and over again, day after day, and you haven’t even paid any mind to when other artists have come and gone through the studio. People painted right next to you, people posed on the podium in front of you, and you didn’t care about any of it. All that matters to you is that you have been left all alone. 

Your best friend has died, and you can’t even do the one thing you have been able to do your entire life ー paint. You had pursued your passion fiercely, not budging even as your parents pleaded with you to be reasonable and try “having a career worth having”, and let painting stay as a hobby. It was how you had met Anna. She was a dancer, and she had gotten into the same art college as you. Back then you had both been carefree young adults, simply trying your best to survive on your own for the first time in your lives. Now, she has left you, with the bittersweet taste of the last conversations you had had with her on your tongue. 

“He inspires me you know, I’m just a dancer anymore when he looks at me, I become the air itself.” 

You had smiled and nodded at her nonsense, she seemed to be dreaming of it. Her limbs were too weak to be of use, but she had the same smile on her lips as when she performed. You had tried your best not to be mad at her for only speaking of this man even as she lay dying in a hospital, dreaming of her passion was at least better than dreaming of him. The tears had stung your eyes as you held her hand before leaving her to her rambling. 

It has been a while since her funeral, and you have practically been living at the studio. Home doesn’t make you feel any better, so you sleep on the small pullout couch in the corner instead. It isn’t meant to be slept on and your back is sore from the many nights in a row you have spent on it. But the art studio is at least comforting you more than home. You have too many memories of Anna in your apartment. Here you can focus on your art. At least, that’s the idea. You have had no inspiration since her death. It’s strange, she hadn’t exactly been the reason you painted, but everything that happened still affected even that part of you. 

You had begun questioning if you should give it all up, move home to your parents for a few months, and go back to your waitress job until you had processed all of this. But could you give up on your passion? After years of struggling to pass courses and hustling on the side of your studies just to make it all work? What would Anna say if she knew…?

You aren’t sure how it happened, it might've been a dream. It’s barely been three weeks since Anna’s funeral and you woke up with the clearest picture of a man you had never met in your mind. 

He’s handsome, just like she had told you. He has gentle features, and dark, captivating eyes that catch hold of your mind and refuse to let go. You can’t seem to escape the image of the stranger you know in your bones is the same man Anna had known. 

Sometime after the day you had first seen him in your mind, after hours in front of your easel and a blank canvas, you finally force yourself to pick up the brush. This couldn’t be the end of pursuing the only career you had ever wanted. You need to get over it and paint something, other than that stubborn tree and the punishing sea. His features burn your eyelids, and you see him as you blink and dream of him as you sleep. You can’t escape the visions, so you make him real, tangible. You create a portrait of the man in your head. Watching the finished portrait once you put down the brush. 

You look at it until it gets dark again, staring into his eyes until you fall asleep on the couch in the corner. 

You wake up with a headache. You groan quietly since you neither have the energy nor the will to get up and take something for the throbbing pain stemming from the sides of your head. Before you could even summon the will to get up despite this, you almost jumped off the couch in surprise. There is another person in the room. You’re still in the corner of the room, so the stranger might’ve missed that you were even there, you reason. It looks like a man from behind. His short dark hair lay in a rather messy way against the back of his head. He’s turned away from you, watching the painting you had fallen asleep staring at. He’s tall, his shoulders are broad. You panic, because what did this man want, and why was he here in the middle of the night?

“Who are you?” you ask breathlessly, jumping up from the couch, trying to see if he’s someone you know in the dim light. Could he be another artist here to paint at an odd hour? You don’t recognize him, but you aren’t the best at remembering people, so you’re not sure if you should be screaming or apologizing for your hostile greeting. 

The man didn’t even flinch at the sound of your voice. He didn’t seem like a threat, but then again, something about him creeped you out. You ignore the fact that he also intrigued you, and try to catch his attention again. “Hey, I asked you a question.” In response, he simply raises a hand as if to shush you. 

This man hadn’t just broken into the studio late at night – he was also incredibly rude. The air around him is so still, so calm that it’s giving you chills. You want to see his face. If he was going to murder you, you want to have looked the fucker in the eye so you can, at least, curse his existence. You take a step forward, grabbing a long paintbrush from the drying rack. Maybe you can get his eye if you’re fast enough.

“So aggressive, little dove,” the man finally says. His voice is smooth and deep. It’s an attractive voice, at least your murderer has a nice voice, not that that makes this situation salvageable. You’re still prepared to stab him with the wooden brush in your hand. 

“Wouldn’t you be aggressive if you woke up to a stranger in your bedroom as well?” 

You had tried putting on a brave face, hoping that he wouldn’t notice how scared you were. He seemed to see through this facade easily though, chuckling at your attempt instead of turning around to face you. “Not your bedroom. I’ve been to your bedroom and this isn’t it. Also, not really a stranger, am I?” 

Your breath won’t calm down, and your heart is beating mercilessly in your chest. This man had been in your apartment? And you know him? What the hell is he talking about? “Are you some kind of stalker you fucking creep?” you wheeze out, taking a step away from him. 

You desperately wish for this to be some kind of nightmare. 

When he turns around you’re sure it is because there’s no way the man you see in front of you isn’t just a fiction of your imagination. Dark hair, streaks of red when the light from the window hits it. Perfect lips, and captivating eyes. It’s him. The man in your painting, alive right in front of you. Your grip on the brush tightens, the bristles folding backward from the pressure of your palm. The world began to spin, he wasn’t real, he couldn’t be real. You see the edges of your vision blur and his smile widens at the visible panic you were displaying. 

He was right, he isn’t a stranger. 

“I think you might’ve heard about me, little dove. She used to talk about you ー the talented artist she had met in college.”

It couldn’t be, you hear the blood rushing in your ears like thunder. “Who?” 

He smiled innocently, “Don’t you remember your friend? Anna, I think her name was.” 

No. It couldn’t be true. The brush fell from your hand as you fell to the ground. Your already sleep-deprived mind couldn’t handle the thought that maybe the man Anna had spoken about was real, and right in front of you. Knocking yourself unconscious was the only thing your body could do to stop your heart from giving out. 

Have you gone mad as well? Maybe this was your way of grieving? Should you go to the hospital?

The questions spun in your mind. He was gone when you woke up. But the long brush in your hand and the bruises on your knees and shoulder felt like substantial proof that you had not lost your mind. He had been here, you know it, but who would believe you if you told them? Who would even care?

You decide to let it go, instead, you force yourself to go back to your apartment. A change of clothes was needed and you know that the lady down the hallway will be worried after not having seen you for days yet again. She had been at Anna’s funeral, wondering how and why your roommate had passed so quickly at such a young age. You hadn’t known what to answer. You still didn’t have your own answers as to “how” or “why”. At least, none that you could share…

You had managed to shower and get into some clothes when your neighbor knocked on the door. 

“Hi, Auntie,” you greet her as she had insisted you do ever since you and Anna had first moved in. She’s older than any of your real aunts, but remarking on that had felt incredibly inappropriate, so you had both simply accepted your fate and begun calling her “Auntie”. 

"Darling!" How are you? I haven't seen you here in days! I was beginning to worry. You know, this was just how it was with Anna, I didn’t see her for days and then she would show up saying she had been busy practicing and dating and whatnot!”

You don’t respond, forcing a smile. She meant well, but when she insisted on bringing you some food you wanted to refuse her. She didn’t mind your protests, “Oh, dear child, you don’t even know how sunken your face looks. You need some of my home-cooked food to get your spirits back up!” 

In the end, your refrigerator was filled with casseroles and little boxes of different dishes, and a bitter feeling, knowing you wouldn’t be here to eat it. You left your apartment as swiftly as you had arrived, not wanting to stick around long enough to see the traces of a life lived – a life you didn’t feel belonged to you anymore. You brought what you could carry in your bag back to the studio. 

You fall asleep again, after hours of trying to create something, only creating more pain in your back from sitting on the wooden stool all afternoon instead. It’s not like you hadn’t tried your best to think about anything else besides him, you had actually tried your very best! But in the end, your mind kept wandering back to the dip of his lips, and the grin on his face as you fainted. You painted the outline of his lips, over and over again. 

You hated him. 

Would he come back?

He had mocked you with his words.

Why had you felt such a rush when he spoke?

You never wanted to see his perfect face ever again.

Why couldn’t you stop wishing to see him just one more time? 

You woke from a cool hand on your hair. Slowly and gently he patted your head until you opened your eyes. It was still dark out, and he was back. Leaning over your sleeping body, a large hand caressing the side of your head. You scream, and he smirks. He shushes you, and you push him away angrily. 

“What the fuck are you doing?!” you shout. 

“You wanted to see me again, I thought it best to wake you so your wishes could be fulfilled.” His voice coursed through you, giving you goosebumps again. “Don’t be angry with me, little dove.”

“I don’t want you here.”

“Don’t lie. It’s not polite,” he retorts as soon as the words leave your mouth. 

“I don’t care, I hate you. Leave me alone!” You bark out the words, tears stinging your eyes. You don’t know why you’re reacting so strongly to him. 

His tongue darts out to lick at his lips in annoyance. “Little dove,” he chirps menacingly, “Lie one more time and I won’t help you anymore.”

He terrifies you. He’s beautiful, but nothing about him feels true. He’s like those beautiful flowers forever trapped inside glass orbs. You wanted to protect the frozen beauty from getting the slightest scratch and smash it to pieces, all at once. 

“Help me…?”

The gentle smile on his lips came back when you revealed that he had managed to pique your interest. “Mm, I help people. Artists, especially… it’s an interest of mine, the arts.” He winked at you, which caught you off guard. 

“And you came here to help me?” 

He nodded, but you weren’t convinced. 

“Why? I didn’t ask for any help from you.”

He looked around the room, gaze wandering over the canvasses you had painted in the last couple of weeks, all depicting the shore and the dead tree. All except two. The portrait of him, and the sketches of his lips. 

“You did that?” You ask incredulously. His gaze snaps back to you sharply. 

“Of course. Didn’t it feel different? It felt like you had been inspired by something again, did it not?” His voice is honey in your ears, but the sticky feeling is making you want to flee for your life. You don’t. 

“Want me to prove it?”

You frown, “What do you mean prove it? Are you going to inspire me to paint something on the spot in the middle of the night?”

“Tell me you want it and I’ll make sure you feel inspired for the rest of your miserable human life, little dove.” 

His wording is so unnatural, you think for just a moment. You don’t trust him one bit, but perhaps this is the way to convince yourself that he is indeed just some creep that you need to get away from. You take a deep breath before answering, “I’ll agree if you tell me your name.”

The man stepped back, you had made him flinch. You don’t know why you made that exact demand. Maybe you had just really wanted to call him something other than “the one Anna spoke of” in your mind. It hurt each time you remembered her name.

“A name can be more powerful than you think, little dove,” his tone warned you of something. He seems on edge for the first time since you met him. 

You don’t budge, his reaction only makes you more sure that you need to follow your gut. “Tell me, and you can help me.”

He hesitated before seemingly giving in to some innate need that you didn’t understand yet. “Yunho. That’s one of my names… Use it with care, little dove.”

You turned his name around in your mind, tasting the sweet taste on your tongue as you said it out loud. “Yunho… Sure, help me find inspiration to paint again.”

The same excited and menacing grin he had worn the last time you spoke now grace his lips again, and you feel you have committed a horrible mistake. 

You look around the room, the sun is rising and casting long shadows from the easels placed around the podium. How has the entire night already passed you by? You have no memory of sleeping. You look at your hands, they are covered in paint. Why had you been so messy? You couldn’t remember right away. You know that you have painted. Yunho had kissed your hand, you can still remember the heat of his breath on your skin. Then you had picked up your brush. You hadn’t been frightened by the fact that you weren’t in control of your actions. After the weeks of forcing yourself to do the most basic human functions to stay alive, having something else move your hand in your stead was somehow freeing. 

When you look at the canvas your breath stops. It’s him, you have painted him again. He’s not completely like himself, however, he is just as captivating in the picture as he is in reality. You had managed to capture his beautiful features, from the way his cupid’s bow dips graciously on his lips, to the way his hair gleams blood red when light shines through it. But behind him is something new, something you have never seen belonging to a human before. Wings, almost translucent wings, appearing on the canvas as a shimmer of light blue and white, adorned with shimmering ruby gemstones. He looked magnificent. 

“Pretty,” you hear his voice whisper on your neck before you feel his soft lips press against your skin. You shiver, it feels good but you’re still in shock, watching the man who’s behind you on the canvas in front of you. 

“How is this possible?” you mumble.

“You were inspired,” he responds calmly, brushing your hair away from your face from behind. “Did you enjoy it?”

You have a feeling that the answer to that is yes, but you also know you shouldn’t reveal that. “I don’t remember.”

“I think you did… I know you did.” 

The way he seems to know everything, even the things you don’t, scares you a bit. But you might be addicted to the feeling of his touch, you’re addicted to what he can do to you, addicted to what he makes you feel deep inside. He has given you your passion back, he has helped you paint again, and you had enjoyed it this time. This shouldn’t be possible. Why does this man have so much power over you that he could help you paint as you had used to, for the first time since Anna’s passing? 

There’s no way he’s human, no human looked like he did. In the morning light, he was even more dashing, even more unreal. You want to smash his perfect exterior to pieces and see the flower inside rot as the air hits its delicate petals. 

“Go away. I don’t want this,” you choke out, pushing down the sobs that threaten to escape your throat. He kisses your neck again, but you don’t move. “I think I’ll die if I don’t end this Yunho. Please, just leave me alone.”

“It’s possible, but maybe you’ll be the one who makes it out alive.” His honey voice rang in your ears as the day began and his touch against your back disappeared. You cried yourself to sleep. You knew everything was wrong, Yunho was wrong. But there was nothing you could do about it anymore. 

Two days passed without so much as a glimpse of Yunho. The hours of the night when he didn’t come to see you had almost been enough to convince you that you had truly gone mad. But then, suddenly, there he was, as dashing as ever. Pretty eyes watching you stare at an empty easel. 

A chilling chuckle escaped him, nothing more. He stands and gazes upon your hopeless state for a while in silence. You will never get rid of him, you realize. You’re not upset about it. You can’t be upset. Nothing feels real anymore. 

Yunho circles you, a predator watching his prey. You don’t flinch under his gaze this time. When he leans his lean body against the stool next to yours you feel disgusted. You weren’t upset that he would never leave you alone, but you deserved to know why, at least. 

“What do you want from me?”

“Want?” He sounds almost offended. 

“You’re not here just because it’s fun to sit around and watch me paint all day.”

He didn’t give you an answer, he just smiled at you with that perfectly enchanting smile of his. He’s dangerous, his beauty is dangerous. He leans forward on the stool, his face now scarily close to yours. Will he kiss you…? You can feel Yunho’s breath, hot against your lips, his gaze burning as he stares into your eyes and flickers down to your mouth. Do you want him to kiss you…? 

What do you want from him?

You almost forget that he hasn’t given you an answer when he bends forward, his lips inches away from yours. This time you do flinch. Can he read your mind too? No, your eyes stare right back into his, a flash of maroon tints his irises an unnatural color before it disappears just as fast as it showed up. 

His thumb drags across the side of your cheek, a small smirk plays on Yunho’s deceptive lips. “I’ll make you a promise,” he whispers, “I promise to make sure you’re motivated to do what you love the most, for the rest of your life.”

His breath burns hot against your wet lips. You want to kiss him. “A promise…?” you exhale, mind not quite able to focus on his words, but they sound good to you right now. You swallow, eyes flickering to his perfectly shaped cupid bow, his rosy lips, and the tongue that teases behind his plump lips. “What… what would I have to do…?” 

“A clever dove, I knew you would ask the right questions.”

You didn’t truly understand though, too distracted by Yunho’s eyes mirroring your flickering gaze, teasingly watching the way your hands fiddled with the brush in your hand. 

“All you have to do in return is say that you agree, and I will fulfill all of your wishes.” His soothing hand moves around to the nape of your neck, his grip gentle but secure. 

Will he fulfill them all? 

Does it even matter? Almost anything would be good enough to accept right now, at least you can’t think of something that would be worse than walking through life as the zombie you had been since… Since Anna’s death. If you accept his proposal, will you find out what happened to her? 

“I agree.” 

Your stomach flips when plush lips are pressed against yours. It seems he had already begun living up to his word. At least he wasn’t playing a trick on you when it came to that part. His hands travel over your body, he knows exactly how to touch you the way you like it. Has he been watching you for a long time? Or is it something magical, like those shimmery wings you had imagined he had? You’re not sure, but knowing could wait until later. Right now you have a couple of needs. Needs that Yunho had promised to fulfill. His leg firmly presses open your legs, strong muscle relieving some of the intense pressure that had built up in your lower abdomen since the thought of having him in this way had sprouted in your mind. You need more. You close your eyes even tighter as you let the brush fall from your grip. Hands moving across Yunho’s perfect form without hesitation. 

The sound of the brush hitting the floor didn’t reach your ears. You were already lost to the world of humans. 

“Do you believe in fairies? I do. I think there are things we don’t know in this world. Magical things. If I could go there I would, I think it’s a beautiful place, nothing like Earth. I’d want to dance for them…”

Reblogging and commenting is highly appreciated!! Hearing what you thought is what makes writing and being here overall so much fun! Ty and ily 💕

[all-my-ocs-are-evil]

more Grojband au drawings and headcanons bc apparently I only like making fanart for fandoms that are non-existent or on the brink of extinction.

(au ramblings after the keep reading)

Relationships

Platonic/Familial:

Lanes and Larry (nickname Lars or Lars Bar) got really close during middle school. They found comfort with each other bc they were in similar situations regarding their crushes. They'd sneak off after band practice to rant to each other about their band leaders and just wallow in self-pity. And that didn't really change as they got older. If anything, they got even closer, acting more like siblings than friends—they even got similar/mirroring piercings to match and wear coordinated outfits—, constantly ranting to or annoying each other at any opportunity. However, their audience doesn't really believe that it's just that (having given both of them the titles of casanovas for dating each other and their band leaders). And neither does Corey. Which, as you can probably guess, often leads being a point of contention between them.

Kim and Konnie: I've made them really close cousins. Why?. Because I can! jk jk but tbch I just wanted to add some variety in the lineup's dynamics. I'm also playing with the idea of one of them being half-white and the other being half-Filipino and having them be raised in different households to see how that would affect the different ways in which they'd interact. They are still close like sisters and each other's best friends, they were born on the same day and wear matching hair ties like friendship bracelets, but I want them to have things about them that make them different from being exact copies of their counterparts. However, this is definitely subject to change as I explore the concept more.

Corey and Carrie: acquaintances. Over the years their rivalry has seriously mellowed out and are more or less pleasant with each other. They will tease each other from time to time but that's kind of just what you do when you've known someone as long as they have.

Mina and Trina: Not quite sure where to put this one lol. Their relationship imploded senior year when Mina confessed to her and Trina responded in the worst way possible. Now Mina is doing school abroad and Trina had to repeat her last year. No one really knows what happened but rumor has it that Mina had said something so bad to Trina that it made her completely break. She doesn't hang out with anyone and she rarely, if ever, talks. She spends all her time alone in her room or at her job that nobody is even really sure she has.

Romantic:

Kon and Konnie: they are just happy and cute together. They started hanging out together more during sophomore year when Konnie's gym closed down and she had to go to a new one. They were definitely more awkward at first, they didn't really dislike each other but their friends did so they kind of just...didn't interact, but once they actually started talking they found they got along really well! They would often spot for the other and offer encouragement when working out. Inevitably they caught feelings and tried dating in secret. But that didn't last long (bc ofc it didn't lol) and they got caught. Both bands were more irritated than mad but eventually got over it.

Kin and Kim: a bickering old married couple. they are constantly 'breaking up' and then getting back together the next day. They are snarky and live for drama and gossip. They both think that the other is more in love with them and can control them bc of it. In reality, they are both equally whipped for each other but refuse to admit it. They constantly 'fight' to show that they aren't in love then somehow always fail miserably every time. They haven't made their relationship public and hopefully never will. They like having their fans think they're single and that if they found out it would ruin their images as the mysterious prince and princess of their respective groups. The bands' reactions to them range from exasperated eye rolls to mocking laughter.

Larry (yes, I'm sticking to calling him Larry) and Carrie: ??? Larry adores Carrie and she knows this. He makes it very clear and is willing to do almost anything for her. But how Carrie feels for Larry is unclear, at least that's what he says to Laney. She will treat him like a best friend and they'll hang out alone without problem, but she will have this weird distance about her that she doesn't close. That is until the cameras come on. During interviews and shoots, she will pull him close to her and say things that can be easily interpreted and romantic, but when asked to specify she will laugh and deflect the question. Then, once the cameras are off, she goes right back to being distant. He is unsure whether or not she actually likes him romantically or is just refusing to clarify for the sake of the band, but he'll lean into her touch whenever or wherever it's given. He seems to have come to terms with this being their dynamic and just...goes with it. There is one thing he knows for certain, he loves her and regardless of whether or not she cares for him romantically, he will stay by her side no matter what. Oddly enough, whenever the topic of Larry and Laney's relationship is brought up, Carrie refuses to talk about it. To be honest, she'll act like she has no idea what they're talking about and bluntly steer the conversation towards literally anything else.

Laney and Corey: Contradictory. Laney has essentially given up on forming a romantic bond with Corey. However, her actual feelings don't seem to have gotten the memo. She still cares for him so much it hurts. So much so that she's come to terms with the fact that she will never be able to be with anyone romantically because of it. Laney used to love the high of being in love, floaty and light, and now she feels more like a suffering addict, lost and panicked. She drowns in every touch and caress given to her but at the same time feels burned and scorned every time she realizes how simple and platonic they are. She can't blame him for not liking her back, but she's come to resent him for it. Just a little bit. She sometimes even wishes she had never met Corey. Constantly thinking about the life she could have had had she not been pulled into the living whirlpool that was Corey. She loves him, and he doesn't know it. But he holds her closer than anyone else. He is possessive of her and her attention. Whenever it's directed towards someone else, Larry especially, he pulls her back into him and refuses to let her go. This makes it even more unlikely for her to move on, in fact, it makes her angry. They argue about it often.

I have the beginnings of several scenes that explore these relationships and stuff but I'm not too sure I wanna share them just yet ^^; (my creative writing skill is a bit more than a little lacking lol)

[effy-writes]

Hiya! As you have helluva requests open I'd love to see a Beelzebub x shy m! reader oneshot. Manly romantic and a bit angsty

The basic plot would be her having a crush on the reader after spending more time with them, probably meeting at one of her parties. However the reader misses obvious hints and at first does not believe anyone would want to date them after being single for a long time.

ofc! this was a little hard for me to write (idk why for some reason) but i hope you enjoy <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beelzebub x Shy! M! Reader: I want to

You met Beelzebub at one of her parties. She offered to let you do a keg stand and was amazed about how you indulged. You had a fun time there, so you kept coming. Everytime she saw you she was so happy that you came again. You two would talk for hours at her party and she grew a liking to you.

Beelzebub sucks at being not-so-obvious hints that she likes you, so she was VERY obvious with her flirting. She would say how boring her party was until you showed up, thanking you that you showed up again, she even said she always searches for you because she loves your presence. You didn’t think much of it, and considered her as a best friend that cares about you so much.

She was confused as to why you couldn’t take hints. Bee wanted to ask you if you ever dated somebody and wanted to know the details (she’s kinda nosey, but you liked that about her). But, she didn’t want to make you uncomfortable so she never asked.

“Y/n! Holy shit I’m so glad you’re here! Everyone has been talking about you!”

“Oh? Good or bad things?” You nervously laughed.

“All good! Oh trust me they love you as much as I love you! And that’s saying a lot.” She kissed your cheek. “You wanna head upstairs to talk more? Or get into some more indulgences?”

“Oh fuck yeah! What were you thinking?”

Bee thought for a moment before saying a type of “love and truth” drug called Molly. You never tried it before and felt very comfortable with her, so you obviously said yes.

Beelzebub practically squealed and grabbed your hand with hers and led you up all these stairs into her room. You sat on the bed as you watched her open the baggy full of beehive shaped Molly pills. She gave you one and the two of you took it at the same time. You shivered as you dry swallowed, “Should’ve offered you a drink,” She giggled.

“It’s fine, how long does it kick in, Bee?”

She smirked, “Not long,”

As the minutes went by you two felt higher and higher, laughing at the smallest things. “You know, Y/n, I really like you.”

You tilted your head, “You do? Why?”

“Because, you make me feel alive and being with you is like a drug. A good drug. You make me feel warm and happy and…words can’t even explain how I feel about you.”

“I’m happy that you feel that way,” You genuinely smiled, “I like being around you too.”

“No you don’t get it, I want to date you.” Her eyes glistened.

“I think that’s the drug talking, Bee.”

“It’s not! Well a little, but I’m being genuine. I want to have a relationship with you.”

“I don’t think anybody would date me.”

“How come?” She got closer to you.

“I’ve been single almost my whole life and my last relationship was a high school one that lasted 4 months.” You frowned, “And I don’t think the Queen of Gluttony would want a (hellhound/imp), like me.”

Beelzebub sighed, “Y/n, I think you’re the most honest, sweetest, and attractive guy out here. You caught my eye the moment I saw you. If you don’t feel the same way I understand, but I hope you know how much I want to be with you.” She held both of your hands.

“I would like that. I want to be in a relationship with you. But I do have some like self esteem issues so..sorry about that. That’s why I didn’t realize you were flirting because I honestly think that nobody would want to be with me.”

“But I want to.” She brought her face closer to yours. The two of you didn’t say anything, she wanted you to kiss her. You finally got this hint and closed the gap that was between you two.

“Can I broadcast this to the party!” She had a huge grin on her face.

You chuckled and nodded your head, “Of course, Bee.”

[kunikame]

helloo! i love ur work and was wondering if i could request your last leo work with izumi and natsume? thank u have a wonderful day/evening<3

hellaur hellaur! im so glad you liked it! ofc you can dear, please enjoy!

[ leo ver. ]

bandaids - s. natsume & s. izumi

he was reading one of his spell books when you stormed into the house in tears, which was surprising in itself.

naturally, he got up to follow after you and find out what had you at your wits end. hopefully nothing a little magic trick couldn't fix.

when you agreed to tell him he made you both a cup of hot chocolate (or tea, whichever you prefer) and sat you down in the living room, ready to listen to whatever troubles could have possibly dimmed your shine.

you told him about your day and how shitty it was and mans was flabbergasted

what do you mean your boss mistreats you??? he couldn't believe what you were saying. this random dude with a company was being sexist towards his s/o? by what right??

"now now, kitten. if it was so, you should've told me sooner. this is nothing the mighty sakasaki natsume can't possibly fix with a little di-"

"you can't make him disappear, sume."

"what do you mean i can't?"

good job, now he's the one grumbling.

"i still don't like you working there anymore. don't you want to look for a different job? you could manage switch, though i don't trust tsumugi near you either. he's not as bad as your boss of course, but he's... tsumugi. either way, if anything like this happens ever again, please let me know sooner. i want to be able to help you. however, my offer of managing switch still stands. if you ever decide to accept it, we'll welcome you with open arms."

izumi already knew how bad your work space was from when he visited you one time, he never told you to quit because of how happy you seemed when talking about your coworker and how you were happy your paycheck was big enough to help him with paying the bills so it didn't feel like you were using him for his riches.

which, by the way, nobody thought in the first place. izumi wouldn't mind paying everything himself, he would never use that against you. he had tons of cash he didn't even know what to do with, it would honestly be the least he can do.

anyway, he figured one day you'd also realize you need a better job, and he's prepared for when that day comes. when today you weren't replying to his messages, he thought maybe the day has finally come. oh how right he was. he just wishes it didn't involve you having a mental breakdown.

"it's alright dear. come, let's sit down and talk about it, alright? please don't cry."

with each word that came out of your mouth his anger increased. he knew it was bad, he just didn't think it was to this extent.

"hm. your boss and coworkers need someone to talk some sense into them. what? oh, quit looking at me like that. i won't do it myself of course, i have a reputation to uphold. doesn't mean i don't know people who will do it for me. now you're glaring at me, but if you had listened to me and applied for that other job i told you about, this could've been avoided. ow! i'm just saying!"

if glaring fails, simply elbow him. always works. he may sound condescending or whatever but i promise he means well. he just wants you to be happy.

".. shi .. you 'nt..."

"what?"

he sighed, "i said i can't offer you a job since we just got a new manager- leo's girlfriend or whatever- but arashi mentioned she needs a manager or something like that. the other agency i told you about have no offers anymore, but since it's arashi i'm sure she'd hire you in a heartbeat. if you want, that is."

he's a little hard around the edges but he loves you more than anyone, and you can bet on that.

ੈ✩₊˚TAGLIST : @hugs4shizu @mikctp @meiquipo @ibaraluvr @venusflwers @tokusaatsus // ask/comment to be added/removed! (if you’re in bold i can’t tag you)

[magnusmodig]

||. an assortment of thoughts + headcanons concerning thor + previous relationships / his mentality surrounding ... being that one Resident Super Hot Guy :tm:

(none of these are fully fleshed out into words past these excerpts from my chats w a pal on discord... mostly, I just want to put them on the blog for later reckoning)

a. He was originally set to be betrothed to Lady Sif, though this was never really enforced or official so much as it was implied for as long as they've known each other. He'd have actually happily gone through with this if he hadn't met Jane??? but that's obvsly not what happened. He loves Jane and he would never choose another, ever.

b. Thor at no point ever expected he'd meet someone he'd fall in love with and trust with his heart, and he also sort of just… resigned himself to the fact that he won't marry for love, and that he WILL need to sire an heir whether he wants to or not (but he's super family coded so ofc he'd want kids of his own. It'd just suck for him a lot if it wasn't with someone he loves. he'd not blame the children for that, though.) / (more on that HERE)

c. Thor wasn't exactly a man-hoe or anything, but he is NOT a virgin in the slightest and lost that long before he met Jane, and this is from a variety of short relationships and the occasional fling… but when I say "short" and "occasional" I really do mean that… I don't think he'd get into relationships unless he felt there might be potential, but those never lasted more than a few days. He only would ever need those few to know if there could be something long-lasting.... (and usually they were done while he was out traveling the realms with the rest of his squad), I don't think he'd do flings and one-night-stands often but uh. Sometimes you really need a distraction and alcohol + s*x just kind of happen to go together in Thor's case bc he's an idiot and very careless with himself when it comes to… not being self-destructive. He'd find someone he okay with indulging, get drunk and have relations… but that said I think he'd always make it a point to treat those women nicely before, during, and especially afterwards, and he never left them high and dry bc that'd break his heart more than anything…. sooooo d. He's (unfortunately) used to being people's eye-candy and just kind of expects it at this point. When he's not perfect in the sense of "can do no wrong" or "a hero that always wins and can never be broken, no matter what comes his way", then it's just "he's so handsome and i boy am i having some Sinful Thoughts abt Prince Blondie over there" and thor just sort of …. He doesn't shrug it off, really. I think it actually makes him really uncomfortable. He just chooses to ignore it. Turn the other cheek, if you will, and give a wide berth and a blind eye, because in his mind there's nothing he can do about it =v=;;; To that end, he won't get terribly mad at anyone who does do express anything inappropriate towards him bc he DOES just expect it to happen. He reasons it away and elects to simply stay disengaged unless some lines are crossed. He does goes out of his way to dress modestly. Long sleeves when he can help it, always wearing some kind of shirt or tunic or armor, long pants (on earth, the most casual items of modern-day clothes he'll keep to are joggers. Never ever shorts.), boots, you name it. The most skin he feels comfortable showing are his arms w the sleeveless shirts but that's also partially out of it being easy to wear and great for training purposes. He actually doesn't like training w/o a shirt as an adult bc he has Learned ™️

e. Thor counts his flaws and ESPECIALLY whenever he sees or notices someone Oggling Him he'll go out of his way to remind himself of what they are. He's got a lazy eye that nobody comments on, his hair is darker than it was when he was a child, he's got callouses on his hands from the weapons he uses, when he was a child he had a gap between his front two teeth, he's got very thin scars from the occasional battle (not many, but they're there), - post!ragnarok there's also the addition of his lost right eye and eventual heterochromia … and he does it just to make a point to himself that he's .... not perfect, and if they can't spare the time to notice it then they're probably creatures to be wary of, in the long run

[foundtherightwords]

The Road Forgotten - Chapter 7

Pairing: Arthur Havisham (Dickensian) x OFC

A/N: I made Arthur bisexual and paired him with a female character in this. I know some writers have gotten flack for pairing Arthur with a female character (or reader), so if it's not your cup of tea, please walk away.

This is mostly based on the events of "Dickensian", but I've also incorporated some elements and characters from "Great Expectations". Most notably, Satis House is in Kent (as in the book) instead of in London.

Summary: A few years after his plan to swindle his sister ended in tragedy, Arthur Havisham is a shadow of a man, living in guilt and fear. When Elsie Bradford, a young woman also wronged by Compeyson, enlists Arthur's help to hunt down his former partner-in-crime, Arthur must face his demons and other strange, new feelings, to redeem himself.

Warnings: slow burn, angst, guilt, revenge, psychological trauma, mention of prostitution, mention of suicide/suicide ideations, some violence, a bit of smut

Chapter word count: 4.2k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Elsie cursed under her breath while she moved through the rooms of the gambling house, hanging on to Markam's arm. Three nights she and Arthur had gone to Staverley's, throwing away money at the hazard and roulette tables (she thought it safer to stick to the simpler games of dice and chances, rather than cards), suffering the dull company of Markham, who was a deadly combination of arrogance and stupidity, and still they were no closer to finding out anything about Compeyson. None of the gamblers even knew his name, let alone where he might be. They were told that Lady Staverley knew every gambler who ever set foot in her club, so if anyone had any information on Compeyson, it would be she, but their hostess remained reclusive and their request for an audience with her was met with shock. "Nobody sees Lady Staverley unless she wants to see them" was the consensus, often followed by "And those that she wants to see better pray." And now she couldn't find Arthur.

Something had changed in Arthur in the past few days, since the night they first went to Staverley's. For one thing, he no longer asked her to share the bed with him; instead, he insisted on her taking the bed for herself while he slept on a pallet, which he bought from the landlord and put on the floor by the fireplace, away from her. She could hear him toss and turn all night, but he didn't seem to be bothered by his usual nightmares, so she didn't press the matter. And she would often catch him staring at her with a curious look, a mix of sadness and longing, only for him to avert his eyes when she returned his gaze. And he was positively beastly to Markham, who thankfully was too much of a simpleton to catch his barbed remarks. If she hadn't known any better, she would've said Arthur was jealous.

But he couldn't be, could he? What would he have to be jealous about? She hadn't given him any encouragement. Of course, she had gladly shared a bed with him, but there was nothing romantic or sexual about it—in fact, that was precisely why she'd gone along with it. It was nice to sleep—or, in her case, lie—in a bed next to someone with no expectation of anything other than a good night's rest. She wasn't sure how she would feel if there was something else between them. It was true that he had endeared himself to her a great deal in the past few weeks, not least because he had willingly put her up, but a more intimate relationship would be... No. It would not happen. It would never happen. It was ridiculous to even entertain the idea, so she refocused on the task at hand: finding Arthur.

The rooms of Staverley's were a maze. They were no less lavish than the entrance hall, with the same dark, rich colors and an overabundance of gilt and glitter, but the lights were much dimmer, so that the longer one spent in them, the more one would lose all sense of time, of space, and eventually, of oneself. It took Elsie forever to find her way past the elaborate card and billiard and smoking rooms and into the buffet room, where she saw Arthur slumped in a chair in a corner, drinking glass after glass of wine, the old bleary look back in his eyes. The buffet was free after midnight—she and Arthur had made use of it by surreptitiously stuffing pasties and pastries into her reticule—but Arthur had been very careful about the wines and liquors. Yet there he was, drinking like there was no tomorrow. The sight made her angry. She extracted her arm from Markham's, made up some excuse to send him away, and approached Arthur.

"What do you think you're doing?" she said, careful to keep her voice low.

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

"I think you've had enough." She pried the wineglass out of his hand, but he wrenched it away from her grasp.

"Leave me alone," he grumbled. "You don't need my help. You said you needed me to get you into places, but you seem to manage that perfectly well on your own. You have no use of me. So leave me to drink in peace."

Elsie gritted her teeth. So he was feeling useless because their search had reached another dead end, wasn't he? Did he think about how she was feeling? Of course not. How typical of men, always thinking they were the only ones suffering. But she couldn't make a scene, not here. So she swallowed her anger.

"Come, let us go. We're not learning anything tonight anyway."

"What, and deprive yourself of Mr. Markham's company?" he said, mockingly. "Why don't you unleash some more of your charm on him? Perhaps you might learn something then. That's what you do, isn't it, charm men into doing your bidding?"

His words stung. A red haze of anger rose within her, making her itch to reach for the knife in her reticule and show Arthur what kind of "charm" she could unleash on him. But another emotion surfaced, dampening the fire of anger. Hurt. She'd thought he knew her, understood her, but it turned out he only saw her as another whore. It hurt more than she wanted to admit.

"Do you think I enjoyed that?" she hissed, hot tears springing to her eyes. "That I enjoyed having those men... ogle me, like I was a dish they want to devour? I've had seven years of it! But I had to, since you're just a useless, miserable wretch!" The moment those words left her mouth, she regretted them, but not enough to apologize. She wanted to hurt him as much as he'd hurt her. Gathering up her dress, she swept out of the room, ran all the way down the grand staircase, and was halfway down the street when Arthur caught up with her.

"Elsie, wait," he panted, grabbing her arm to stop her. "Wait. I'm sorry. I am so sorry. I don't know what came over me. Please—"

She tried to twist herself away, but his hold was too strong. "If you don't let go of me, I shall scream," she snarled, and he dropped her arm as if it was red hot.

"You were right," he said. "I am a useless wretch." There was no piteous note in his voice, only a resigned, infinite sadness. "I can't do what you're doing. I don't know why a remarkable woman such as yourself would wish to remain with me, so here—" He held something out, and Elsie realized it was her cape, which she had left in the cloakroom of Staverley's in her hurry. She looked at his plaintive face, his trembling lips, and found her heart softening despite herself. He did call her remarkable. And she had remained with him because she was alone and afraid, and because he had reached out for her and held her and kept her from flying to pieces. Because she believed that he needed her. And because she thought she might need him as well.

But she would not let him off that easily.

"Talk is cheap, Havisham." She was trying to sound icy, only for her sniffles to ruin the effect. Arthur rummaged for his handkerchief, but Elsie found her own first and wiped her eyes with it.

"I know that," he said. "I wish I could—"

"Could what?"

He lifted his head, and there it was again, the look of sadness and longing, except this time it was directed straight at her with an intensity that quite took her breath away. "Could what?" she repeated, more softly. She didn't realize she had taken a step toward him until she felt her skirt brush his knees. He was still gazing at her, his lips quivering with words that were fighting to get out, or perhaps with a different ache that she couldn't name but could feel, echoing deep inside her.

Then Arthur broke the gaze and looked down. "I wish I could show you how sorry I really am, for saying those horrible things," he said.

Elsie let out a breath, feeling rather deflated.

"Just stay away from the drinks next time," she grumbled, to hide how flustered she was.

"I will."

She gestured at the cape. He obligingly put it on for her, while she tried not to notice how his hands lingered on her shoulders for a moment longer than necessary.

"Though I don't think there is going to be a next time," she said, resuming her walk down the street. Arthur held his pace next to her. "This has turned into another dead end."

"Ah, about that, I might have learned something," Arthur piped up, excited at a chance to prove his worth. "It appears that Lady Staverley likes to deal with blacklegs and sore losers herself."

"That's all well and good, but we don't know if Compeyson has gotten into trouble at the club. Besides, we're not allowed to see her," Elsie reminded him. "No one is."

"No, I'm thinking that it may provide us with a means to gain an audience with her," Arthur said.

Elsie paused and stared at him. "Are you suggesting that we—"

"Cheat, yes." He nodded, a wild glint in his eyes. "And try to get caught."

***

 It took them several days to put their plan into action. First, they had to go back to Staverley's another night so Elsie could make a careful study of the dice at the hazard table, their dimensions and weight and feel. She knew there were places where she could buy loaded dice for the right price, but she didn't want to go out more than she had to—that prickling, nagging sensation of being followed never really went away, though it had been weeks since she last saw Cyclops and the Chimney. So, armed with some clay, some lead shavings, and paint, she made the replica dice herself, with a few more sides containing six dots. Her handiwork was not the most skilled, Elsie had to admit, but the replicas would be passable in the dim light of the club, and when she put them in a wooden bowl and rattled them, they made the correct sound as the real dice would in the dice cup. They weren't trying to win, but they also wanted to make their cheating convincing and serious enough to warrant Lady Staverley's attention.

Even so, Elsie's hands were shaking as they entered Staverley's. "Are you sure this is going to work?" she asked Arthur. "Or are we going to get thrown out, or worse, taken into some cellar and beaten senseless?"

Arthur looked worried as well, but he squeezed her hand. "If anything happens, I shall take the blame," he said. "I won't let you be harmed. I promise."

Elsie wanted to point out that he was in no position to make such a promise, but she was touched by his gallantry and didn't have the heart to dissuade him.

By the time they entered the main room, the hazard table was already quite full. As Elsie steered Arthur toward the crowd surrounding the green baize, she saw Markham from across the room, his moon face lighting up at the sight of her, but she ignored him. She had to concentrate.

They waited for a long time, but eventually, it was Arthur's turn to cast. Elsie gave him an encouraging nod. He placed his stake—a moderate sum Elsie had withdrawn from her bank earlier that day—in the center of the table and picked up the dice cup.

"My dear brother," Elsie exclaimed loudly, drawing the attention of not only the croupier but other players as well. "May I blow on them first, for good luck?"

"Of course, sister," Arthur said, suppressing a grin. "You always bring me luck."

He handed her the cup. She brought it to her lips, and then, with a fumble that wasn't quite exaggerated—for her hands were shaking terribly with nerves—she dropped the cup, which tumbled onto the carpet and rolled—with a little nudge of Arthur's foot—under her skirt.

"Oh dear, how clumsy of me!" she said in her silliest voice and dove beneath the table. While groping for the cup and the dice, she reached into the top of her boot, where the replica dice were stashed. "Where on Earth could they have gone?" She made the switch and strengthened up just as a footman approached. "Thank you, everything is perfectly all right," she said and handed the dice cup back to Arthur.

He shook the dice and threw them. Nine points. An excited murmur went up around the table, but the croupier frowned at the dice and raked them back for a closer inspection. Elsie eyed Arthur excitedly. The croupier signaled to the footman standing just behind her, who placed a respectful but firm hand on her arm and said, in a low voice, "Ma'am, would you mind coming with me please?" Another footman arrived to escort Arthur, and they were ushered from the table in front of the bemused eyes of the other players.

The two footmen took them on a circuitous route through the various backrooms and corridors and staircases that left Elsie completely disoriented, until they ended up in front of a door in some recess of the building. One of the footmen knocked, and an imperious "Come" replied from within.

They were led into a smallish chamber, decorated in the same deep red tones as the rest of the house and so filled with dark mahogany furniture that it took a while for them to notice a high-backed chair in front of the fire, turned toward the door at such an angle as to completely conceal the person seated in it. A footman went to the chair and, bending down to it, whispered a few urgent words. A hand wearing a black lace mitt appeared from the depth of the chair, gripping the top of a cane in the shape of a lion's head. "I see," a voice said, the same imperious voice they'd heard from outside the door. Then Lady Staverley turned to face them, and Elsie's mouth fell open.

From the grandeur of the gambling house, the fear in people's voices when they spoke of the proprietress, and the dark mystery of the room, she had expected someone regal or menacing, full of subtle threats, like Mrs. Hill. What she saw was a little old lady in a widow's cap and a simple black gown, with a cat sitting on her lap. Elsie and Arthur exchanged a look. Was this grandmother the fearsome Lady Staverley?

"Who do I have the honor of addressing?" Lady Staverley asked.

They gave their real names.

"Now, may I ask, why were you trying to cheat in my house?" the old lady asked, sounding as if she were offering them tea and sandwiches.

Her friendly tone emboldened Elsie. "My lady, I do apologize for that, but it wasn't our intention to cheat," she said. "Rather, it was the only way for us to get an audience with you."

"And why were you so desperate to speak to me?"

"We are looking for a man named Compeyson," Elsie said. "Meriwether Compeyson. We were told he often frequented your establishment, at least until about six months ago."

At the mention of Compeyson, Lady Staverley's eyes hardened, and Elsie had a brief glimpse of the cold, powerful matriarch underneath her warm exterior. "Mr. Compeyson was, indeed, a member of my club," the proprietress said, stressing the past tense. "Until he suffered a big loss and tried to pay it off with a forged check. Unfortunately, by the time I discovered the forgery, he has vanished. My attempts to discover him have been futile."

Another dead end. All that effort had come to nothing. Elsie could feel helplessness and devastation pooling in her abdomen, weighing her down like lead. But Lady Staverley was not finished with them. "Since you are also looking for him," she said, "perhaps you would care to share your findings with me."

"Ma'am," Elsie replied, "we have found nothing. He is our enemy as much as yours. That is why we came to ask for your help."

"Oh?" Lady Staverley sounded genuinely regretful. "That is too bad. You probably thought 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend' and all that, didn't you?" Then her voice changed, the grandmotherly tone replaced by a sharp edge that brought goose pimples to Elsie's skin. "Unfortunately, I do not believe in that. Your business with Compeyson has nothing to do with me. Your attempt to cheat, on the other hand, must be punished."

"But we didn't cheat!" Arthur protested. "We didn't win anything!"

"That is beside the point, young man." Lady Staverley stood up. It seemed to them she was expanding like a dark, terrible cloud. "You were seen trying to cheat. You entered my house under false pretenses. If I do not make an example of you, my reputation and the reputation of my club will be ruined." She nodded to the two footmen.

"No, wait!" Arthur held up a hand, the other reaching for Elsie's. "The cheating was my idea. Leave her out of it."

Elsie's heart thumped. She didn't expect the dear fool to actually keep his promise. He had no idea how ruthless such women as Lady Staverley could be. "Stop trying to be a hero!" she whispered, pulling him toward her.

Lady Staverley's smile was like a knife. "Ah, young love. How touching." She signaled to the footmen again, who stepped forward and seized Elsie and Arthur in their iron-strong grip.

Just then, a bell over the door started clanging, followed by a cacophony of voices. Only one word came to them, ringing loud and clear over the bell's frantic jingling:

"Raid!!!"

Lady Staverley immediately jumped into action. She moved to her desk with a litheness that belied her frail appearance and swept all the checks and promissory notes there into a safe hidden behind a portrait. "Get them out of here!" she shouted at the two footmen. "And thank your lucky stars," she added to Elsie and Arthur before they were dragged out of the room and deposited roughly at the bottom of a back staircase.

The footmen disappeared through a door leading into the main card rooms. Following them, Elsie and Arthur were greeted by a scene of complete pandemonium. Police officers, some uniformed, some in plain clothes, were swarming through the doors. The patrons were running in all directions, ignoring the servants' attempt to guide them toward the exits, while the croupiers hurried to cover up the tables and fought off the opportunistic or desperate players, who were trying to make a grab at the piles of counters. The officers' shouts mingled with terrified screams from the patrons and the sickening, cracking sound made by truncheons connected with bones.

Elsie tried to fight the panic rising to her chest. She had not just escaped from Lady Staverley's threat only to end up in a jail cell. Her eyes spotted several patrons, more sensible or experienced, headed toward a doorway hidden behind some drapery. She found Arthur's hand and dragged him along. "Come on!" They threaded their way through the crowd, dodging fallen furniture, ornaments, and bodies. Something sailed through the air over Elsie's head and crashed into the chandelier. Elsie stumbled as broken crystals rained down on them, but Arthur shielded her from the pieces and pulled her to her feet. Somehow they managed to make it to the door, follow the other patrons down a damp cellar, then up some slippery steps, and finally emerge into the cool night air behind the building.

It was slightly quieter here, though they could still hear the uproar from inside. The other patrons slipped off one by one, some into waiting carriages, some crept down back alleys and side streets. Elsie was ready to follow them, but she suddenly felt faint. Her corset was too tight. She leaned her head against the wall and tried to draw a few breaths as deeply as she could.

"Are you all right?" Arthur asked. She waved at him to say it was nothing.

"I've seen plenty of raids at Mrs. Hill's, and I never thought I'd say this," she gasped. "But thank God for the police."

"I know," he said, leaning against the wall and letting out a breath as well. "I'm sorry for suggesting the cheating. I didn't realize Lady Staverley would be so—"

"No need to apologize," she said. She was only sorry they didn't learn anything new other than why Compeyson disappeared, which was of no help at all. But it was no use mentioning that now. "It was the best idea you had."

"It was, wasn't it?" Arthur said, chuckling. "Though I was half afraid your terrible acting might have ruined it."

Elsie gave him a sideway glance and was met with a grin. He had dimples. She wondered why she never noticed them before, and realized it was because she had never seen a real smile from him until now.

"We were trying to get caught, remember?" she retorted. "I have no ambition of treading the board in the West End." Now that they were away from immediate danger, the whole thing sounded rather absurd. She started laughing.

Arthur put out a hand. "Shhh! The police may hear us!" But that only got Elsie laughing harder, and soon they were laughing together, giggling so hard they almost bent over, holding on to each other to stop themselves from falling down. Then suddenly Elsie became conscious of how close they were standing, their faces barely inches apart, how their hands were entangled, how their laughs had trailed off and they were smiling at each other like two idiots, not quite knowing what they were smiling at except for the fact that they were here, together, and nothing else seemed to matter.

A shout went up from inside Staverley's, and a flock of officers burst out of the cellar door, chasing after the straggling patrons. Elsie only had time to grab Arthur by his coat and pulled him into an alley between two houses. The police ran up and down the street, shouting, dragging anyone they could find out of their hiding places. Any minute now, they would come upon the two of them...

Desperate, barely knowing what she was doing, Elsie took Arthur's face in her hands and pressed her lips to his. Hopefully, anyone passing by would think they were two lovers snatching some alone time together, or perhaps a prostitute and her john conducting their usual business.

But after a moment, all thoughts of the police vanished from her mind, because Arthur's mouth had moved under hers. Slowly, hesitantly, he parted his lips and fitted them to hers, dip for dip, curve for curve, while his arms wrapped around her, bringing her closer. For a breathless, endless moment, she was aware of nothing but the darkness and him, who was both Arthur and not Arthur, not the pathetic creature who shook at a mere suggestion of a shadow, not the man who had tried to protect her, not even the boy who had laughed with her just a moment ago, but transformed into some seductive stranger, ready to sweep her off her feet with his passion.

Then her reflex kicked in. She pulled away. Arthur leaned forward, as if chasing after the kiss, but she put a hand on his chest, keeping him at arm's length so she could look at his face. All she saw was his huge brown eyes staring at her, looking as confused as she felt. His heart thundered beneath her hand, echoing her own. Perhaps that was it. Just the excitement of the night getting to them, nothing else. But surely, she hadn't imagined those lips trembling against hers and his hands on her back, just as she hadn't imagined the look in his eyes when she first emerged from the dressing room, or the way they had held on to each other, again and again and again...

"Are they gone?" he whispered. She put her hand over his mouth to shush him, and the feel of his lips beneath her fingertips almost sent her back into his arms. To distract herself, she edged to the mouth of the alley and risked a look outside. The street was clear.

Or was it? The last of the officers were running down the street, away from the alley, except for two men. And they weren't the police. As Elsie looked again, her heart stopped cold in her chest. Cyclops and the Chimney, one at each end of the street, were converging on the alley where she and Arthur were hiding, and Cyclops's remaining eye was fixed on her.

Chapter 8

[vesperpharsalius]

About your dassius stabbing post, I loved it but as a curly haired person, I just wanted to say my hair actually gets oily when it’s dirty. I cannot speak for all curly haired people but I just wanted to say maybe some hair types do(?)

Glad to see my Cassicurls digression didn’t go completely unnoticed, lol. No, but thank you, anon, for offering your two–cents. I personally haven’t had curls—and only 3a—since I was young (yet another of puberty’s crimes against me) so I’m admittedly reliant on online research and there’s lots of conflicting information. I appreciate your comment—and the opportunity to discuss Cassius’ hair, the often–sung hero of the Red Rising saga.

TL;DR is that you’re right, of course, and I agree that dirty hair is usually oily, regardless of type. But, for various reasons, the description still strikes me as odd. I’ll get into them, although I’m well–aware that absolutely—

—including you, anon.

Anyways! I’m mostly working off my Cassicurls headcanons; 3b/3a, medium porosity. Given the ways his hair is described throughout the series (bouncy and springy coils that hold shape, lustrous and luxuriant and remarkably low–maintenance), it seems accurate. (However, I welcome anyone to share their own thoughts on this extremely important matter.)

Now, if you don’t know anything about curls, Cassius has basically won the volume, resilience, and moisture lottery with this combination. It def stretches credulity. But Cassius is God’s babygirl when it comes to his appearance, isn’t he? I’m crafting an offensively handsome man. If he’s not perfect enough to inspire violence, I’m doing something wrong 🙃

Obviously, everyone’s hair is unique and it’s fair to assume that Gold hair is substantially different than ours. It’s better, bigger, bolder, bursting with vitality, glowing with the radiance of a thousand suns! Just ask Darrow, lol. He literally cannot shut up about Stangtresses and Cassicurls. (I have no complaints about this.)

But even Cassicurls—yes, even Cassicurls—can look greasy and oily if they’re extremely dirty, absolutely filthy and completely neglected, as they are at the end of RR. (Although Darrow disagrees—he is still beautiful, still more handsome than I ever will be—ofc, he is 🙄)

So, what throws me off about this particular line from the Dassius sex stabbing scene is that it doesn’t make sense, if you spend too much time thinking about it, for Cassius’ hair to be dirty. PB makes it clear that bathing and grooming are things that the particularly vain and foppish Golds do at the Institute in the later days of Darrow’s reign over Mars, when the territory becomes safer. Darrow mentions scrubbing himself to a gleam before he meets Diana, Antonia gives herself fastidious manicures and never ‘has a speck of dirt on her,’ combs and toothbrushes exist, Cassandra uses flowers to make improvised perfumes, etc.

Still, even if Cassius is washing—and I have to believe he is; no way he’s letting the side down this early in the game; he has a reputation to uphold—one of the common problems with raw curls is that oil gets trapped on the scalp and can’t easily disperse into the hair. And it’s hard for me to imagine that the Bloodydamn Curls™️—even superhuman and beautiful and powerful enough to kill with a single flick as they are—would require none of the maintenance associated with texturized hair. So, in the absence of moisturizers and conditioners and whatnot, dryness and frizz are coming for the Cassicurls.

(Will nobody think of the curls! They are imperiled! Are haircare products eligible as bounties? Asking for a friend.)

So, oil on the scalp, dryness, frizz, and (😱) breakage are all fair game, especially in such a humid environment. But oily hair, as in, the hair itself has oily residue? Curls are generally moisture–whores and rarely low–porosity, which is what persistent greasiness despite washing implies. And Cassicurls are def not low–porosity, given their description 🤔

But like I said, I let it slide, because Darrow is understandably muddled by Cassius’ 10–inch cock blade rearranging his guts.

(I’m fully aware that I’m overthinking this. Unfortunately, the brainrot is aggressive and irreversible at this point. Thoughts and 🙏 for me, plz.)

[melis-writes]

This though

After Sonny and Victoria start sleeping together, hooking up and having an intense not just sexual affair behind their spouses and families backs, Sonny stops sleeping with anyone else it’s only Victoria (and his wife ofc) for him now and Victoria is the same (it’s Sonny for her even though she’s with Michael)

It’s getting deep, serious and committed in here… 😳 A huge step for Sonny now that of course he realizes Victoria is the only woman he wants and needs and Victoria’s starting to realize the emotional impact of this affair too. ❤

It’s been well over six months since you and Sonny began an affair with one another beyond just sexual gratification and privately meeting one another here and there, but an emotional bond over such an intense relationship that it may as well be like a second marriage.

Sonny holds you close to his body; one arm wrapped lovingly around your waist and the other sipping his spiced rum.

Both of you are curled up to one another in front of the crackling warmth of the fireplace at what used to be Fredo and Deanna’s private residence at the  Lake Tahoe compound.

With prying eyes and ears away, no curiousity to follow, and Michael on a business trip to visit the Molinari family in California, you and Sonny have all the privacy, opportunity the two of you could ask for, just like a married couple.

“I’m surprised Sandra hasn’t said anything.” Your tone of voice is half serious, half joking as you raise your wineglass up to your lips.

“You really think that woman loves me?” Sonny chuckles quietly, setting his drink down. “I could be gone for days without a word and she wouldn’t question it or blink an eye.”

“Loves you?” You peek back at Sonny, intertwining your fingers with his free hand. “You don’t think she loves you?”

“Let me put it this way, baby.” Sonny gazes at you, “I don’t care if she loves me or not. I never felt something like that, even when I married her, but…” Sonny shrugs his shoulders carelessly, “better to marry an Italian bride you know well enough that your family also approves of than continuing to be a bachelor and sleeping around. Guess Pop is okay with my habits as long as I’m married.”

“Old habits die hard, huh?” You giggle quietly.

“Long gone, baby, long gone.” Sonny lets go of your hand to rub up and down your arm tenderly. “You know I’ve stopped all those months ago. It’s not in me anymore, I won’t do it.”

You could have very well guessed the same thing, but hearing it come out of the mouth of the most promiscuous man you know still surprises you like none other.

Sonny maintains eye contact with you, continuing. “They’re not you, Vic. Nobody’s like you. There’s just you for me and I can’t really have you, can I?”

Your eyes drop down to the loveseat as you frown. “It depends on what your definition of have is.” Your eyes dart back up to Sonny’s. “Maybe this is what’s meant to be for us.”

A grin begins to form over Sonny’s lips. “I don’t beat myself up about it because I have you here with me right now, don’t I? You don’t even have to share me, not with Sandra or anyone else. That’s how I want it. I’m yours, baby.”

“And if it was the same thing for me…” You tease, resting your head over Sonny’s shoulder. “Then we may as well run off somewhere far away where nobody knows our names or recognizes our faces.”

“Mm, that’s been done before.” Sonny kisses your forehead gently. “What’s stopping you? Mike’s away almost all the time, he ain’t questioning why you’re not warming the bed too often.”

Your eyes find Sonny’s as you nod at him. “You’re the only man whose ever taught me what real passion is—what it’s like to really be satisfied intimately, and you know that… But still, I love Michael, Sonny. In many ways, I do.”

You slowly pull your head off of Sonny’s shoulder. “He’s the father of my children and they’re all so young. If I… Ran off with you or something like that, I would jeopardize their future.”

“Mhmm.” Sonny’s grin instantly fades into a frown. “I know.”

“Your children are almost grown up.” You force a weak smile at Sonny. “My eldest are only nine years old. Maybe I wouldn’t care if Michael forgave me or not, but my children… I owe it to them to be in their lives like nothing’s changed, but in the future…”

“I see a future with you.” Sonny states, feeling his heart begin to race in his chest. “Maybe we don’t have a chance now but I can wait. I’ll wait for you. It’s worth waiting for you.”

You blush, unable to stop the smile from forming over your face as you set your wine down. “You’ll wait for me?”

“Yeah.” Sonny nods, taking both of your hands in his and kissing each of them. “’Cause you’re the only future I want, Vic. Whenever you want, just tell me. I'll do anything for you.”

[gamma-drac0nis]

yeah i still want to kill myself. there's really nothing worth being alive for.

god i'm a fucking waste. everyone else has their life figured out. everyone else has something their good at. and i fucking dont. i'm stuck. i'm a waste. i'm pathetic. person messages me, got their life together. but i'm a fucking wreck. cant help but compare, everyone younger than me knows what they want to do, and they have the skills to do it too. but i have fucking nothing, i want nothing. i'm a shell of a person. i really should kill myself. but i'm too much of a pussy to do it. my family would be upset, guilt is the only thing keeping me alive. and i wish i didnt have it. i'm just a letdown to everyone. nobody talks to me, nobody likes me, and nobody should. i deserve to be hated. i already am by a lot of people, but everyone should hate me, everyone should tell me i'm a fucking screw up. i want to kill myself. i dont deserve what i have in life. other people who are less fortunate should be in my position. and i feel guilty for that. i feel guilty for wasting my privileged life. "" i hsould kll myself soon, how bout that. cant say that tho, cant tell anyone how i actually feel. how much i hate myself. not that they'd care. but it'd just cause more problems for me. and not the good kind. i think i'd rather kill myself than get help. ugh i hate myself. i dont know why i'm alive, why i was born. i didnt ask for it, but i'm the one who has to deal with it. i never knew what to do, but now i'm completely lost. i hate myself and that will never change. i will never have an actual friend. i dont even know what that means. makes me remember. 1 fuckup i made. and my "friends" flaked on me. left me to rot for a week. nobody asked about me, nobody cared, nobody checked up. was just avoided. i coulda killed myself and i doubt they woulda cared. only cared about themselves. let's see how they woulda handled being ditched for a fucking week. no talking, no interactions, nothing for a fucking week. makes you fucking hate yourself even more. and then they come back at the end and pretend nothing happened. like they didnt just abandon me. i'm sure they talked so much shit about me. i'm sure they all said i'm a fucking freak. a failure. for an honest mistake that wasnt even entirely my fault. but i'm the only one who get's any punishment. and i have to take it, not tell a soul, not complain. dont speak up. accept that you're a fuckup and deserve nothing. they werent my friends, never were, never will be. they only cared about themselves and people they liked. not me. they fucking hated me. did everything without me. and then other people are like "oh you didnt go with X?" like no, ofc i didnt, they didnt fucking ask me. they never considered me a part of their shit. and it's still not changed. still not invited to anything. not part of anything. no friends. that's not ever gonna change. i'm gonna die before i make a real friend. a real friend. i dont even know what i want. death would solve everything tbh.i want to die :(((

[kipo-lacks-thoughts]

rant ☺️

thinking about how when I went to a luncheon there were large cardboard boxes for the kids to play with in the living room, and I immediately climbed in one. My mother scolded me for being so childish, "get out of that box, you're (my age) not five." and then I got out of the box and sat down on the bench. About 4 seconds later the lady that owned the house told my mother that that box had been practically lived in for the last 2 weeks days by a child my exact age am I not living how I should? Is the childhood given to me devoid of the youthful activities I should've been allowed? she looks at me weird when I do anything that isn't well mannered, and then says "well she's a teenager, teenagers" and she'll scoff at me in public. I'll remind her, im not. Im not a teen, im a child, and the fact im taller than her doesn't help. I act mature because I was raised to act mature.my height is beneficial to nothing other than outside opinions at this point. She'll tell me im too big for a playground, when I'll show her the sign and im still young enough to play. She'll tell me I need to act my age, but I am, im not as old as you treat me, woman. She'll talk to me about nothing positive ever, she only compliments me when it's necessary, completely visibly mandatory that her duty as a mother requires a level of support for a child, nothing she's ever complimented me on has ever came from her honest opinion and I can see it in her face and hear it in her voice. I put a selfie in a group chat and my friend told me I was beautiful. I almost cried, because nobody other than my mother or father has ever said that to me to my face in my life, and they do so less and less and less as the years go by. One moment that really stuck with me is when I told my mom I was painting 6 Potoos on canvases. She blankly said "ugh, what a waste of canvases." Those words are the clearest sentence I can remember anyone ever speaking to me in my life from that long ago. I got to art class and never finished the birds, honestly, they do look like shit, really, not joking, and it was genuinely a waste. Of paint. A waste of paint, not of canvases. Pretty fucking hard to waste two $2.50 packs of three 4x6 inch canvases. from dollar general. Another thing she talks to me about is her problems, and I listen, and I should, she deserves someone to talk to. But when I'm the only one she does about these things, it makes me feel like she talks to me as someone that's simply commanded to listen and not her child. When she learned I knew what sex was, it's game over. She talks to me about sex every other fucking day and it drives me insane. I don't want to know my father's cock size, I don't want to know the biggest penis she's ever seen and the smallest one she's ever seen. I don't want to know about sex with my dad and how annoying his libido is. I also dont want to hear about the politics, the government. 90% of our conversations are one sided rants about politics or sex. She sat down with me at a chick fil a this week and talked to me about politics for an hour. I wanted her to shut up so I could eavesdrop on the people behind me who were talking about Mario lore and shit. Another thing that disturbs me is her book collection. It's got so many books on parenting. I'll open one every once in a while, and like clockwork it's something that she's used on me. Nothing that ever made me feel anything but worthless ofc. She listens to podcasts talk about people. Usually descriptions of terms that would qualify on a lot of my friends or just random things like trends or jokes or memes. Like mewing. Doctor nurse momma did NOT have to teach my mother how to mew. Then there's things that would describe me, talking about furries, or different sexualities or genders, people that change their names. These podcasts never have anything true or nice to say about me or the people I know. Human beings who claim to be loving of their neighbors can still make them feel like they want to die. Don't listen to people that claim to be so good yet make you feel so shitty

[psychelis-new]

Hello lys!

So I see this dream where the 'theme' is recurring, the situations might differ. It's always a male showing interest in me. And the male is different more often than not in each dream. All the while I do nothing even though I know that the male is interested in me. I deliberately don't acknowledge that the person likes me. Sometimes the male is frustrated, sometimes they act obsessive and other times they try to drop more hints. And I see what they are doing but even so, I don't talk about it. I remember one even said "why are you denying your feelings for me?". I don't have any romantic feelings for anyone. And I know no one in my circle has any sort of feelings for me. I am 💯 sure that none of my friends feel like that about me.

Hello! Recurring dreams may suggest us we are avoiding to work on an issue/problem in our waking life, either because we don't acknowledge it or for any other reason (it's stressful, overwhelming...). To better understand the main message in these dreams, it's better to focus on one at time. Now let me be honest: having all these random different infos all at once it's confusing and doesn't help me help you. I cannot focus on anything specific as I would with one dream, and I can only give you random ideas/guesses to work on. Not to mention, it makes the process a bit more stressful for me. So please, if you rather have something more accurate/specific, send one sample dream and then add the possible other versions of it if you need.

Anyway, my guesses are: maybe you need to work on your relationships-related fears/(self)insecurities, like for example you may worry you won't be loved ever (maybe cause eg. you don't feel worthy enough or you somehow got used to not being loved as you wish to, it feels like it's something that goes back in time like to childhood) and so you also close off from love to start with, to protect yourself from the pain of being sure you cannot be loved. It's a valid self defense mechanism but if deep down you wish for something else (as it seems from the infos you wrote), it may not be worth to keep following it. Even if it feels dang scary to let go of this certainty you gained that makes you feel calm/balanced and in control. Even safe, I'd say (maybe you have experienced relationships crash easily and you don't want to feel that pain -again-).

You're so convinced nobody will ever find you lovable enough that you don't believe they may be in love with/interested in you in that sense, not even if they are dropping hints or telling you so. You may feel as if they're playing with you. As I was saying, it feels like, deep down, you need/want love but you just cannot accept it cause you feel it won't ever be real for you, you don't believe it will happen to you... and if it's really so, I am so sorry you have reached this point tbh. I hope you can realize that, even if there are bigger reasons behind this mental pattern of yours that seem to point to the fact that you are not lovable/you will never find the right person, you can and will be loved for real if you want and accept it. Not everyone will play with your feelings, and you'll be safe being vulnerable with someone one day. You can have feelings and survive also the pain of being occasionally unrequited or rejected (we're not made for everyone but it doesn't mean we're not made for anyone ever). I could be totally wrong ofc, but yeah...

Best of lucks and take care<3

[misfortuning]

rolls up my sleeves  it is Time,,,,

y’all ready for a confession? here it is: my PETTIEST pet peeve when it comes to Isayah is...........people assuming that he smells like a dog HDDHGKLSHDGD. I DON’T BLAME U, HE LITERALLY CAN TURN INTO A WOLF and i never bring it up because it’s just That Petty, but he hasn’t taken that form in a long ass time and coincidentally Isayah ALSO hates being compared to a dog on any level (for different and very valid reasons), and I figured since I already made a detail post on it, why not do smth nice for him and expand a bit more on it

SO. I said “unless he has shifted recently” but didn’t give a very good definition of that sjdklghsbsd. by recently I mean within a few days, although it also depends on how long he stayed as a wolf. The last time he shifted was The Mountains, which...was two years ago AHSDHLGK. Isayah’s NOT a werewolf, his body is genuinely (an extremely altered) human and the ghost that tried to possess him doesn’t smell like anything. also unless someone is with him AS he shifts back into a human or a few minutes afterwards, a normal human nose probably wouldn’t be able to smell anything unless, again, he’s spent an extended time as a wolf

now when he DOES smell like a wolf, u gotta remember that he doesn’t live as wolf, he doesn’t act like a wolf. he lives in the city and acts like a human in the shape of a wolf who has wolfish instincts but isn’t at all controlled by them. as such, while it’s definitely a canine scent, it’s much wilder than a dog, no funky yeast smell and much muskier, gives u a very Feral vibe hdhklhgsd. it’s also not going to be anywhere near as strong as a normal wolf’s scent bc on average he only spends a fraction of time as a wolf compared to human and he also doesn’t roll in gross carrion shit sjdsjgklhsdf. AGAIN, I DON’T BLAME PPL FOR CALLIN IT DOG SMELL cause fr who’s gonna say “oh u smell like a wolf” when there are dogs everywhere & everyone know what they smell like, but just so now there’s specifics out there of what he smells like when applicable afjdsslk

i’m also gonna get into why he hates being compared to a dog but i’ll make a new post for that bc it’s Serious and not me bein a petty ass HDHKSLGH

[spacexseven]

(1/3) god akutagawa… he’d be so. Severe, about the whole thing, you know? from HIS perspective he’s going through a long and arduous journey of emotional turmoil that you, wretched seducer/seductress have cruelly damned him to; but for you it’s like he COMPLETELY turned on a dime. he wouldn’t really be the sweep-you-off-your-feet type, like chuuya or dazai would be in this situation. when he gets the order to get close to you for intel reasons (and the whole time he’s wondering why this is HIS job, when has he ever been known to be personable?) he might take on the persona of a newbie in your line of work or a new tenant in your apartment complex and you he’s always kinda… there. staring at you and looking mad about something. but hey! hes probably just shy, right? why not throw him a bone, you think. you live to regret this. 

on akutagawa’s end, he doesnt know whether to laugh or scoff at your naivety. you really are making this MUCH too simple for him. like, come on now, discussing work over coffee? inviting him into your home? why don’t you go ahead and decapitate yourself for him while you’re at it. and what an irritating little insect you are, as well! constantly bothering him, talking to him, touching him… showing him affection, concern, genuine interest… completely ridiculous. he’s sure he doesnt dislike ANYONE as much as he does you.

OH GOD IF THEY PROTECT HIM??? FUCK!!!! he’d be SO touched. denies it, but he is!!! moved, even! after this, he gets really comfortable around you, moreso than he thinks he deserves. you’re just so. nice. he feels good when hes around you. the mission becomes more of a break from mafia life than an addition to it. he… likes you. no, he loves you. he loves you so much. if you express a similar romantic interest in him he’ll probably blow a gasket. he never thought he could feel this strongly about anyone (excluding his sister and dazai, ofc) 

inevitably, you find him out. hard not to, when his end goal in this whole matter was to utterly destroy you. like you said, he leaves you no choice in the matter of coming with him. he needs you, and you need him, in his mind. he can protect you! no one else will EVER protect you or love you or WORSHIP you the way he does! you don’t need anything else but him, don’t you understand? this is for the best! youre angry, of course. you hate him, curse him, try to kill him. and akutagawa feels like his entire world is falling apart. please, please, please, you can’t hate him, anything but that. he loves you he loves you he loves you PLEASE he’ll do anything to prove it to you, ANYTHING. his life is almost entirely dedicated to earning your affection and praise from here on out, kinda like how he is with dazai. you’ll see it his way eventually…. you have to….. he wont accept anything else.

instead of compiling these together, I will be answering them separately for each character :> i'll get to the rest over the week as well, just need to focus on them individually to really flesh out the ideas :>> anything under this au thing will be tagged with #spy au 🐟 (short and effective, i hope)

cw: yandere characters, deceit, manipulation, obsessive behavior, imprisonment, stalking

akutagawa doesn't really strike anyone as the ideal person to send to infiltrate some place and charm someone for information, but he has a surprisingly useful ability to sort of...blend into the background. he knows what's expected of him, sent on to a mission like this. he's not expected to flirt or coo or wink at you until your knees buckle and you fall into his arms (though now, in retrospect, that would have been a sight he would love to see). rather, what he has to do is simply exist. exist and observe.

it sounded a lot easier in theory because nobody had said anything about you. all he was told was that you'd have the information he needed, and you were not so high-up that it was impossible to talk to you, and not so unimportant that you would be useless to listen in on. nobody said anything about that damned smile and the easygoing charm and the genuine concern that radiated off you. nobody told him that you would pat his shoulder and tell him he was doing great, buy him coffee and offer your support for anything he needed. and nobody even mentioned how kind you were, unlike anyone else he's met that worked for an 'enemy' organization.

(well, it was true that you were kind to all your subordinates, but he refused to see that. to him, it was only him that you cared about right?)

then there was the fact that he could never just 'exist' when you were around. you had an eye out for everyone—not out of paranoia or control, but concern. you noticed him hiding behind the crowd, awkwardly standing by the wall, and you'd bring him closer to everyone else. you saw him, despite him not being any use to you. he was not the ruthless murderer the port mafia wanted him to be, or whatever dazai thought him as. he wasn't a rival you were deadset on beating or a guard dog that patiently sat by your feet, ready to tear apart anyone who dared even look at you the wrong way. not that he would have minded that, if it meant he could protect you from those wandering eyes. in here, he was just another one of faceless lower-rank members, loaded with boring paperwork and forced to run after everyone else.

but to you, he was the new member under your care. you used the name he was given for the mission, you asked him if he had his lunch. you brought him some of your favorite tea to try when you learned he liked drinking tea (and he drank every drop. how could he not, when you looked so eager for his opinion on it?) he wouldn't have expected more than a nod after a job finished in the port mafia, but here, he was being celebrated like he had done something. like you cared. and that thought tormented him.

at first, he pretended to hate you for it. with the appreciation, you showed, your open nature, and your sympathy—you would be torn apart and crushed in the port mafia. such traits would only lead to your demise. he couldn't show that he appreciated it because he didn't want you to think you could keep this up, and endanger yourself. he wasn't the only one trying to infiltrate your group, he knew, and if anyone else learned about you, they would try to worm inside through you. and then what? you'd never see through them, would you? akutagawa was terrible at espionage and still, he made it this far with you, hadn't he? you didn't even consider his true intentions, even after a couple of slip-ups, that he was convinced you were truly helpless. it was deplorable.

and yet...

he wanted to receive more of your attention.

it was very embarrassing when he realized what was happening. automatically running to you after finishing any task, looking forward to your check-ins, taking on anything to try and lessen your workload...what had you done to him? sometimes, he thought of what dazai would think of him now, acting like a pathetic little lap dog, deprived of love.

what really sealed the deal was the moment you risked your life to protect his. undercover akutagawa did not have an ability. that was probably why you stepped in so quickly to move him away from harm. but something about how you grabbed and lifted him, fearlessly navigating the chaos to bring him to safety struck him. something about how easily you threw aside your life for him, how immediately you jumped into action. and after all that, when you apologized to him and swore you would never let him be hurt again...

what else was he supposed to do?

akutagawa was no fool. reckless, hardheaded, maybe. but not stupid. there was no place for that in his life. but at the moment he was at a loss for words and emotions. this overwhelming warmth, this gentle embrace, this wonderful feeling—it was all so new to him. he was used to being the one risking his life to further the port mafia, not fussed over like...like his life wasn't dispensable.

your tight hold on him, your frantic apologies, your commands for someone to come help him—akutagawa had never felt so wanted before. never felt so desperate for something before, either, except maybe dazai's recognition. funny how he could tear himself apart and stick himself back together and dazai wouldn't bat an eyelid, but one little scratch on him and you're tripping over yourself to get to him, huh?

that incident is what changes everything between you two. suddenly, akutagawa is more present, more expressive to you. he talks more (still not a lot, but he's getting there), he even lets the occasional smile slip. he brings you snacks he knows you like to eat, and he just starts being around more often. always behind you, like you held a leash that was connected to him. akutagawa was sure now, that he loved you.

the warm feeling, the nervous feeling he got around you, the way he couldn't stop looking and how he always wanted you to hold him. he loved you, so much. he knew you didn't think of him as a lover—not yet. but he didn't mind. this was fine, for now. until he settled things with the pm so you would never have to know his true mission.

what he didn't expect to happen was you finding out so soon. it all happened too fast. he got a message that he had done his job and shortly after the group you worked for was eradicated. when you were finally introduced to the port mafia, you met akutagawa as himself for the first time.

and just as he feared, you were disgusted by him.

he should have expected this, right? you had every right to be upset after you trusted him so much. that didn't mean it didn't tear him apart to see the hatred in your eyes and the way you flinched away from him. he thought you would be grateful after he convinced them to let you be with him, and not punished like your friends, but you were enraged. you screamed and punched and you looked so hurt that he wanted to fall on his knees and apologize until you accepted it. he would take any punishment as long as you stayed. and you would stay, wouldn't you? when you saw the evil that lurked outside on the streets, the terrors that awaited you. you would stay when he convinced you because he would convince you. show you that he always loved you back, and that he would protect you like you did him. nothing had changed, except his name, really! it was still him, the one you laughed with and bought tea for. it was still the him that you had held in your arms after bringing him to safety.

why couldn't you see that?

[motorcyclebucket]

Hello, how are you doing?? I have a request if you don't mind!

Could you write a oneshot with Engineer mark x reader in which reader has dragon features (like wings, horns, tail, and forked tongue). And, like, the reader is able to hide their features well and no one suspects anything until they either yawn, or are laughing, and they don't cover their mouth. Or something like that, like mark sees their forked tongue. Maybe a touch of angst where the reader thinks he'd be disgusted if they told him, but it ends up fluffy and maybe they confess to each other??

Sorry if this is weird, you can skip if you want! Hope you have a good day/night :3

Ofc anon! Thank you for the request!

Words: 753

Warnings: Light angst, Fluff towards the end

===================

Ever since you stepped foot on the invincible, You kept your secret hidden fairly well.You hid your horns with your hat, your wings and tail hidden by a slightly baggy uniform and a long coat, covering your mouth when you laughed or yawned. Everything was going well. Nobody had found out.

That was, until he had found out.

All it had taken was one slip up, and an almost sleepless night causing you to be very tired the next day (or was it night? You could never really tell). You stood in front of the coffee machine in the medium sized breakroom made for the crew. Mark had walked up behind you, setting a hand on your shoulder. 

“Hey Cap, sleep well?” he asked while you rubbed your eyes. “Barely. Couldn't get comfortable, y’know?” you responded, yawning. In your tired daze you hadn't even realized you’d done it. It was only a few moments of the usually talkative Head engineer not responding did you come to your senses. You hadn't covered your mouth when you had yawned, revealing your sharper than normal teeth and forked tongue.

‘Shit.’

You looked over, Mark’s eyes wide as you looked at him. Questions filled your head as you scanned his face. Was he scared of you now? Did he hate you? You didn't know what to do. So you did the only thing you could do.

You ran away.

That's how you found yourself locked in one of the many supply closets of the ship, knees pulled up to your chest as you cried. Would he tell anybody? Has he already told anybody? You couldn't help the way you were born, a dragon hybrid, and you couldn't help the way you felt either, your anxieties of being outcasted for being different. It made your head hurt.

“Captain?”

Looking towards the door, you sniffled. Why had he followed you? Was there anyone with him?

‘No.’

He sounded concerned. Why would he be concerned about a beast like you? You heard knocking on the metal door, Mark speaking again. “Cap? It's Mark. Listen, I just want to talk. Are you ok?” You stood from your place on the floor, pressing the hand scanner on the side of the door. It slid open with a hiss, revealing a worried mark standing in the empty hallway. 

You grabbed him by his sleeve, pulling him into the room before the door closed again, leaving the two of you in the dimly lit room. “Cap, are you ok? You just ran out of the breakroom, I was worried.” You sat back down on the ground, pulling your legs back up to your chest wishing you could just disappear. “Why would you be worried about me? I'm a monster-”

“(Y/n), who told you that? You're the most (Handsome/Beautiful) person I've ever met!” he said, sitting next to you, laying his arm over your shoulders. “I was a little shocked, sure, but youre amazing. I've never met someone like you. You're unique in your own ways, that's why I love you.”

Loved you? How could he…? Your chest wracked with a sob as you leaned into him, him letting you cry. After a few minutes, you pulled back, beginning to stand, Mark following suit. You breathed out shakily, Beginning to take off the coat you always wore revealing a scaly tail with small spikes trailing down. Unbuttoning the top of your uniform, you shrugged the baggy material off, revealing not only a black tank top, but decently sized wings that sat outside of cuts made in the back of the tank top.

Mark looked on in awe, a smile coming to his face as you removed your hat, looking to the side. “I- I just thought you would want to see what I really looked like. I was scared to tell anyone-”

“You're gorgeous.”

You looked back up, a heat coming to your face as you stared back at him, eyes widening slightly. He stepped towards you, cupping the side of your face gently. 

“You're the most amazing person i've ever met,”

After a few moments of looking at each other, admiring different aspects of the other's face, He spoke up, barely reaching a whisper. “May I?”

You nodded, him leaning and kissing you, Rubbing his thumb over your cheek as the two of you kissed in bliss.

Even if it was only for a moment, you felt like everything would be ok, because someone knew, and you no longer felt alone.

========

hope this was alright!

[themultiimagines]

You’re the only thing keeping me center

A/N: Hi! I hope you enjoy this. It’s probably the longest piece I’ve ever published on this blog so I hope I did...okay?? Please let me know what you guys think I would really appreciate it. Anyway I’ll leave you to the gayness

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Warnings: Smut (18+ MDNI), jealousy (healthy ofc), thigh riding, cursing (let me know if I missed anything)

Words: 2.7K, the first part with italics is a flashback

You’ve never had a bond with anyone quite as strong as the one you have with Wanda. When you joined the avengers, Tony even warned you about the witch, which now thinking about that makes you quite angry. Wanda has only ever been kind and gentle with you. 

It started with sparring. Steve put you two as partners and it just grew from there. 

You grunt as your back hits the mat once again, the redhead giving you that confident smile that always gives you butterflies. 

“Damn you’re getting better than that,” you huff in defeat and she giggles. 

“Only ‘cause you helped me out,” she replied. You noticed she was still holding your hand, about to pull you up. She looks down and pulls back instantly, her cheeks reddening. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled. You shook your head, giving her a warm grin. “Don’t worry, I don’t mind.” 

Standing up, you also notice your bodies were very close as silence fell upon you two. You stared in her emerald eyes for what seemed like centuries until she broke eye contact. 

“I have to go,” she breathed.

Incidents like that started to happen more frequently. You two even started getting noticed by the public, like when you two would go get coffee before a mission or even just out with the Avengers and you two would sit with each other which made the paparazzi go wild. The sudden attention drove a little wedge between you two for a bit. She started to become distant, asking if you two could just stay inside. Sometimes she was gone on a mission she didn’t even tell you about, leaving you alone at the compound. 

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, Where is Wanda?” You ask to the empty room, frowning at no trace of the witch. 

“Wanda Maximoff is on a mission with Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff, Ms. (Y/L/N), but will be back later tonight. Would you like me to contact the quinjet and inform them of an emergency?” The A.I responded and you groaned. 

“No, it's fine.” 

“Very well, Ms (Y/L/N). Mr. Stark has told me to inform you there will be another charity party tonight, make sure you are well dressed and ready to be interviewed. The rest of the team should be back from their mission for this party.” Your frown only deepened, feeling a dull pang in your heart. Wanda was still trying to push herself away from you but why? It’s not like you two were actually hooking up or anything. Maybe she was afraid, you could understand why, handling a public relationship while being an avenger sounds very difficult and dangerous for both parties. You didn’t like this new feeling though. Something bothered you about this situation and frankly you needed a drink so maybe this party isn’t the worst thing ever?

--

It’s the worst thing ever. Judging by how many people showed up you could safely assume Tony updated the maximum capacity by the fire marshall, because you know this is more than dangerous to have this many people in one room. Not being the most famous Avenger however, has its perks. As you watched your coworkers get swamped by the millions of reporters, you sat at the bar, letting your drink go slowly in circles as you gently moved the glass. The occasional interviewer would giddily come up to you, asking you simple, tip of the iceberg questions and then jot it down on their notebook and run off to their next victim. You weren’t really focused on the reporters though, the only thing on your mind was Wanda.

Even though you were drinking because of her, you couldn’t stop yourself from worrying when she might arrive. Nobody has said anything about the mission so it must have gone well right? As you spiral into your thoughts you don’t notice Steve’s partner in crime, Bucky, sit himself next to you on a stool. 

“How are you holding up?” You jump at his deeper voice, your brain half expecting to hear that familiar sokovian accent. You raise your eyebrows and swivel your body towards him. 

“Oh hey,” you muttered, trying to give him your best smile. He frowns, not pleased with your answer. 

“Alright kiddo, what’s up?” Oh no, uncle Bucky mode kicking in. You groan, trying to suppress your laughter as you place your forehead on the countertop. He rolls his eyes and laughs. “Oh come on, I’m just trying to help!”

“Yeah okay dad,” you joke back, looking up at him and smiling. He takes his metal arm and puts his hand on your shoulder. 

“Kid, I know when someone is having a bad day. Trust me, I’ve had quite a few,” you chuckle at him, closing your eyes and listening to him. “As one friend to another, I just want to know if you’re okay.” That actually made you smile. You knew Bucky always had good intentions for the team, he wanted everyone to trust him and it worked pretty well, which makes sense since you two got along. 

“I just...I don’t know, I think I have a crush on this person…” He raises his eyebrows curiously and you laugh. “Yeah no, I’m not telling you who it is.” He gasps sarcastically and clenches his chest in faux pain. 

“You wound me, (Y/N)!” You both laugh before you continue.

“I don’t know if they like me either and I feel like lately they’ve been pushing themselves away from me and I just want to know how to fix it.” You place your face in your hands, feeling the weight of your words as they hang in the air for Bucky to absorb. 

You hear him sigh and adjust in his seat a little. “Can I be real with you (Y/N)?” You look up at him, your eyebrows knitted together but you nod. 

“I remember being so scared to tell Steve how I felt about him.” You scoff, rolling your eyes. “I’m serious! The one thing that stopped me from ever telling him was the fear I would ruin our friendship forever.” His words must’ve struck something in your brain because all of the sudden it felt like Bucky was reading you like a book. 

“I feared that so much that I pushed myself away from him. It killed me to do it but I thought that maybe if I did, those feelings I had would go away and neither of us would get our hearts broken.” You gulped. Could it be possible Wanda was in the same situation?

“All I’m saying is don’t run from things that make you scared because that’s what life is about. Taking those scary risks. What’s even better is that rewarding feeling you get when you get a good outcome.” You looked at him for a moment before you embraced him in a big hug. He let out a soft “oof” before wrapping his arms around you. 

“Thank you,” you whisper before pulling away. He chuckles, patting your shoulder. 

“It’s no problem. Seriously, if you need anything I’m here.”

--

After Bucky’s dad talk, you decided to actually mingle. It was weird at first but it got smoother as the night went on and soon enough you felt comfortable talking in the big groups scattered around the room. You even forgot about the mission Wanda was on as you talked to random people about your amazing heroic missions. What you didn’t realize was Wanda, Steve, and Natasha were already home getting ready. You also didn’t notice her walk in with a gorgeous deep red dress that fit her curves in all the right ways. 

You were sitting in one of the booths, two gentlemen sitting across the table and one woman sitting right next to you. You didn’t know if it was the drinking from earlier or what but you definitely didn’t pay attention to the obvious flirting the woman was trying to do. You told the story about how you swear you saw Steve lift up Mjolnir when the two gentlemen excuse themselves. The woman sitting by you scoots around the table, sitting where the men just were and puts her elbows on the table, using her hands to keep her head up.

“So (Y/N), I know you’re a busy gal and all, you know with the whole avengers thing, but I was thinking maybe...we could get some dinner sometime?” You blush at her answer, face becoming red. 

“Uh...didn’t we just meet?”

“Yeah silly, but that’s what dates are for. To get to know each other.” Her hand sneakily made its way across the table and reached out to yours. You let her take it, feeling extremely uncomfortable however. Across the room, a certain red head was glaring daggers at this mysterious woman. 

“Watch it Wands before you explode,” Steve’s voice snapped Wanda from her trance. “Who is that girl with (Y/N)?”

“I don’t know,” Wanda grumbled, making Steve sigh. 

“Are you ever gonna tell her you like her?” Wanda’s eyes widened, turning to the blond and gently slapping his forearm. 

“Shut up! You want everyone on the planet to know as well?!” She huffed which caused Steve to raise his hands up in surrender. 

“Hey, I’m just the messenger.” She sighs, rubbing her temples. She looks back over at you and definitely doesn’t like what she sees. The same woman was now trying to play footsie with you whilst gently rubbing the tips of her fingers back and forth up your arm. Something in her must’ve snapped because on auto pilot, Wanda was up on her feet moving towards your table.

“Or maybe…” The woman trailed off, trying to be seductive. “We could just go to my place right now?”

Before you have time to answer your cut off by a thick accent. “I’m sorry, (Y/N) actually has plans tonight.” You look at Wanda like she is a divine being, her elegance distracting you from what was currently happening. 

“I do? Wait, yes! I do!” You lied, quickly standing up. You give the stranger a weak smile before you are yanked off by the Sokovian. Her grip on your wrist was tight and you winced a little. 

“Wanda, what the hell?” She didn’t answer, pulling you to the elevator before pushing the button that took you to your floor. 

“Okay Wanda, seriously wha-” You were cut off by a soft pair of lips and delicate hands cupping the sides of your face. You sigh into the kiss like it's the first breath of oxygen you’ve ever had. Your arms instinctively wrap around her torso, bringing her impossibly close. The kiss was passionate but slow, all the love you two had for each other pouring out into this one moment that would change your lives forever. 

The elevator let out a high pitched ping, signaling you two you were on your designated floor. Wanda pulls back to catch her breath and her eyes are dilated, making your heart race. 

“I can’t keep pretending anymore,” she whispers before dragging you out into the hallway. You press her up against the wall, earning a small gasp followed by a whimper. You didn’t know if it was the alcohol in your system or if you just felt brave but something told you to indulge her. You trailed your wet kisses down her neck, smirking as you felt her heartbeat noticeably get quicker as you sucked on her pulse point. 

“Good,” you whisper, “because I’m definitely not stopping now.” With that you pulled her into your room, locking the door and guiding her towards your bed. She cups your face once again, deepening your feverish kiss. You gripped her hips as you felt the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed. She pulls away, panting heavily. 

“Are you sure?” You whisper quickly, anxiety getting the best of you. The witch’s face softens as she uses her hands on your shoulders to gently push you down onto the bed. She straddles you before leaning down and capturing your lips. This kiss was much softer, not rushed. You could take your sweet time with this kiss because you knew you had all might. 

“I’m very, very sure, (Y/N). When I saw that woman flirt with you every cell in my body screamed to stop it. You are my anchor, whether it scares me or not. I know I pushed myself away from you but I was so scared to hurt you. I was also scared of my own feelings. I’ve never been more sure in my life.” Wanda’s words sent warmth throughout your body and you couldn’t help but tear up. Her eyes widen and she shakes her head. 

“No no, don’t cry!” You laugh before shaking your head as well. 

“Don’t worry, it’s happy tears,” you admit, turning the red heads frown into a smile. This time you kiss her, your hands skillfully working their way up Wanda’s back, underneath her shirt, to unhook her bra. Her hips grind down a little at your bold move and you groan. 

“Please tell me this is real,” you mumble against her lips and she chuckles before leaning over to your ear. 

“It’s very real, detka, and I promise you won’t forget it either,” she husks. A shiver runs down your spine at the Sokovian pet name, her accent laced heavily through the word. Without another word she leans back and takes off her shirt, exposing her breasts to the cold air. 

You swallowed, feeling yourself get wetter at the holy sight in front of you. She giggles as you ogle at her chest, pushing strands of her hair back so you could get a full view. Instinctively licking your lips, you look up at her for permission. She nods, her emerald eyes darkening when you finally reach out. You palm her breast, her head throwing back as she lets out a sigh of relief. 

“Yes…” she whimpers. Her whimper was like angels singing, it was heavenly to your ears and you so desperately wanted to pull even more sounds from her. Wanda was like a drug and you definitely aren’t ready to start rehab anytime soon. You take another nipple into your mouth, looking up at her as she rolls her eyes back. You take the now very hardened duct, using your tongue to trace circles around the nub. You let the breast go with a small pop and a small strand of spit stretched and broke off from your lips. She looks down, her hands running through your hair and gently tugging at it. You groan, your hips bucking up causing Wanda’s center to rub down harshly on your thigh. You could feel her dampness through her underwear and you shuddered thinking of how wet she was. 

“Please,” you whisper, letting go of her breast and replacing it with your eager mouth. She started moving her hips slowly, the grip in your hair only getting tighter. “Let me make you feel good,” you beg. She growled, taking your lips again with urgency that wasn’t there before. Her hunger for you was something she has never felt before and it only made her wetter. Your hands shakily gripped her hips, pushing up into the kiss as she grinded faster, her rhythm now becoming erratic as she drove herself closer and closer to her release. 

“(Y/N), I’m close,” she panted against your lips and you nodded fervently. You attacked her neck, placing dark purple bruises that anyone with working eyes could see. She moaned again as her body started shaking. She started to move at a dangerously fast speed as you watched in awe of the beautiful scene in front of you. Wanda Maximoff was getting off on your thigh. If someone told you that earlier today, you would’ve laughed so hard you cried. But here you were, with the girl of your dreams, about to cum because of you. You could feel your own wetness pooling as you heard Wanda start chanting your name. 

“Gonna cum, gonna...oh fuck!” She screamed, pushing her face into the crook of your neck to quiet herself. You wrapped her arms around her protectively, letting her ride out her orgasm, bucking your hips occasionally. After a couple of minutes you heard her breathing start to settle and you sighed, taking in her scent. 

She eventually pulled away but her face had to have been only centimeters away when she whispers something darkly. 

“Your turn.”