#anyway that’s how i got prissy

[thechildisgone]

ugh i wrote this whole post and it deleted but i realized my ten year anniversary of getting prissy passed on the 14th and i forgot!!! 😭😭😅 i usually make a huge deal of it bc idk her birthday

when i first saw her vs just now protesting the weather

[isasweetie]

‎♡‧₊˚ boat days with rafe are always prissy!readers favourite days.

you loved them because it felt like the one moment rafe’s mind wasn’t elsewhere. usually he was a stressed, impatient man, but when he’d find the time to take the yacht out far and just park it there and soak in the sun with you, he was always happy.

rafe was doing his morning workout while you soaked in the sun that reflected from the water, a shirley temple in hand that rafe made you at the bar. peacefully content, your stomach rested on the longue chair as your back tanned, glowing from the tanning oil that rafe had applied for you while complaining about how oily it felt and how he was gonna have to wash his hands.

with a sigh when you realize your drink is empty, you call rafe’s name to get you another one — not in a bratty way, you just knew rafe was always glad to keep you content, so he would make you another, even if he did mutter ‘i’m not your fuckin’ servant’ every time.

he comes over, pausing his workout. “yeah, baby?”

“can i have another drink?” you ask, turning over to lie on your back so you can face him.

“yeah, i got you,�� he takes the empty glass and makes you another shirley temple, then brings it back to you. “need anything else?”

“umm..” you try to think, biting on your inner cheek. “dunno if i really want tan lines, can you help me untie my bikini top?”

“this isn’t france, baby, can’t sit outside with your tits out,”

“do you see anyone around? we’re in the middle of the ocean,” you ask. “didn’t know you were such a prude, just wanna tan my chest,”

“m’not a prude. fine, sit up. c’mon,” he relents, and you sit up.

his big hands fidget with the little bow on your triangle bikini, untying both knots. “there you go,” he pats your shoulder. “gotta go back to working out, you good here for like, fifteen minutes? not bored?”

“i’m fine. thank you rafe,” you smile up at him, pecking his lips while he’s still crouched down.

he nods, giving you one last look with his pretty baby blues before turning to go to the back of the boat to finish his workout.

you spend a bit of time on your phone while you’re still sat up, taking photos of the water, and topless selfies to absolutely send to rafe next time he’s at the office, and take sips of your shirley temple. then you apply some tanning oil on your front and tan that side for a little while, putting in an earbud to listen to some lana del rey.

after a while, you’re overheatting, even with your drink. but thankfully, rafe is feeling the exact same way. he finishes his workout and comes back to you all sweaty.

“hey,” he breathes out, taking the earbud out of your ear and stealing a sip of your drink so he can get his breath back.

“rafe!” you whine, swiping your drink back.

“usually when people say hey, you say hi back,” he says sarcastically, teasing you. “anyway, c’mon, we’re going swimming, i’m hot as fuck and you’re coming with me,”

you nod and he helps you up. he takes you to the edge of the boat. “we’re gonna jump, you good with that?”

“nervous,” you admit, staring off the yacht and into the blue water.

“you’ll be all good. i’ll hold your hand,” he assures, grabbing your manicured hand. “on three,”

he counts down, squeezing your hand each time. when he gets to three, he jumps and pulls you with him.

the water feels cold and refreshing against your warm body. you can’t help but think that your blowout is ruined from the water, but rafe will pay for another one if it upsets you. giggling, you resurface, looping your arms around rafe’s neck, topless chest pressed against his. “that was fun!”

“yeah?” he can’t help the little smile that appears at your happiness. “c’mon, let’s go again,”

with an eager nod, he helps you onto the ladder at the back of the boat, and you grab his hand when he walks you to the edge again. he counts down again, and you jump. it continues like that for 7 minutes until you get chilly.

rafe gets you a towel embroidered with his name (of course), and leaves you to warm up in the sun.

at the end of the day, you’ve changed into a spare sundress kept below deck, because rafe is cooking dinner in the mini kitchen on the yacht. you watch him cook, drying your hair off with a towel, then recurling your eyelashes and putting your lipgloss back on that wiped away.

you sit down back outside, both of you eating your dinner as the sky turns into this gorgeous swirl of pink, orange, and yellow while the sun dips down.

with the golden hour highlighting every feature on your boyfriends face, the feeling of your wet hair soaking the back of the dress, and putting the most delicious food in your mouth, you’re absolutely sure you’ll never get sick of this.

“i think the water is gonna tarnish my necklace,” you tell rafe gently as you help him wash the plates after. your hand subconsciously fiddles with said necklace, the one that has his initial on it. rafe’s very proud of that necklace.

“well we can’t have that, yeah?” rafe smiles, putting his hands on your waist. “we’ll buy you a new one tomorrow, hm? real gold this time, no cheaping out,”

you smile and nod, and he kisses you in a way that’s gonna screw you up forever. being with him is like paradise.

[lylahammar]

Hi ✋ I have a little Marcille theory/headcanon (which honestly could possibly be canon) to share

I often see people characterizing her as the person who wears inappropriate clothes to a hike, like the girl who doesn’t know how to handle herself outdoors. And I always thought, why is that?? She’s shown to have been kinda an outdoorsy kid

I still think that characterization that people give her is incorrect BUT only partially. I was thinkin about it more and I think that Marcille is a reformed agoraphobe. She grew up playing outside all the time, until her father died and her mother said the worst thing possible to her daughter dealing with that trauma lmfao

Marcille became terrified of death, not just for herself but for others. I’ve seen people joke about how her early life timeline doesn’t have much on it, and I know part of that was because her backstory hadn’t been revealed yet when the adventurer’s bible was written so it was avoiding spoilers, but also. Maybe she actually didn’t do much before going to magic school?

When she met Falin, she was confronted with a kid who was just as, if not probably more outdoorsy than she was as a kid

And she actually got panicked by it! This interaction reads at first like Marcille being a prissy nerd who doesn’t go outside ever, which is why I think people often mischaracterize her that way, but it reads a lot different when you realize she actually used to be outdoorsy herself and is just a (probably recently) traumatized girl with a horrible fear of anyone around her dying

Anyways, it’s very clear that Falin’s carefree attitude and podunk knowledge helped her get past the worst of her fears, and now Marcille’s able to travel and go on adventures again. Which, again, makes their love hit even harder. And also the terror Marcille feels at the idea of Falin dying. Top yuri couple of all time moment

[tactical-jellyfish]

How the 141 handles long-term relationships

Warnings!: Nothing, other than a reference to Simon's dad. Just silly fluff to tide my sillies (you guys) over until the new chapters of the big boy fic(s) are done :)

Also: Price isn't included in this because I wrote a fic where he's an absolute asshole and accidentally made myself dislike him. Might add him later, idk.

Simon Riley is not nearly the stern man everyone thinks he is when he's at home.

It's kind of funny, really, but he's quiet, and he is stupid in love (assuming he already trusts you as a partner, which, if he's dating you, he does). Something like a cat, really.

He wants to be in your vicinity, always. He wants to know you're safe and okay at every hour he can, but sometimes he can't handle all that lovey shit.

This is why I do think Simon would spring for someone who is very quiet, and not very touchy. He adores that, he really does. It would be even better if you didn't mind having a big, bulky man staring at you while you work for hours on end.

It's to the point that, when the rest of the task force comes over, they aren't sure if you're a roommate or a spouse(?) until they see Simon gently bump his forehead with yours, watch how he follows you the same way a prissy longhair will trail after its nonchalant owner.

Price pulls you over that night and tells you that you have his full permission to marry the lieutenant. Simon hears him, but he doesn't say anything.

Another thing: He wants desperately to take your last name. It doesn't matter if it's stupid, he wants it so badly.

He's a bastard even with a father who was a bastard. His name links him back to corpses and an abuser, he wants to be rid of it. He won't ask, but if you do, he cries.

You've seen Simon cry before. You have. Mostly after nightmares, the especially bad ones. This is nothing like that.

He cries of joy before you twice. The first is when you let him take your last name, and the second is on your "wedding" day.

There is no ceremony, just a short trip to the courthouse. He cries anyway, watching you sign the papers, pulls you into a firm hug as he sniffles into your shoulder, tells you how much he fucking adores you.

He won't let you forget that. Ever.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Johnny MacTavish is a harder task.

He's always one very predictable sort of way in his relationships: Playful. Loving and witty, always ready to tease.

Sure, there are days he's tired, days he's beat to the bone and he just wants to collapse and let moss grow over him, but he sees you and he gets a shot of something divine.

It doesn't matter who you are, really. Sometimes he needs you to match the energy a little, but other than that, he could get on well with any partner, as long as love is reciprocal.

Weddings, though... it depends.

This is where most of my more personal headcanons come into play here. I really think Soap's family is very Catholic. And that Soap is very bisexual.

If his family doesn't know (assuming the relationship is straight, too), it's great! It's a packed venue, sure, but it's raucous in the loving, familial way.

Soap wears his best kilt, cries a little as you walk down the aisle and kisses you so long his mother smacks him over it.

If not (he got kicked out, presumably years before)... it's much less fun.

He still adores you, truly, but, again, it's a bit solemn for him. Seeing you, perfect you, ready to marry a man who has no family left who wants him, it's a nasty feeling.

Johnny sees you the way he thinks everyone should. You're a person, yes, but of practically biblical levels of perfection, in his eyes. You've put up with so much, done so much, and you want him.

He won't ever get to show you to his mother, or his sisters, or his cousins, but he wants to. God, does he want to. He just knows they would have adored you, as they should.

But he can't. And it bums him out, it really does.

Still, he takes your face into his hands, and kisses you like the sinner he is, pours himself into your silhouette like he could somehow peel your ribs apart and find a space near your heart, to sit and love you for as long as he can.

No one is there to smack him for taking too long, and you hold him. And that's enough.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kyle Garrick is honestly the least challenging to end up in the good graces of.

He wants, more than anything, a peer. Someone who he can talk shit with and feel good confiding in.

So, of course he fell into a relationship with you. How could he not? Look at you. Brilliant, he'll say that. Brilliant, and an absolute menace with the silveriest tongue he's ever seen.

Again, like most, he's not really crazy about getting married. Not while he has a job so risky and at his age. It's more of an eventually, he feels no pressure to lock you down so fast, he already knows he has you, and that's enough for him.

This is most of the reason why the engagement is so long. I'm talking several years. Yes, multiple years. Moved in together, got a pet or two, even the rings.

And it's great, everything he could ask for. He comes home to a brilliant partner every day he's got the time, and he always wants to see you, because you're you. You can discuss, you can debate, and you can pull him over and tell him when he's being stupid.

The partnership works. And it keeps working.

At some point, you two were effectively married in everything but law, so you just forgot about the "wedding" bullshit and got one of his aunts to officiate in the living room and had a party that night with family.

Like any good soldier, Kyle has many issues with stress when he's home. His ultimate solution is to cuddle you whenever you won't be annoyed with it. Sometimes you talk, sometimes it's quiet, he doesn't mind.

He just wants you. Always.

And he knows he always will.

[miange1]

DONNIE DARKO

need a break from smut, breaking up, manipulation, donnie has no shame, manipulation, murder threats, readers parents are homophobic, frank mentioned like once

he didn't know what went wrong. you two were doing just fine— even if it had to be a bit of a secret from some people, he didn't mind that at all. some people mostly being the parents, no one else really seemed to mind and if they did they didn't show it too much.

but something was weird, really weird. you were acting so distant, finding excuses to dodge any affection or any kisses of his when he could give them to you.

what was going on? were you upset with him..? why were you avoiding him so much?

he asked you time and time again, and you swore it was nothing but he could tell that it was something. what were you hiding from him.

"my boyfriend fucking hates me.." he muttered, laying down on the therapists couch while fiddling with his fingers. dr. thurmans eyebrow raised, taking out her notepad as these sort of talks were rare with donnie. "and why is that, hm? why do you think so?"

donnie's nose crinkled a bit, eyes downward and almost as if he was trying to hide the fact he was gonna cry.

"dunno.." but he did know, he knew damn well you lost feelings for him. you no longer loved him. "he jus' isn't loving me anymore, and—" his voice cracked, face plunging into the soft cushion of the pillow beneath him. "i don't know.."

he missed you so much. missed your voice, your smile, your lips when you'd kiss him. and so much more. why did you leave him? this wasn't fair. he was planning on taking you out today, trying to make up for whatever shit he may have done but you didn't tell him.

and you just pulled him somewhere and made it some sort of official break up. "what.. what?" he felt himself disassociate, not even paying attention to anything you may have said to him.

your lips were moving but he heard nothing. his vision felt like a rewinded vhs player, many things flashing at once and loud static played at his ears. "no." he shook his head, grabbing tightly at your shoulders. "no, no. why? don't leave. no." he repeated those things, not letting you go no matter how much you had pulled.

he couldn't remember much after that. all he knew was that you were gone. he couldn't just let this go, he wouldn't. you were the only one for him, the only one he could be with. there was no one else for him, he would go insane without you.

next day he saw you with a girl. holding hands with her and everything. smiling with her and looking so much more happier with her than you did with donnie. the best you two could do was slightly brush fingers when walking next to each other, smile all you wanted too though.

what did she have that he didn't? really. what was it? did he need to become some prissy little blonde girl? loud mouthed and ear piercing voice? is that what he needed?

the entire day he wouldn't stop looking at you, when you looked back you instantly saw him already staring back. his eyes were sad, and filled with anger, guilt, and confusion. he felt like there was more, you wouldn't just leave him like that. for some girl either.

i mean, you were clearly not into women— this all just seemed so fake.

this was stupid. no, not him sneaking out to find this girls house, that wasn't stupid. what was stupid is that you had to choose her of all people. she was no better than donnie, she was like every other girl. she was nothing special.

he let himself slip in between the window of the blondie's room, snickering to himself as he thought. 'dumb bitch left the window open.'

the sharp metal object he held in his hand was being gripped as if he was choking it, his knuckle churning white and aching. he barely bothered being quiet, he wanted her to wake up anyways.

the bed creaked under his weight, a bit of dirt from his shoes staining her sheets whilst he straddled her. he felt the invisible wall blocking him from you, if he just got her away then that wall would leave as well.

her body would squirm a bit before her eyes shot open, and her first instinct would be to scream so donnie harshly slapped his palm to her mouth. "make a sound n'd i'll cut your tongue out.." he made it clear he had a weapon, showing it to her.

"or maybe," he inched the edge towards her eye, her breathing quickening and tears starting to leave her eyes and stain her cheeks and donnie's fingers.

"i can carve your eye out." his lips slightly inched up, almost as a smile yet it was a bit crooked. "frank would like that..he wouldn't be so lonely.." he still had the object in his hand, but moved it away from her eye.

"you're going to leave him alone— don't give me that fuckin' look, you know who." he was getting ready to snap her neck. he wanted to so damn badly. "by the time i leave this room. you will be out of his life."

it was starting to rain, thunder booming and clashing as trees would bang against his window. he was still awake, book in his hand that he wasn't really reading. he was just looking at it, as if he was waiting for something.

a knock came at his window. there we go. he instantly sat up, looking over to see someone— to see you.

he clicked the little lock at it, moment you had stepped inside you forced yourself into his arms and started bawling. barely coherent 'i'm sorrys' reached him, and he resisted every urge to smile.

"i— i should have—" he wrapped his arms tighter around you, shushing you a bit and kissing your forehead. "what..what happened?"

it took you a moment to get yourself together, and when you did you noticed the state you had put donnie in. "shit, i got you all wet." yeah, in multiple ways then one.

"um..donnie first i just wanna say—" he kissed you. he didn't wanna hear what you had to say because he already knew. what's her face told him what he needed to know, called you to "break up" and left.

"don't talk. please." he walked you back onto his bed, leg in between your thighs as he kept the kiss going. the flow of it got rougher and rougher, like the two of you were trying to morph yourselves together.

like you relied on each other, and you would for as long as the two of you could.

[stvolanis]

PT.2

it was late at night when drug dealer! Rafe parked in front of your house in his truck that seemed too expensive for him considering what he was dropping off to you. You were shy, you’d never tried anything before—even though weed was common amongst your friends, you were always to scared to try it. Your friend Rose slid you her drug dealers instagram, and instructed you on how to act and what to say—but god, Rafe didn’t expect an absolute vision to walk outside.

Rafe immediately rolled down his window, almost like he was trying to get a better look at you the closer you approached. Your flimsy tank top didn’t leave much to hide, and his eyes zeroed in on the strap that fell off your shoulder and the faint outline of your nipples. fuck, you were trying to kill him, weren’t you? Your little white skirt made his cock twitch in its confinements, and he knew if you turned around he’d be able to see your ass cheeks faintly peeking out from the bottom.

you walked over to the passenger side of his truck nervously, opened the door and sat down just as your friend had instructed you to. “Uhm, hi.” You said after a moment of awkward silence. Rafe didn’t respond, only grunting in response as he dug through a bag trying to find what was yours. “This it, yeah, pretty girl?” He said, pulling out a purple see through bag filled with bud. “Yeah, uhm, how much did you say?” She asked, fumbling with her wallet for a second.

Rafe looked at her through hooded eyes, not necessarily because he was high, but because he was imaging every other better way of payment she could give him. He kept his mouth shut, but he didn’t miss the way her cheeks turned red after he’d called her pretty. “Whatchu doin’ with this anyway, huh? I wouldn’t take you as the type to do this shit. Too prissy.” He chuckled, manspread and relaxed. You gulped, squeezing your thighs together as heat pooled to your core. “Jus’ wanted to try it.” You responded, huffing in embarrassment at his mocking tone.

“I got something better you can try, baby.”

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[lexicorp]

Here to politely request your version of the Seeker Boys lore 🙏, if you feel so inclined as to share

[i got distracting doodling the sillies but i am /so/ inclined sdfnwifb]

So FIRST! we got Starscream! (youngest)

as you can see, he absolutely has his shit together :>

When it comes to his mentor Cryak, I tend to think of this fic by zeropro which i def recommend. After separated himself from her, he found himself enlisting in the Elite Guard of Vos. He quickly rose in the ranks, and met Thundercracker and Skywarp there, where the three rose up together as Starscream became the leader of the guard, much like in TF1. Overtime, the essentially police work, and monotonous servitude to the Primes got Starscream antsy. He didn't like how they were dismissed and given all the shit jobs the prissy higher ups didn't want. So, he decided to try and get into the Academy, since his time with Cryak had instilled an interest in such scientific endeavors. He managed to get in, juggling school and his work. He also met Skyfire of course (I wont delve too much into that part cuz it'd get p long-), aaaaand it was going great, with exhibitions to other planets in search of energon and possible settlements. But then on one to Urth back in da day, Skyfire was lost to the storm, and Starscream was forced to return without him despite his efforts. He was expelled from the school because of this on the basis of negligence essentially (they were itching for a reason to kick him out).

All that leads to when the next time he goes to a gladiator fight with warp and thunder to see the self proclaimed Megatron (prev D-16) in the ring as they often did, when Megs began his speech about how the system with the miners is screwed up, prejudice running rampant, and how shit needs to change: Starscream starts getting hella deep into that shit. Cuz he's pissed af now. He started meeting with megatron and openly supporting him as he was still the leader of the Elite Guard. Funding campaigns and giving information. This behavior got him flack from biches like Sentinel (more passive aggressive cuz that hoe had his own plans), and also the Primes, who were convinced that the system they had was necessary and tried to talk to him many times and when he tried to convince /them/ to change shit and set up mtgs for Megs, they wouldn't rlly listen (or their compromises were mediocre).

At that point in the lore, Megs and Star had an actually pretty good relationship for the most part. Even if Megs often prioritized Orion and their plans, and often would twist stars advice to make it sound like he had actually come up with it (Star brushed those things aside cuz he did admire Megatron and felt he had more right to organize this front from his background. His aft got gaslit and gaslit himself fr fr).

Star, Warp, and Thunder were generally on the same page then too. Warp hella down for usurping the government, and Thunder riding the high of his brothers' energy and wanting to support them.

Then, whole shit goes down of Sentinel and his accomplice assassinate the Primes (is framed as an accident and he tries to come back like oh yeah, I'm in charge now, so sad, much mourning). Starscream suspects it was bullshit, and he and Megatron plan to murder dat bich. Orion is against it of course, but follows them to continue to try and convince them to stop. How it ends, is Megatron gutting sentinel, and attempting to take the mattrix from him, but it denies him and chooses orion, which pisses him off. (detailing that would bleed more into Megs lore soo anyway-) Starscream was honestly like "wtf", and just follows Megatron out when Prime tells them to leave.

Then it goes into the war era, with Megatron rallying the Decepticons into a full ass force and announcing his plans to fuck shit up, and challenging Optimus. This is when Star and Meg's relationship starts going to shit. things get progressively worse and worse through the war, as Starscream is listened to less and less, and they get into fights often. This then starts reflecting onto his relationship with his brothers. At first, Starscream was decent at coming to them to rant or ask for assistance, but as Warp would show favoritism to Megs, and Thunder would tell him to just play it safe instead of starting fights, Starscream got more and more distant and bitter.

Oh! Also theres the fun Outlier factor where I imagine Star's is like super healing coded. Has a high ass damage threshold and very energy efficient (which can lead to him forgetting to fuel). The extreme end of this ability activates upon death, where his spark will hard deny separation and jumpstart his aft to life again and will try its best to heal his frame back to a functioning level. (which is rlly how he survived the shit that killed Skyfire) [bit about his optics]

***

Then there's Thundercracker (middlechild-)

He didn't exactly have much of a Mentor, per say. He was onlined specifically for the Elite Guard, and was just guided by his superiors and expected to just figure it out and follow orders. He had his love for writing for a long time, and often uses it as a form of escapism. He also loves to critique movies and shit. Loves musicals-

He and Starscream actually initially bonded over this when Star had asked about it and showed interest, which not many others besides Skywarp had. Thunder would script-write little plays, and Starscream would always claim the lead role. Those were coveted nights in the prewar era for Thundercracker. Where they would practice, brainstorm improvements, screw around, and maybe have some high grade. It made him truly feel like he was a part of something, when so often before warp and star, he'd been alone in his passions just going along with the motions.

Thundercracker found the Gladiator fights, that Warp introduced them to, fascinating more than anything. He enjoyed the hype and community that came with it, although did find the premise unsettling. So when Starscream started working with Megatron, and the whole rising revolution shit, he was like, "oh yeah, that sounds cool". He honestly perceived it with more anime optics, tfe hashtag ass processor over here, as he thought the idea of rising up and bringing the world into a new age was awesome! He wasn't a fan of being "just" a seeker of the Guard, he wanted to be a famous writer, and he thought that whole thing could be the way to make that a reality.

Alas, it all went to shit. The war started, and he felt like everything was falling apart. Starscream had started to get more aggressive, and dismissive. Skywarp was all guns blazing for the blowing up everyone who stood in their way, but thundercracker just...didn't see how a war was going to fix things. he didn't understand why megs and orion fell out, and why optimus wasnt on their side. or why they were fighting instead of fixing things since it seemed like they had just gotten rid of their main obstacles.

Thunder became more disconnected himself as time went on. smothering himself in his art as much as he could. Maladaptive daydreaming for dayz baybe-- He's overall hella frustrated, and just wants things to get better, but doesn't know how, and is just back on the go with the flow grindset.

His tendency to disappear annoys the hek outta screamer. Especially when thunder doesnt tell him where tf he vanishes too when it comes to the Earth era (Thunder meets this human farmer fam, and constantly visits to hang out with their doge Buster.)

***

last but not least, there be Skywarp (oldest)

Their Mentor was a scientist interested in researching Outliers. His earlier cycles were cooped up in labs, doing test after test after test. She hates that shit. Alot- Even joked at Starscream to "not become one of /those/ stiffs" when he'd gone to the Academy. When it came to joining the Elite Guard, it was a helluva an improvement to them, although adored any amount of freedom from the drab parts of the job by hanging with friends and trinemates. Adrenaline junkie and craves /all/ the stimulation.

They love graffiti, makeup/framepaint, and dancing. Would often do cover doodles for Thundercracker's stories, and helped choreograph shit. They /love/ drama, but only when it doesn't get too serious. They have fun with banter, brotherly ragging on each other, aaaand of course pranks. Theyre an absolute menace, but fiercely loyal to those they get close to (starscream would debate that fact when it comes to megatron-).

Skywarp was the first to introduce her bros to Gladiator lore Megatron. They idolize the guy, /heavily/. Which makes things difficult down the road when ol megs starts getting hella questionable, but they don't see it. They still view him the same way thru it all, and couldn't believe starscream's complaints as things deteriorated. Skywarps tendency to believe megs over star, ultimately is what starts driving them apart. Even if Skywarp still tries to bring them together again. They'll often try to rope star and thunder into their shenanigans, and petty schemes against the bots. Occasionally, it works. While others, he just gets an audial full about being immature.

Overall, they thrive in the chaos, but wishes the gang would get back together, and is hella salty about it. But being a silly goofy lad is the best coping mechanism lmao

[grimsonandclover]

Write write write

filthier the better

Sending all the love 🫶🍑

What He's Made For

Sub!Patrick Zweig x Dom!Fem!Reader

Eeuuuhhhhhh I'm sorry, just been thinking a LOT about just having enough of Patrick's shit and taking it out on him. Turns out, it's exactly what he was aiming for.

I'm writing this in a horny, ovulation-fueled daze so it's not going to be great or even good but its what I need. not proofread at alllll

consider this a foreplay part one since it ends abruptly because i need to post this before i pass out (im so tired). i need the horny freaks of this fandom to let me know if a part two is desired because I WILL write it

MDNI

1.1k words

This is entirely self serving and I'm opening up to you guys. This is me sharing. No more 600 word angst and fluff it's time for PERSONAL FANTASIES. kind of a 180 after i JUST posted that little la chimera fic lmao

You're fighting, you don't even know what for. Patrick's been pushing your buttons, getting on your nerves, and testing your limits all night. God, fuck, he won't stop. Every little word from him, all day and now night, is spoken with the pure intention of pissing you off.

"Did you really ask him about the weather?" He'd scoff on the drive home from a party. "You're miserable at small talk. Really, it's embarrassing."

The walk to the apartment elevator: "And those shoes. You've been whining all night like a fucking baby. I told you not to wear them, but you'd rather be a prissy little princess than listen to me." You're silent, breaths quickening as your fist clench around your apartment keys in the elevator, watching the floor numbers tick up. "They're ugly, anyway. I don't really get why you insist on wearing them."

Unlocking the front door, fumbling and struggling because it's hard to see through the boiling water behind your eyes. "Do you need help with that? You had, like, what- one shot of tequila the entire party? Didn't think you were such a lightweight, can't even open a door. God, you're a mess."

Once the door is open, and a sickly smug smirk is plastered on that stupid face of his, you shove him in. The action is abrupt and unexpected, Patrick stumbling back and catching himself on the entryway wall. You almost miss the smirk returning to his lips. Who cares, it's time to speak your peace.

His back is on the wall and he stays where you threw him as you rip off your coat. "What the fuck is your problem, huh?" The coat is thrown to the floor and he blinks as you fist the collar of his stupid button up. Since when does he wear these, anyway? "All fucking night, you're in my ear like a bitch. Do you need a leash?"

He's been playing with fire so far. "Woof." Patrick grins.

The taunt makes your eyes narrow and glare harden. "You think it's funny? I've got a migrain because of it. I'd be in the middle of talking to someone and you'd start your shit again. That's what's embarrassing, not my small talk."

"You're like a child, how you beg for my attention. A dog. Is that what you are, Patrick?" You tug his collar and his breath catches. Drool pools in his mouth and he swallows, eyes zeroed in on his mouth while he still smirks. "Are you a misbehaving dog?"

He doesn't answer you, just giggles. In a sudden move, your hands are on his shoulders and you're pushing him forcefully to his knees. It's only because he doesn't anticipate it that it works. In a flash, your hand is gripping a fistful of curls at the back of Patrick's head, yanking it to make him look up at you. His mouth falls open, a soft gasp escaping from it. Yes. Finally.

"Are you," The words are spoken through your teeth, and this time he really is on the brink of drooling. "A fucking dog? Or are you going to start behaving like a man?"

His grin spreads again from ear to ear as Patrick slowly shakes his head. "Uh-uh."

Oh, that does it.

Your fingers tug his head further back and he gasps again at the slight sting of his scalp. Your other hand comes up, and before he can blink, a crack is heard through the entryway.

Patrick's cheek is red and stings so badly he can't feel the pain on his scalp anymore. It's so delicious he moans. He never knew until this exact moment that he liked to be slapped, lucky you.

"Wrong answer." He shivers at your tone, the blood in his body rushing to his cheek and to his dick. "Are you going to behave?"

"No." He whispers, eyes fluttering as he anticipates the next stri-

Oh, fuck. Patrick can feel a wet patch form in his boxers when you do it again-- he hasn't cum in five days, and Patrick's hyper aware of it now. The sound that comes from his mouth is almost pornographic and anyone else listening would swear that he must be at least getting his dick sucked and not just slapped around. The hand that slaps him moves to his mouth, index and middle finger shoved forcefully until you hit the back of his tongue. He wants to suck them, so he does, but then you shove them even further back until he gags a little. This isn't for him to enjoy (though he is anyway).

"Shut the fuck up." You sneer, fingers in his throat and hair, taking back the power he's had over you all night. They way he looks on his knees, peering up at you like you're his god with tears in his waterline and-- shit, that smile is still there. "I'll make you behave, then."

The hand in his hair lets go, pushing him back by the forehead till he hits the wall with a thunk. "Look at me."

He already was, but Patrick angles his head again, this time on his own, to better suit your needs-- especially when you tell him to open his mouth and you have a grip on his cheeks. You lean down the tiniest bit for better aim before collecting spit in your mouth, then spitting it into his. "My fucking mouth. Don't ruin it with all that cheap talk, acting like you don't know who owns it.

"Who owns it."

Patrick's got stars in his eyes as he swallows, so lost in you he forgets to answer-

A smack across his cheek again, another filthy moan. "You- you own it."

"Own what?"

"Me-- my mouth, my body, fucking all of it. It's yours."

"It's mine." You nod, gripping his cheeks again until his lips pucker. Patrick's drooling. "Mine. Don't use it against me, or I won't be so nice."

If this is you being nice, Patrick doesn't know what he'd be willing to do for mean. Every word you say, every tug, your spit in his mouth-- it all sends shivers of pleasure down his spine and through to his dick, aching and tenting in the shorts he wore to practice and then to a party. He truly is as filthy as you make him out to be.

You grab his hair again just to shove him in between your thighs, the material of your jeans rubbing harshly against his face and the irritated skin of his cheek. Patrick can smell you through it. He feels punch-drunk. This is what he was made for. This is his true purpose, not tennis.

His large palms slide up and down your thighs, hungry fingers begging at the button of your jeans. Off. He needs them off.

You let him peel them off you, not for him but for yourself. You need him to show you what he's actually good for. Why you keep him around.

[rainydayathogwarts]

Ron weasley - Opposite teams

Summary: You play a match against your boyfriend, who's a very sore loser. wc: 2k

Seeing him on the pitch shouldn't have had such an effect on you, especially considering you were playing for the opposite team. The gear looked good on him, and confidence was beaming off his skin, but you were one of the best chasers at Hogwarts, priding yourself on how rarely you missed a shot. "Pull yourself together Y/N!" Flint yelled at your frozen form, still in shock of what had happened. It was all because Ron had flashed you that stupidly gorgeous smile when you were about to score that you hesitated - hesitated enough for him to read your body language and predict your next move, easily catching the quaffle when you threw it. Even your boyfriend had been surprised, well aware of how good you played from years of watching you on the field.

"Wow! It seems as though L/N is too charmed by her boyfriend to get a good shot, this is a new one folks!" Begins Lee, rousing up those in the bleachers. "And it looks like Slytherin Captain Flint is calling for a time out! Good choice I'd say!" It was already embarrassing enough that the entire school knew the time out was being called because you were too hot and bothered by your boyfriend, but your face flushed a dark red the second the Slytherin team turned to look at you in disappointment. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I don't know what got into me, he's just so- I can't be the primary shooter I'm sorry!" The entire team looked back at you as you rambled and you felt your face get impossibly warmer realising you were gushing about your boyfriend to six teenage boys. "I'm sorry." You muttered.

"Y/N's right," Starts Flint again, "She shouldn't be the primary shooter for this game..." His voice trails off and your gaze drifting to where to Gryffindor team stands. You can see them laughing for a moment, and Harry pats Ron on the back - the reason you missed literally couldn't have been more obvious and they were having a field day about it. "Got it Y/N?" Your head snaps back to Flint, looking at you with raised eyebrows. Your face goes blank, your mouth opening as though to say 'what' but nothing comes out. "You'll switch places with Nott as secondary." Malfoy says quietly to you, and you perk up "Yes, got it!" Flint doesn't look convinced, but calls time out to be over anyway, and everyone gets back on their brooms.

"Stay focused or I'll knock your boyfriend off his broom!" The remark is clearly aimed at you, but is loud enough for both teams to hear and you glance at Ron, whose face has blanched at the comment. You turn away from him, trying not to smile, and the whistle blows. Nott scores time after time after time, and you can see your boyfriend's confidence decreasing while his anger increases. Nott passes you, high-fiving you on the way back to his post. "Good strategy change by the Slytherin team, it seems that they're back - OHH AND MALFOY CATCHES THE SNITCH, GAME OVER EVERYONE!" You're relieved to be off your broom when the game end and you sigh deeply, rolling your head in a circle to try and stretch a kink in your neck out.

You finally join your team, earning pats on the back by them, and teasing comments "Well he's not gonna be happy about that one." and "Good luck getting laid tonight." The comments follow you all the way back to your dorm since Pansy walks with you back to the common room. "I don't even know how that happened though! You never miss! Like you can't be so attracted to someone that, well that happens. He's going to be in such a prissy mood, good luck with that."

The party in the common room is in full blow when you finish showering and getting dressed. You're clad in a tight black mini-skirt with a red crop top, something your boyfriend will hopefully appreciate. "I see what you're doing." You're interrupted by Draco, who eyes your outfit once before handing you a drink. "I think you underestimate just how capable I am of getting my boyfriend in bed, Malfoy." He grins, shaking his head "Well if you have the effect on him that he had on you, I doubt it'll take much." You scoff in amusement, the jokes will never end. "Hey if Marcus asks where I am, don't tell him I'm sleeping with the enemy." But Flint is already beside you, muttering "Cheers" under his breath, so you scurry away quietly, starting your trek to the Gryffindor common room.

The Gryffindors' party is completely different. The music in the background is quiet, and the Gryffindor Quidditch team sits together, each player with a drink in hand while they talk. Others seem to be having more fun than them. When Ron spots you walking towards him, he rolls his eyes, clearly upset. His teammates, on the other hand, greet you kindly, some even joking about the slight incident on the field. You stand in front of Ron, putting a knee on the couch between his legs to support yourself when you put your hands on his shoulder, leaning into his body.

Despite Ron's free hand coming to the back of your thigh, he still mutters "I'm not in the mood." though he leans into your touch when one of your hands comes up to play with his hair. You tilt your head down so your lips barely graze his ear "You're so hot when you're angry." Ron stiffens, looking up at you, but your head is already dipping lower so you can press kisses on his neck. He shivers at the cool touch of your slightly wet hair on his collarbone, and his eyes flutter close for a moment. When he opens them back up, Harry is grinning at him and wiggling his eyebrows. Someone wolf whistles, but he doesn't know if it's directed to you. He feels your teeth graze the spot you've been sucking on right below his ear and he sighs, trying to disguise his pleasure as annoyance, pushing your hip away from him.

Yes, he wants you, but he has to at least pretend that he doesn't for a while longer because he's still angry, and wants you to feel as though you need to try a little to win him over. You've played his game before, and you know what follows. When Ron nudges at your hips one more time, you separate from him, tilting his chin up so he can look at you. He's putty in your hands, but you like to give him the illusion of being in control, so when you kiss him, it's a soft, almost desperate kiss. "Ronnie," you plead "Please." And that soft whisper is enough to make him begin to stand up. You back away, pushing your bottom lip forward and making doe eyes at your boyfriend to stop yourself from grinning in accomplishment.

His shoulder brushes past you and he begins walking up to his dorm, but when you catch up with him, snaking your hand in his, he only holds your hand tighter, so you know you've won. Ron's door slams shut behind you, and immediately, hands are on you, pushing you against the door and groping your ass while he kisses you aggressively. The kiss is filled with angry passion, and Ron's tongue is fighting against yours for dominance. Both your arms are thrown over Ron's shoulder in an attempt to pull him impossibly closer to you so your tits are pushed up into his chest. The hands on your ass move to your front, sliding up your crop top and cupping your tits, while Ron pulls away from the kiss to attack your neck.

Moans are immediately escaping your mouth in soft breaths, your back arching into Ron's hands, pulling and massaging at your breasts, teasing your nipples. His teeth bite at your neck, and one leg comes to shove itself right between your thighs and you jerk up, an electric shock being sent right through you. At your loud gasp, Ron looks down to where his leg connected with your cunt, and his hand immediately pushes your skirt up to find that you're not wearing panties. "What a little slut. No underwear under a mini-skirt? You're practically begging." He grunts, and you whine, grinding your pussy against his thigh. "Just for you, Ronnie."

The comment seems to make him happy, at least happier than he was before since he starts working on taking your top off. "Get this skirt off now." He mutters, his attention back on your tits the second they're exposed. Your bra drops to the floor at the same time your skirt does. Ron pulls away from where he was leaving hickeys on your tits, and takes a moment to oggle at your naked body. You falter under his stare, a hand coming up to grab the material of his t-shirt. "Ron?" At the sound of his name, he looks back up, taking an impossible step closer to you and pressing his lips to yours in a slow kiss. "You're so fucking amazing." He mutters between kisses, all of his previous anger seemingly gone "Don't deserve this. Don't deserve you." Before you can react to his words, his hands are wrapping around your waist and carrying you to his bed, where he immediately shuts the curtains of his four-poster.

He wastes no time pressing his clothed cock against your naked, which has you moaning his name, bucking your hips up for more friction. "Take it off, take it off." You beg. He complies, chuckling at the sight of your hips bucking up, but takes his time stroking his cock once it's finally freed. His demeanour completely flips the second he pushes into you; his hips snapping at a faster pace than you can keep track of, his hands grabbing both your legs to pull over his shoulders. The angle is perfect and with the way his cock is hitting the right spot with every stroke, you're sure you won't last ten minutes.

You're tightly gripping the bed sheets and you're almost positive that your eyes are going to get stuck at the back of your head because of how hard they're rolling back. "Mmph, bloody hell you feel so nice." The compliment only spurred the pleasure inside you and you moaned louder, bucking your hips up for something more - anything more. Ron's hand comes down to your clit in a harsh slap, and quickly starts putting pressure on it, watching as you squirmed underneath him at the extra friction. His pace sped up and your legs started to shake on his shoulders, a sign that you were clearly close. Ron's hand begins rubbing quick circles on your clit and hips start erratically jerking into you as he releases his load into you, triggering your very own orgasm.

Ron rides out both your orgasms, stilling his movements when you put a hand on his chest. He pants, his chest heaving with every breath he takes as he takes your legs off his shoulders. "Christ, that was too much exercise for one day." He mutters, looking down at you when you open your arms wide for him. He falls into your awaiting arms and mumbles "Can't sleep. Need to clean you up." You moan, shaking your head at him. "Just five minutes."

[princessbrunette]

thoughts on jj x bunny!reader ??

oooof, yes. i think it’s time we revisit the au where it’s bsf!jj and kook, prissy, well groomed bunny!reader.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 ⋅🐰 ˖°

you’re total opposites. yes you want to fuck eachother. yes you’re both oblivious to this.

your parents were never a fan of the pogue boy from the start. especially your father. he didn’t like the way that dirty pogue with the big smug smile would shake his hand at the door when he’d come round to pick you up, still wearing that black backwards cap and an expression that said ‘i’m probably balls deep in your sweet innocent daughter. you’ll never know.’ they’d scowl when they’d watch you disappear down the driveway with him, clutching his arm, practically rubbing all up on him in your tiny skirts. sometimes he’d even look back at them with a cheeky grin, like he just couldn’t believe it either. it was obscene, but they couldn’t stop you. you were soft, yes — but what bunny wanted, bunny got — and it just so appeared that bunny wanted to slum it with some blonde stoner from the cut, so for now they’d have to bite their tongue until you learn your lesson.

jj can’t spoil you like he wants to, no— he’s broke, and plus there wasn’t much you didn’t already have. but he’ll be damned if he didn’t give you the princess treatment, it was the least he could do for perving on his sweet, innocent best friend who knew no better (right?)

what this entails, is never having the power to tell you no. you need picking up from a kook party because you’re too tipsy and he certainly doesn’t trust rafe cameron to see it to it that you’re safe? he’s already outside, and has been for twenty minutes. you wanna learn how to smoke weed because you’ve never done it before? it’s better off he teaches you anyway, right? he would put his foot down with you, clearly needing some guidance and ‘taming’ if you will, but it’s harder than it seems.

“please, jayj?” you cling to his arm stood at his side, plush tits pressed against his bicep and eyelashes batting up at him routinely.

“nah, don’t do that.” he groans, shutting his eyes.

“pleaaaase?”

“you know it’s like, really not fair to pull the doe eyes on me. disappointing you is like… choking out a baby rabbit or something.”

“so you’ll come with me?” you muse hopefully and his eyes flutter, bordering on a roll as he licks his lips.

“fine, okay? fine.”

“weak.” john b passes by, clucking his tongue with a smug head shake.

“weak and pussy whipped.” pope follows him, bringing his can to his lips.

he’s also always getting looped into all of your girly shit somehow. “lets uh, keep this our special little secret, yeah cupcake?” he’s likely to say from your bedroom wearing a robe too small for him with cucumbers on his eyes, a victim of your ‘spa day’— which he secretly agreed to because he saw the potential of some possible feel-ups. maybe a massage, or showering together. not this shit.

you’ve also heard the phrase. “aint no way you’ve tied a pink ribbon to my bike again, princess.” more times than you can count. again, girly shit.

it does pay off though, the pogue tucked up in your pristine bed when your parents are out of town, whistling jokingly when you arrive back from the shower with just a towel tied round you.

“ooo—wee, aint that a sight.” he calls and you giggle, walking over to his side.

“not ashamed of anythin’ around you, jayj— just that comfortable. look!” you pull the towel off, giggling and doing a spin as you reveal your still dripping naked figure, pretty much the blondes wet dream presented before him.

it’s safe to say he nearly loses composure, but he’ll settle for you riling yourself up based purely on his reaction and praise, writhing your naked body on his lap only fifteen minutes later, humping him through his sweatpants.

“th—this isn’t normal for best friends, jj!” you mewl, body still warm and damp as he paws at you anywhere he can get his hands on.

“sure it is, sweetcheeks. don’t even trip.”

୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 ⋅🐰 ˖°

[six-eyed-samurai]

HEHEHEHEH >:3 all im saying is rindou x popular!reader? like bratty and full of herself. REGINA GEORGE. REGINA GEORGE READER. but not actually

SORRY IF THIS IS CONFUSING I JUST WANNA KNOW WHATYOU THINK AND IF YOURE WILLING TO WRITE IT OK LOVE YOU MWAH MWAH MY WHIPPED CREAM ON TOP OF THE PERFECTLY WARM HOT COCOA WITH THE SMALL BUT REALLY TASTY MARSHMALLOWS <3 (almost typed mushrooms LMAAOO)

A/N: PLEB MY BELOVED TERIYAKI PEACH I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG YOU ALREADY KNOW MY EXAMS AND SHIT BUT RAAAAAH ALSO I NEVER WATCHED MEAN GIRLS (the number of people about to murder me rn) SO I HOPE I'M ACCURATE, PLEASE ENJOY IN RETURN FOR THE VIP I LOVE YOU TO PLUTO AND BACK (Did someone say mushrooms? Well, I am a fun-guy- get it? GET IT?!) WARNINGS: Swearing and breaking the fourth wall. Nowhere says the Haitani brothers attend high school, but nowhere also says they don't, so here they do.

🌸First of all, let this be known that the one and only Haitani Ran came up with that title and is responsible for the whole story below (or so he claims, because I did about 80% of the work typing this out).

🌸Anyways.

🌸You meeting each other was probably inevitable - the Haitani brothers the head delinquents of Roppongi, you the literal head of every single popular girl clique.

🌸Do you hit off at once? Absolutely not. You made a very cutting comment about Rindou’s hair, even after your terrified girlfriends (minions) warned you about who he was and similarly Rindou called you a wannabe with fake Prada and your makeup was smudged.

🌸What a great start to a friendship! From that day onwards every time you both caught side of each other it was snarky jab after snarky jab at each other’s hair, clothes, shoes, speech, grades, lunch, anything you both could think of.

🌸Rindou hates you because you’re just such a prissy, spoilt princess brat with hella nice hair. You just hate him because who does he think he is to insult your fashion taste? So what if he’s a total bad boy delinquent? What about it?

🌸Ran thinks it’s hilarious. Rindou cannot not talk about you even when you’re not around, even if it’s just the repetitive complaints of your usual petty annoyingness, and gee, Rin-Rin, are you really that obsessed with them that you even still think about what colour their nail polish are in the middle of a fight? It’s almost worth missing a nap, Ran decides, when he can record Rindou spluttering out protests and declarations that you’re the ugliest, nastiest girl he’s ever met.

[Ran turns the camera to his face] I think my brother is a kindergartener afraid that girls have cooties. Sigh, he was supposed to be the more mature of the two of us.

🌸Even your traitorous girl clique were shipping you both! Even after you told them to shut up! Ugh! You don’t need them to stalk out his socials, you don’t need them yammering about how you always greet him in the corridors (”Did a dog shit on your shoes, Haitani?”), you don’t need them taking pictures/photoshopping you both together. Just, ew.

🌸Once again, so what if both your rivalry was turning into a…really weird obsession?

🌸You were pretty sure you hated Rindou with a burning passion, but one day you caught yourself studying your figure in the mirror, judging - judging?! - your own outfit by his standards: what sort of comments would he make this time? Is he going to jibe that you had finally found a skirt shorter than you? Are you actually wondering if he’d like it?!

🌸You CANNOT be seriously breaking one of the sacred rules of no pink on Wednesdays right now either just because Rindou had once made a muttered remark this being the only thing that looked good on you.

🌸Rindou was quite certain as well that if he could, he’d run a bus over your snobby ass but…here he was, cringing at whatever made him stop by the roadside asking if you needed a ride home since it was raining. Not because he cared or whatever. He hoped you got soaked to the bone sitting on the back of his motorbike. And that your hair gets messed up from wearing his helmet.

🌸You treating him to the boba cafe that nearly opened the next day was also strictly returning a favor so you didn’t have to owe your biggest nemesis. In fact, HE should owe you for making you wash his stupid jacket that he had forced you to wear that night as protection from the storm.

🌸Rindou sasses you right back, but yes, he supposes he owes you another drink. And another. And another. And another.

🌸At this point it’s so obvious the only reason none of you have admitted you’re practically dating already is because of your egos and reputations.

🌸That is, until one day when you’re strolling home by yourself and scrolling on your phone to scoff at Rindou liking your latest photo, A FEW DAYS AFTER YOU POSTED, you’re cornered by several members of a gang with a grudge to settle with the Haitani brothers - what better way to do so than to target Rindou’s girlfriend (see, if they were targeting Ran, they’d have to target every girl in the neighborhood, playboy that he is).

🌸Now you might be a prissy mean girl but that don’t mean you can’t kick ass physically. One of them made the stupid mistake of trying to grab your arm and EW, WRECKED YOUR NAILS? You slapped him pretty hard for that…and the rest too, with your new handbag, which made you even more pissed off, because hello, that shit was designer?!

🌸Also, congratulations, you've managed to make them all extremely self conscious while unconscious with your jibes about their appearances.

🌸Unfortunately that can't help you when more of them show up and you're outnumbered. At least you're going out with a bang…but not in the way you think when Rindou’s motorbike suddenly plows through them, engines revving, an irritated expression on his face.

“The only one who gets to piss my girlfriend off is me, so hands off.”

🌸Most people would've thanked him once he was finished knocking them all out but you immediately start berating him for taking so long in arriving.

”You really took your sweet time driving here, so of course I just decided to head home myself! I didn't need you to accompany me!”

He rolls his eyes because if he ignores your ungratefulness he can see your fingers trembling as you picked the items fallen from your bag, evidence of you still being shaken up. This (bratty) behaviour was just your…coping mechanism? Or maybe just typical you. “Then how'd you get surrounded so easily?”

“How was I to know people wanna beat me up today?!”

“You know what, stuff it and get on the bike. I'm taking you home whether you want me to or not.”

You stuff it and get on the bike. Rindou only uses that tone when he's worried.

🌸Aaand then it's only when you're on your doorstep do you realize what he had said.

🌸Rindou sees you frozen and raises an eyebrow. “What is it this time?”

“You called me your girlfriend.”

“So I did. You're not? Aren't we going on dates and everything? Sorry, “outings just between the two of us”?”

“We never talked it out or agreed on anything official!”

“I didn't know we needed to file a form and get a stamp of approval in order to go out.”

“OMG, you're so annoying I can't even - fine, I’ll…be your girlfriend. The moment you get a better haircut.”

…

“WIPE THAT SMIRK OFF YOUR FACE! Ugh, gotta go redo my makeup now.”

“Stop talking about my hair then, before you look at yours.”

He's still smirking as he leaves.

🌸So now Rindou has not one but two divas in his life. He can't decide which of you is the lesser evil, because on one hand he has Ran killing his wallet with all his dye jobs and on the other you're demanding his wallet for that new pair of heels he's pretty sure will break in less than a day.

🌸What are dates like? You dragging him off to clothing/shoes/jewelry stores, mall dates where you empty him of all cash on dessert and boba, going to the latest trending cafe while you judge everyone around you, spill all the gossip at school and naturally, talk about yourself (Rindou secretly eats your cake and zones out when the last one happens).

🌸If you've seen that reel of someone digging a hole in their cake to secretly reach the other person's cake…you know what Rindou does now.

🌸However both you and Rindou's favourite kind of date is when you're just driving around aimlessly in your shiny sports car with the wind blowing through the windows and the only fights are over your music choices: popular ones from Instagram (you) and whatever strikes Rindou's fancy.

🌸Has Ran attempted to gatecrash your dates and plead to drive your car? Absolutely. Have you let him? No. It's one of the few things you and Rindou agree on.

🌸You can be pretty annoying with that full of yourself attitude, “camera eats first!” mindset and double meaning words, but it's only annoying because Rindou has to go clean up your messes and apologize - apologize - to whoever was dumb enough to incur your wrath lest you get into trouble (for the millionth time). You'd never admit it, but you'd stopped directing any of that bxxchiness at him a long time ago.

🌸For anyone that did something wrong to Rindou though? Hell hath no fury like a woman with an ego bigger than Jupiter and a protective instinct for her man.

🌸If Japan has prom, you both would be crowned king and queen. If someone's hosting a party, you both would be the ones rocking the dance floor. If any of this happened, it's because you forced Rindou and he can't say no, however much he grumbles.

🌸First kiss was probably during some heated argument in front of everyone and Rindou claims he only instigated it because he wanted to shut you up. You reveled in the gossip that came with such a scandalous affair but yes, he took you very aback with the “Because I love you, dumbass?!”

🌸(Ran recorded everything and posted it on his super secret fan account following his favorite crack ship, the two of you.)

🌸Rindou doesn’t strike me as the jealous type. He KNOWS, however full of shit you are, you ain’t going to leave him for any of those losers just staring at your ass. To him they’re just minor annoyances, like flies - bothersome, but easily dealt with. Besides, who’s crazy enough to take THE Haitani’s girlfriend?

🌸You don’t get jealous much either, or so you claim. It’s quickly proven false whenever you snap spitefully at any girl who dares to lay a manicured hand on him - you won’t even tolerate your own girlfriends. You’re proud of the fact he’s so attractive, but that makes you even more possessive, because some deep, dark, insecure part of you is afraid he’d leave you for a similar girl, because surely there’s no difference between you and them. Just petty, bratty, arrogant mean girls.

🌸”I’m just going to get this tattooed on you, because for the hundredth time, sweetheart, I’m not going to leave you for some airhead bimbo. You’re more than just a face, and yeah, you really need to get off your high horse sometimes, but I’m still here, aren’t I?”

🌸The sappy moment is ruined when you sniffle and slap him lightly for making you cry and ruin your mascara. Rindou sighs (how many times has he sighed throughout this piece of writing already?)

🌸Average conversation between you and Rindou:

“I’m not surprised he got beat up with that kind of hair…is he trying out a new style from the slums?”

“Mhm. Couldn’t even throw a punch properly.”

“I bet you put him in his place, bae.”

“I’d kill myself if I didn’t.”

🌸And if the person in question overhears?

“Oh…we were just, you know, discussing your ah, state of hair. Bad hair day? Thought so.”

“That black eye really goes well with it, don’t you think?”

“Now that’s why you’re my boyfriend.”

[into-fiction]

Ok here's another idea. Pirate AU where Elphaba is the captain of a pirate ship and Glinda is a wealthy noble on board a ship Elphaba attacks. She holds Glinda for ransom and they fall in love or Glinda begs to join the crew because she was on her way to be forcibly married to someone she didn't know.

It's kind of shades of Pirates of the Caribbean in my head but less supernatural. Maybe Elphaba has magic and that's how she got her own ship and crew and it's full on misfits like her who were shunned because they're different.

idk if u wanted a drabble for this but i did one anyway lol

///

Elphaba was not in a good mood.

First, because their sail had been significantly more damaged in the attack than she'd expected. Second, because the weather on the horizon looked sour and formidable.

And third, the reason currently making her fists clench and her blood boil, is that their hostage is not being cooperative.

"A bunch of incompetent fools," Elphaba mutters, though the few crew members hustling to keep up with her know she doesn't truly mean it. Elphaba loves her rag-tag crew, and they'd found a family here on the seas that the land had never given them.

But seriously: they couldn't even handle a single prissy noble girl?!

Elphaba slams into the cabin with enough force for her grimy footprint to leave a permanent mark on the door. The single occupant doesn't even flinch, just cocks an eyebrow like the behavior is beneath her.

Glinda Upland is one of the richest nobles this side of Oz, and it was pure luck that Elphaba recognized her family's flag flying from that ship. The small, sleek ship had put up more of a fight than expected, but eventually, she'd been forced to retreat, her most precious cargo locked in cuffs and dragged aboard The Broomstick.

Elphaba had been ecstatic. There was nothing she and her crew hated more than those obnoxious, stuck-up nobles with their fancy parties and their wasted money and their utter lack of empathy or care.

The only thing they did care about, was themselves. The Upland family were well-known for doting on their only daughter and would surely pay out the wazoo to get her back. She was the perfect ransom.

Except that, apparently, she refused to cooperate.

As though she thought she had a choice.

Elphaba tries to impart this on the girl, her blonde hair tangled and her pink dress rumpled and stained. But there is not even a hint of fear in the stupid girl's eyes, not even when the swords come out, and not even when Elphaba brings in her largest crew member.

"You aren't going to hurt me," Glinda says confidently. She crosses her arms and tilts her chin, a tiny smirk pulling on the edge of her lips.

"And what makes you so sure?" Elphaba growls, leaning in to loom over the smaller girl.

Glinda's brown eyes sparkle- not with fear, but with delight. She's enjoying this, the little brat.

"You need me unharmed for this ransom to work. That's why you want me to write the letter myself. Momsie and Popsicle aren't going to pay for a corpse."

"Is that so? Are you sure your parents wouldn't be just as happy to pay up....after we chop one of your fingers off?"

Not even a flicker.

Glinda grins, leaning forward on her toes to get right in Elphaba's face. "What if I gave you an even better offer?" she whispers, glossy pink lips just inches from Elphaba's own.

"Oh?"

"Mmhm." Glinda rocks back, smiling winningly. "You want money, right? Well, I can get you that. I can get you anything you want. I know people."

"And what, pray tell, do you want in return?"

To leave, Elphaba expects the girl to say. To go home.

But Glinda hasn't cooperated with anything Elphaba has assumed so far. Of course, she wouldn't cooperate here either.

"If I help you," Glinda says, brown eyes sharpening into something intelligent and cunning. "Then you have to let me stay. Unharmed."

"What?"

Glinda's hair curls wildly around her face, her dress sways gently by her knees, and her hands, which Elphaba stupidly stupidly hadn't been watching, are slipping out of a pair of cuffs that clatter uselessly to the floor.

"I want to join your crew."

Glinda leans in once more, close enough that Elphaba has to force herself not to lean away.

"I want to be yours."

[isasweetie]

i need to know more about prissy and ruthies drama omg!

okok i’ll share the origin a bit !! <3

so, as we hopefully know, prissy is a girls girl to her core! it doesn’t matter their popularity or whatever, prissy is supporting every girl that walks her way. that included ruthie, at the start, so they got along for a bit. that made rafe veeeery happy, because they could go on double dates n such!

but there’s an instance where prissy walks in late on a conversation at the country club. she had left rafe, top, and ruthie alone to get a drink for her and a whiskey for rafe. all she catches ruthie say is “kiara carrera”, and assuming ruthie is as sweet as she is, and is only saying good things, prissy says, “oh, kie? i love her, she’s so pretty and nice!” as she sets down her drink.

ruthie visibly has a snarl on her lip as she rolls her eyes. “i’m sorry? you’re friends with that broke-ass bitch? rafe, you allow this?” prissy is lost at this point, confused as she glances up at rafe.

rafe, as much as he loves prissy, cares a lot about his reputation, and doesn’t want prissy messing it up. so he answers, saying, “uhhh, shit, i didn’t even know about it. we’ll have to talk about it at home,” only you know that he’s lying, that usually he does let you hang out with kie, the only pogue he tolerates.

at home, you’re instantly asking rafe what that was. he’s answering, talking about how “you can’t associate with pogues anymore” and “you’re gonna dig yourself into a hole if you yap about how much you adore the pogues in front of the wrong people.” you’re glossy-eyed the entire time, very confused.

“but i like kie,” is your meek answer.

“i know, baby, but this is important, okay? i’m trying to help you. can you do this for me?” and you nod. because as much as rafe is controlling sometimes, he’s always right for the most part.

you distance yourself from the pogues, listening to your boyfriend. ruthie has started to be less warm around you anyway, it seems one positive mention of the pogues flipped a cold switch in her brain. she’s not even bothering to talk to you about why she’s mad, and you don’t have a chance to explain that you’re not associating with the pogues anymore.

the next time you see the pogues is at the beach. rafe had brought you along to sit in the sand with him while his buddies surfed, and you were happy to come along and tan. conveniently, you’re set up right beside the pogues. you give them a smile and wave, unlike all the people around you who are whispering about them and glaring at them.

as the pogues are leaving a little while later and you’re all packing up to leave as well, ruthie, who’s already in the car, decides to scare them a bit and drift the car around the pogues and their things. in the process, the most devastating thing happens — she runs over a turtle hatch. you rush to go check on them, but rafe holds you back. you’re already tearing up.

“ruthie, oh my gosh— did you know what you just did?” you ask.

“yeah, who cares? they’re just turtles,”

that turns your upset expression into anger. “i— i’m sorry, ruthie, are you kidding?” ruthie’s head is turning back and forth at kiara, who’s now yelling too. “those were baby animals, and you just killed them! and— and everyone was so happy to see them, and they had a life to live, and you were a stupid asshole and you ran them over! and kie—“ she cuts off your rambling the minute that name leaves your mouth.

“ohhh, it’s all over kie, huh?” she sighs. “honey, i’m sorry i killed your little turtles, okay? is that what you want, an apology? want me to apologize to your girlfriend too, hm? you’re a sweetheart, truly, for pretending to care about those dumb animals— and the turtles too, i guess. don’t worry about kie, she’s a big girl, she’ll be fine.”

the obvious fake-kindness and patronizing tone makes the first tear spill.

“rafe, you really picked a sweet one,” ruthie continues, looking up at your boyfriend, still holding you from behind. “a pogue-loving ditzy cunt, you just won the lottery,” she says sarcastically, batting her eyelashes and smiling.

he says nothing, because if he argues then suddenly he’s not full-kook anymore, people will think he’s defending the pogues, when he just wants to defend you. he holds you tighter as he moves you to his side. “c’mon, let’s walk home, yeah? we’ll take the pretty way home,” he mutters, dragging you and your teary face away.

from there on out, you’re constantly attacked by only one girl for two simple comments you made. you’ve never been in a fight with anyone, let alone another girl, and you’re unsure how to act. but thank goodness that for now, until it escalates, it’s nothing that can’t be fixed with some dick from rafe.

[inkievoid]

Ballet Shoes and Bulletproof Vests

CW: Recovering from alcoholism (Leons just trying to better himself man

Words: 1k

A/N: 👛anon I've had brain rot because of you. But I still love you pookie.

Blue leotard... Gunmetal blue, his favorite shade. It was almost like you were trying to send a signal through the glass windows of the studio attached to the apartment building gym.

Every weekend for the past few months he'd come down and workout for a two hours without issue. Until you moved into the building a month ago. Walking through the gym in leotards and the same skin tone tights straight into the small studio space.

Leon picked up quickly that you don't seem to be doing mindless pirouettes, pliés or chassé. You practiced the same routine, which means you probably do this for a living. Or at the very least a hobby.

He tried his best to not come off creepy but sometimes he couldn't stop from staring. Leon rarely found beauty in life anymore, something he was trying to fix. His sponsor suggested that life could be worth living if you find something meaningful to live for.

Besides surviving or being a living breathing weapon.

At first, the staring was for more "primal" reasons, but it soon turned to him admiring how gracefully you could move. How sharp your movements were. The clean movements were mesmerizing and very distracting. It certainly didn't help that you were pretty either. But every time you stopped and turned back towards the windows, Leon would turn away immediately. Scared you'd think he was some kind of weirdo or worse...

A pervert.

You were probably way too prissy for him anyway. Why bother window shopping?

You're too pure, jumping around in white satin ballet slippers and him in bulletproof vests with tactical gear. Your worlds can never mix, you're too different. Far too different.

So, with his better judgment, Leon got into the habit of changing his routine and getting up at the crack of dawn like in his army days. Just to go workout first thing in the morning. Leaving the gym as you were coming in.

But one morning you didn't come in as he was leaving. And as usual, he stops at his mailbox, fishing in his jacket pocket as he walks into the main lobby.

And there you were. Stood in front of the mailboxes, sorting through a few envelopes with your tiny mailbox door hung open.

Shit... This is gonna be awkward.

Leon approaches slowly, walking up to his mailbox and ripping his keys out of his jacket pocket. Something round flies out of his pocket with a clatter as it hits the floor. You lift your head to see the green chip rolling across the floor, quickly you step past him and pin it under your shoe.

Leon stares, realizing he forgot to take his chip out of his pocket after his meeting last night. Too tired from a long day at work to remember before passing out in bed as soon as he got home. He can feel his neck heating up, he hasn't even said a single word to you, and now you'll know he's an alcoholic trying to get his life together.

And he's sweaty and gross?!

What a fantastic first meeting...

You bend down, grabbing the green chip from the floor as you walk back. Giving it a glance, you hold it out for him. Slowly he raises his hand, chest tightening as he nods a “Thank You” while taking it.

"90 days is a big accomplishment, you should be proud of yourself." He stared for a moment, fully expecting a dirty look or pity.

"Uh, yeah. Thanks. I-I am." His lips drew to a line as you walked back around him, shutting your mailbox and locking it. He gives you a glance as you grab your bag from the floor and give him a small smile.

"You're from 3D, right?" You question, his eyes glance at his mailbox, his lips part slightly. Brain trying to process how you knew his apartment without even talking to him.

"Yes?" His eyebrows raised, your eyes fixed on his uneasy response.

"Hmm." She looks him up and down, almost like she's trying to size him up. Or even taken him in completely.

"A little scruffy for my taste, but you'll get the job done." His nose wrinkled as you stepped past him, and headed for the door.

"The hell do you mean by that?" You turned your attention back to him, smiling again.

"The old ladies in the building, they talk about everyone. Well, anyone interesting at least. And they said you're pretty cute. I'd have to agree." He feels his neck burning again, embarrassment of another kind seeping into his collarbone and rising to his cheeks as he smiles a tiny bit.

He was never great with women.

"Thank you..." He clutches the chip in his hand, running his thumb across the bumped out embossing of the metal.

"And um... I know we don't know each other," you step forward again, gesturing to his hands, "but I'm here if you ever need to be talked down... 3 years for me, still have my bad days, but it gets easier with time. I promise."

He looks a little surprised, not expecting you to know his struggles in some way. He just nods, watching you lean to the side, looking behind him and turning back to leave again.

"Congratulations again on 90 days, Leon." You smile, pushing the door open.

"Whoa, wait. What's your-"

"2B!" You yell back without turning around, watching you leave through the doors leading to the gym. His head swivels, looking at the mailboxes. Seeing your name printed a piece of tape stuck to your mailbox.

His mind wanders, thinking of you as he pulls his bills from his mailbox. A folded over flyer was wrapped around the envelopes. Pulling it off the envelope, he gave it a long look. Your face staring back at his as you're leaping in a beautiful flowing white dress and veil.

Giselle printed in fancy font under you pointed toes along with show times for next weekend.

Staring for a second, he thought, pondering over the words of his sponsor telling him to try new things.

Maybe he should try theater.

[carmenberzattosgf]

[sorry this is so long....time got away from me and in an hour and 20 mins i was possessed by the writing spirit that SHOULD BE INSPIRING ME TO DO MY HOMEWORK....ahem ahem...anyways. yea :) habby valentimes day :) a fic for youe :)...!] having a relationship with carmen was like breathing in prophetic future tense. you know, from the moment you wake up in the morning to an empty bed, that by the time your head hits the pillow the coming evening, carmen will have had at least one full uninterrupted hour of pawing at your flesh till satisfaction. you know that, when he’s stressed and overworked, by the time you two fuck it out of each other, you will have had sweat beading in every crevice of your skin, and pinned by his dead weight, you will have had to whine and plead and squirm just to get yourselves into the shower.

so, when the start of a new year, the stagnation in uncomfortable weather, and a clawing mind fuck of your circadian rhythm going out of wack all set in like sisters to give you a hellish week, you just force yourself to move between pulses of blood. you are stressed. you will be better. you will have been stressed, and he will have already made it better. you were pained and you were better. it has all already happened, even as it’s happening, even as it is yet to happen. it’s not a matter worth questioning, and it’s as sure as thought happens in your mind. you are already going to be made better.

carmen is meticulous and particular, though at this point, your mind is tinged, and it can only come up with conniving, mean, Machiavellian. your partner is a wicked piece of filth for how he treats you, for how he plays your body, for how he steels his willpower when he wants to. an orgasm for every layer of clothes between his touch and your flesh, to melt away that prissy little furrow in your brow you brought home with you.

for the first build-up, you’re entirely still frustrated, still annoyed with the professor who keeps leaving you notes about diction, who nitpicks your theories in class and turns to nod along to another student who’d be better situated in a junior high review course. shit, you need to stop being so mean, you tell yourself, maybe you're the one trying to take this course too seriously. but carmen, eyes calm, words clear, creeps his fingers through your mind to find what he needs to get done. so as he guides you to grind over his knee through the fabric of your skirt, he reaches over to massage your wrists, all click-y and sore from expo markers and flat keyboards. you can’t relax into him, not yet. no draped cuddles and sweet moans, no soft kisses on the neck, sloppy and saccharine, not just yet. all he’s looking for is that soft huff at the exhale of your breaths. just physiological for now, he knows what he’s working towards, he knows your mind isn’t quite here yet. the ice machine on the counter is making an odd noise and you want to go fix it. you’re close to cumming, carmen’s thick cock is chubbing up in his old sweatpants and you’re trying to figure out if that’s the sound the machine makes when it’s empty, or when the ice is stuck. yeah, we’re not there yet.

the second orgasm, stockings stretched taut over your legs, pulling a slight little divot into your stomach from where the elastic band reaches up, and to make things fair, carmy will shed a layer too. his ears are pink in that sweet little way he gets when he likes something he doesn’t want to comment on. your slick seeping through your soaked panties and into the seam of your stockings, writhing over his cock strained against his boxers is seemingly really doing it for him. your mind is working it’s way towards that single-track pleasure state he’s drawing you into, and it’s definitely making the burn in your thighs worth it. you can allow yourself to get closer now, chest brushing against his, arms draped over his shoulders, soft little pants against the collumn of his throat, toes curling and tensing as the sound of your arousal becomes faintly audible. and, for all your kvetching earlier, carmen isn’t entirely sadistic, so he wedges one of his hands between the crux of your thighs and his lap, working his fingers over the fabric, a tense exhale pulling from his lungs as he finds a searing heat even through those layers. but he’s patient. he can be patient. he will be, he already has been patient. this one comes quicker, with affectionate kisses smeared over his jaw and cheeks, his lips finding their own trail at the cozy softness of your neck, and one of his favorites, that little hollow under the lobe of your ear where the bone of your jaw starts, a little nibble that always makes your breath go funny and your fingers twist up into little fists.

no, you haven’t done your math wrong. carmen is finally allowed to peel off his boxers, but you’re still stuck in an uncomfortably soaked set of underwear. but carmen, sweet carmy, darling carm, is entirely gracious, is sweet to you. baby, he knows you, of course this is how it’s gonna go. he shepherds you quietly to your bedroom [unplugs the ice machine on the way. you think you’re going to swoon], and finally, as a relief to your stiffened muscles, you get to lay down. blissful relaxation for a full breath, in and out, and you even get in a delicious little yawn and stretch, as carmen crawls over the bed to hover his way over you. smiling now, both of you. he’s smart, honey, he knows what he’s doing, he knows why he’s doing it. and he knows that it’s going to drive you entirely fucking mad and whiney when he settles into a rythmn of smoothly pressing and dragging his cock over your entirely empty, blood-flushed, swollen, needy, clothed cunt, with an utterly enamoured warmth on his face as he looks down at you. he loves you, so, so bad. you want to bite him and kick out at the mattress and throw an absolute fit. it’s not fair. it’s entirely not fair. he gets you all sticky and gross and needy and heaving like an animal in heat, just so he could watch you squirm with those pretty half-lidded eyes? carmen berzatto can actually go fuck himself.

you need to trust him more, you really do. halfway between the third spiel you were about to give on reciprocal affection and half-whined complaints and insults, carmen just sticks his middle and pointer fingers into your mouth, watching silently as you sputter for a moment, a chest-fluttering sigh leaving his soft lips as he strokes gently at the wet muscle of your tongue, something sickeningly affectionate in his eyes. and once that mouth is occupied, off come the panties, and you practically claw at his arm in anticipation. an inexplicably sweet gesture, carmen’s fingers slip out of your mouth, to be replaces by his own tongue, as he guides himself into your warmth, that sore, empty stickiness, a garbled whine he pours into your mouth when he goes as far as is comfortable. and then, blissful movement. and you remember why you stuck through this whole game. carmen, beauteous carmen, one spit-slicked hand holding the side of your face, the other pawing at the softness of your stomach, is fucking every thought out of your head. he’s perfect and warm and strong and he reminds you to breathe when you space out, eyes unfocused as you let him drive into you until you’re limp. limp, but not having cum yet. no, you’re just perfectly fucked stupid for him, just like you needed, just like you came into your home, pouting and stamping and begging for. you’re not sure what day of the week it is, but you think the weekend is something that’s happening soon. you’re not sure what color the sheets are, but you know they’re sticking to the small of your back. and carmen, carmen throughout all of it. in your mind, in your face, in your skin, in your hair, pumping in and out of your sweet clutch, pulsing so perfectly, just for him. in the end, it really is more simple than you think it would be. one last orgasm for you, brought upon by a few slick swipes over your clit as he nudged up into the soft patch of heat that punched breaths out of your lungs, and instead of a sweet little keening whimper, climax comes with a low, rasped-out groan from your kiss-bitten lips, and carmen pulls out to jerk himself to finish, knowing that you were undeniably already sore from how much tedium he’d put your poor muscles through. but this quiet now, your eyes closed, the backs of your knees weirdly sweaty, your hands feeling limp, this is good. all you need to do is breathe, just breathe, and you feel good. a thump onto the bed next to you, and a heavy arm drapes over your stomach loosely, a slightly clammy hand rubbing softly over your ribs. he doesn’t expect words out of you, but his heart is entirely warmed by the imprecise little kiss you mush against his cheek. this is good. this is just plain good.

-🫒

HAPPY VALENTINES DAY TO ME. I HAVE NO WORDS NO NOTES THIS ATE THE FUCK DOWN. I’m properly tagging this so more people can see this masterpiece. I LOVE YOU 🫒 THIS IS A LOVELY GIFT

[brucewaynehater101]

Didn't know who else to send this to, so suffer my brain rot, I guess ♡

Anyway I've been on a fake powers!Tim kick and just the idea of fake psychic/medium!Tim looking unrevealed!hood-jason in the helmet and telling him he'd personally fist fight the crime lords personal demons. Jason is just "child no???? Also how would you manage that??"

Turns out that second question really should have stayed inside the head because Tim just smiled serenely, and 2 hours later, the Joker had been brutally assaulted.

Also, Tim did this as Tim, not as Robin. Jason is now reevaluating litterally everything he was told about this prissy rich kid

Fudge. I love a good fake psychic!Tim AU.

Let's see... as far as fics, obviously we've got to recommend "cards on the table" by wesslan. It's a good Tim joins batfam late au.

Shit... There's another really good one where Tim pretends to be a psychic because he can't otherwise explain how he knows who the Bats are (he's afraid of going to jail or something). They even "train" his powers, lmao. I can't find it, though :(

EDIT: "psych you out" by lukewarmbeefstew. It's locked so you'll need an AO3 account

Anyways! Two AUs inspired by this idea:

First one: Psych inspired AU - Tim, instead of becoming the third Robin, opens up his own psychic detective agency. He utilizes his stalking, hacking, and sneaking skills to gain information on people and pretends all of this "came to him in a vision." He starts this agency a little before Jason dies. Therefore, Jason uses his services to find more info about his bio mom (cause he doesn't want Bruce to find out anything and the agency promises secrecy). Tim finds out all the crimes Shelia committed, passes that info to Jason, and unknowingly prevents his death. Jason and Bruce still have a falling out, but Jason just moves in with Dick instead. The Bats are trying to prove that he's lying about his capabilities, but they can't quite catch him yet.

Second one: Tim, as the Dick Grayson fan he is, doesn't want to implicate Dick by admitting that his Robin gave away their identities to nine year old Tim Drake. Therefore, he knocks on Bruce Wayne's door and tells him that his "vibes are rancid" and Tim's there to fix em. Tim ends up becoming Robin and spends the majority of his career ensuring anyone who can give away his non-psych status (e.g. Martian Manhunter, Raven, etc.) are not in the same room with Tim and a Bat. He also has to go out of his way to procure information via stalking without the Bats somehow figuring it out.

The second one fits the ask better! Tim in that one is unhinged and has a habit of speaking in what he calls his psychic mannerisms. He has to sound all mysterious and mystic and shit to sell the act, but he also ends up being blunt as hell. This is how he ends up telling Bruce that his aura is "like a kicked puppy Bat dipped in angst glitter sauce." No, he does not elaborate.