#can’t keep up but am annoyingly determined to try

[rosiegames]

wish my brain was studied whenever I play multiplayers

[fastandcarlos]

The Biggest Tease : ̗̀➛ Max Verstappen

summary: you're all for supporting max's career, but isn't a sex ban just a step too far?

“Stop right there,” Max called out as soon as he watched you walk down the stairs. Your face told him everything, your plan of mischief etched upon your face, unable to hide it.

You took a seat beside him on the sofa, resting your hand against the top of his leg. With two weeks off, you thought you were finally going to get your boyfriend all to yourself, that was until the seeming third wheel in your relationship got involved. Brad.

“This is ridiculous,” you huffed as Max kept his eyes on you, refusing to acknowledge where your hand was trailing. “What did I do to deserve this?”

“It’s just part of the job of dating a world champion,” he tried his best to joke.

Max almost felt sorry for you as you looked helplessly at him, hoping that somehow, he’d try and bend the rules. Brad was determined to keep Max in peak physical condition during the small break, and although you knew his job meant a lot to Max, you were confident you could find a solution that kept you both happy.

You grabbed the pillow beside you, admitting defeat and holding it close to your body. Max kept his eye on you as you did so, desperately wanting to reach out and give you what you wanted. Was it worth the scolding that he’d get back at headquarters? Probably.

“Max,” you whined, scuffing your feet along the bedroom floor as you found him sat in his gaming chair a few hours later.

“Hi sweetheart,” he hummed, spinning his chair around as he paused his game.

You perched on the end of the bed, folding your arms across your chest with a pout on your face. Straight away Max tapped his lap, inviting you over. You didn’t need to be asked twice as you jumped over, feeling his strong arms wrap around your waist to keep you in position.

“Playing anything good?” You enquired as you studied his set up in front of you.

“Nothing you’d enjoy,” Max assured you, pressing a gentle kiss against your shoulder. “It’s unlike you to come and take an interest in what I’m playing anyway.”

Your shoulders shrugged as you leant further back against Max’s chest, shuffling in his lap as you made yourself comfortable. As you did so, a faint intake of breath came from behind you, your movement taking Max by surprise.

You slowly turned your bright eyes to meet Max’s, catching his bottom lip being bitten by his teeth. His head shook slowly at you, knowing full well what you were trying to do, as if to tell you that you didn’t even need to bother.

“It’s only a couple more days until race day,” Max tried his best to remind you, but you were beyond waiting any longer. You shifted your body so that your lips could reach his jawline, kissing against it gently.

You were all for supporting Max, encouraging him to the best driver he could be, but your patience had been tested to its limit.

“Babe,” Max sighed as you continued to capture his attention.

“What? I’m not doing anything,” you innocently defended, sniggering to yourself.

“I love you, but we can’t do this.”

“Do what?” You quizzed, pulling away from Max so you could see the expression on his face. You could read him like a book, as serious as he wanted to be, his eyes were pleading with you not to stop.

“Are you going to explain this to Brad?”

“You mean am I going to explain to Brad how annoyingly irresistible my boyfriend is? Absolutely,” you chuckled, pressing your hands against Max’s chest.

Max’s head tilted back as you moved one of your hands to brush through his hair, tugging gently at the knots that had formed throughout the day. He soon found himself losing all control, a habit of his whenever you were around.

Soon enough Max’s hands were resting on your waist, refusing to let you move away from him. A smile of satisfaction appeared on your face as you looked at him again, a knowing look on his face.

“I hate what you do to me,” he whispered, secretly loving the way you tried to push all of his buttons.

“Me? What did I do?” You questioned, shuffling slightly again. “All I wanted to do was come and see what you were up to.”

Max’s eyes rolled as you tried your best to play innocent with him. He pulled you closer towards him, his hot breath tickling just underneath your ear, “two weeks is a long time without sex, right?”

Your head nodded straight away as he whispered, as much as you wanted to try and convince Max that you had full control around him, you didn’t. You were losing your mind; Max was so close and yet so far away.

Max’s hand trailed underneath the shirt that you were wearing, fingertips brushing against your skin. “I’m sorry I ever made you wait for me,” he hummed.

“I can support the diets, the exercise, and even the sleepless nights of different time zones, but sex is wear I draw the line,” you chuckled, hearing Max’s giggles mix in with your own. “Does Brad not realise what an irresistible man you are?”

Max’s eyes rolled as you continued to laugh away to yourself, “maybe you should tell him all about it at the next team briefing?”

“Does this mean that the ban is over?” You asked, a wave of relief washing over you as Max’s head nodded in reply to you.

The look on your face reminded Max exactly why he found it so difficult to control himself around you in the first place, especially after ten days of trying his best to distance himself.

“Brad will forgive me…I’m a desperate man,” Max laughed as he stood up from his chair, holding you tightly in his arms as he headed for your bed.

“Trust me, you’re not the only one whose desperate.”

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[ho3smadd]

Don't take it personal...

Parings... Theodore Nott x slytherin!reader

Trope... academic rivals to lovers

Warnings... swearing

Summary... Theodore Nott and Y/n have had rivalry to gain the highest grade in Potions for years but when someone gets hurt maybe it's gone too far...

Y/n L/n prided herself on two things: her impeccable grades and her unflappable demeanor. As a Slytherin, she knew the importance of maintaining a composed and strategic front, and she had mastered it to perfection. Except, of course, when it came to Theodore Nott.

Theodore was an enigma, a quiet presence that somehow always managed to get under her skin. He was brilliant, annoyingly so, and the only one who could rival her in Potions. Professor Slughorn often praised their concoctions, hinting at an unspoken rivalry that everyone in Slytherin House was aware of.

Y/n’s competitive spirit was fueled by Theodore’s relentless determination to outdo her. It wasn’t just about the grades; it was about proving herself, about being the best. Every potion she brewed was meticulously crafted, every essay on potion-making filled with insightful analysis and innovative ideas. Yet, no matter how hard she worked, Theodore was always there, a step ahead or right beside her, matching her effort for effort.

One evening, the common room was unusually quiet. Y/n was hunched over her Potions textbook, quill scratching furiously across the parchment. She hadn’t noticed the hours slipping away, the candles burning lower and lower. She hadn’t even noticed her own body’s protests, the gnawing hunger in her stomach because she just had to skip lunch and dinner and the dizzying exhaustion that clouded her vision as her body practically begged for rest.

It was Theodore who noticed. He had been watching her from a distance, his own books spread out in front of him but his attention clearly divided. He saw the way her hands trembled slightly, the way her head dipped closer to the table with each passing minute.

“Y/n” he called softly, but she didn’t respond. She was too engrossed in her work, too caught up in the need to perfect her latest potion theory.

“Y/n!” His voice was sharper this time, cutting through the haze of her concentration. She looked up, eyes glassy with fatigue.

“What, Nott?” she snapped, the sharpness in her voice a stark contrast to her usual calm demeanor.

“You need to eat something. You’ve been at this for hours,” he said, a note of concern creeping into his voice.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, though her vision swam as she tried to focus on him.

“No, you’re not,” he argued, standing up and crossing the room to her side. “You’re going to make yourself sick if you keep this up.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but the words didn’t come. Instead, the room tilted violently, and before she knew it, she was falling, darkness closing in around her.

The next thing Y/n knew, she was lying on a couch in the common room, a soft blanket draped over her. She blinked, trying to piece together what had happened. The room was dimly lit, and she could make out Theodore’s silhouette sitting nearby, a worried expression etched on his face.

“What happened?” she mumbled, her voice weak.

“You passed out,” Theodore said bluntly. “You haven’t been taking care of yourself, Y/n. This fucked up competition that we have… it’s not worth your health.”

Y/n tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness forced her back down. She closed her eyes, frustration boiling inside her. “I can’t just give up, Theodore. I have to be the best.”

“Why?” he asked, his tone softer now. “Why is it so important to you?”

“Because…” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “Because it’s who I am. It’s all I have. We are both well aware of the customs that purebloods have and the expectations my parents have for me to secure a suitable match. This is for me because nothing ever is.”

Theodore sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Y/n, I never saw you as competition.”

His words took a moment to register. She stared at him, confusion mingling with exhaustion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’ve always admired you, respected you. But I didn’t push myself to outdo you because I saw you as an obstacle. I did it because…” He trailed off, looking almost embarrassed. “Because it was the only way I could get your attention.”

Y/n’s heart skipped a beat. “What?”

“I’ve liked you for a long time, Y/n,” Theodore admitted, his cheeks tinged with color. “But you were always so focused, so distant. Competing with you was the only way I could think of to get you to notice me and prove myself to you.”

She was silent, processing his words. The idea that Theodore had been trying to impress her, to earn her attention, was both shocking and oddly touching. She had always seen their rivalry as a battle, it had never occurred to her that it was his way of reaching out to her.

“Theodore, I…” She paused, uncertain of what to say. “I never knew.”

“Of course not,” he said with a sheepish smile. “I didn’t exactly make it obvious.”

She managed a weak smile in return. “You certainly have a unique way of showing it.”

He chuckled, the tension in the room easing slightly. “I’m sorry if I pushed you too hard. I never wanted to see you hurt. And if it means you’ll take better care of yourself, I’ll back off. I don’t need to compete with you to care about you.”

Y/n felt a warmth spread through her chest at his words. For the first time, she saw him not as her rival, but as someone who genuinely cared about her. It was a strange, yet comforting realization.

“You don’t have to back off,” she said softly. “Just… maybe we can find a better way to do this. A way that doesn’t involve me collapsing from exhaustion.”

Theodore’s expression brightened. “I’d like that.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the competitive edge between them replaced by something warmer, something more understanding. Y/n knew it wouldn’t be easy to change the dynamic that had defined their relationship for so long, but she was willing to try. For Theodore, and for herself.

As the days passed, their rivalry transformed into a partnership. They studied together, sharing insights and helping each other improve. Their mutual respect grew, and so did their affection. Theodore’s confession had opened a door that Y/n hadn’t even realized was there, and she was grateful for it.

One evening, as they sat together in the common room, Y/n looked over at Theodore, a smile playing on her lips. “You know, I think we make a pretty good team.”

He smiled back, his eyes warm. “I think so too.”

And in that moment, Y/n realized that she didn’t need to be the best to be happy. She just needed to be with someone who understood her, who cared about her, and who made her feel like she was enough, just as she was. Theodore had given her that, and she was determined to never take it for granted.

A/n... Please let me know what you think because I crave validation 😭

Also requests are openn

[commandershepardvasfuckit]

An Arranged Marriage, part 4

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

M!troll x f!reader

1.5k words, probably should have just combined it with the next part but I’m trying to keep them under 2k words each

Things have settled into a comfortable routine with Zen’jan and while you would not say the two of you were close you did seem to have an understanding. That is until one morning you wake up to find breakfast half started and Zen’jan nowhere to be found.

————

Honestly, you did not want to admit it, but Zen’jan had not done a bad job of taking care of you. Sure, he could be annoyingly persistent, but he made sure you took your pain medicine around the clock, drew hot baths for you whenever you wanted, chatted with you and kept you entertained, you even caved and asked him to rub your knees and ankles at one point.

Whenever you asked him if it was alright that he was staying home with you he almost seemed offended, telling you over and over “my wife does not feel well, of course it is alright to stay home”.

You could not image back in your kingdom that a king’s advisor would ever be able to just stay home with their spouse like this. Or even want to.

It felt weirdly quiet the first day he went back to his routine and left you home all day. You were not feeling up to going out into the city and exploring, though Bira came by and brought you lunch and spent time keeping you company, probably at Zen’jan’s request. It was almost a relief when he got back that night, his presence once more bringing warmth to your small home. As always he lit the hearth to drive off the pervasive chill that set in at sundown and began to unpack the food he picked up at a nearby tavern for the two of you.

“You know, you do not have to wait for me to light the hearth every night, I know you must get cold before then” he said as he brought you dinner while you stayed in bed wrapped in blankets and sat on the floor next to the bed as usual.

“I don’t know how to” you admitted.

“You do not know how to light a fire?”

“No? I’ve never needed to”.

“Then I will teach you in the morning” he insisted, “What if I have to meet late with the council? Or if I have to travel? I do not like thinking that you will just sit here and freeze. I do not mind taking care of you and doing things for you, but I would like to know that you can take care of yourself if I am away”.

You gave him a small nod, unfortunately he was right and it would not kill you to learn a few life skills.

The two of you ate in silence, only occasionally punctuated by Zen’jan trying to strike up a conversation, as he usually did. Thankfully after dinner he tended to just leave you be, letting you read or work on your own projects in peace while he bathed and then poured over documents from the council until you both went to bed and tonight was no exception.

Morning always came quickly, though this morning was quiet. No fire crackling in the hearth or sounds of cooking.

You rolled out of bed and remembered that Zen’jan had insisted on teaching you how to light the hearth, though he was no where to be found. All around the hearth were the usual breakfast ingredients, some wood and coals, and the flint and steel he typically used to light the hearth, but no sign of him.

You waited for a while, figuring that maybe he just stepped out to go pick something up, but time came and passed and still no Zen’jan.

At this you worried a little, surely if he was summoned to the council he would have woken you up to let you know? And clearly he started to get everything ready for breakfast, but why would he just leave? Determine to get some answers you quickly dressed yourself and decided to pay Bira a visit, if anyone knew where he was then surely it was her.

You made your way across the city and to her home, knocking on the door and hoping she would answer.

Bira opened up and gave you a confused smile, “Usually I come knocking on your door. What’s going on?”

“Have you seen Zen’jan today?” you blurted out.

“No, I can’t say I have, but he’s probably just at the hold in a council meeting. Have you tried there?”

“I haven’t, but it’s just weird. He makes breakfast everyone morning, and he wanted me to learn how to light the hearth this morning, but when I got up everything for breakfast was pulled out but he wasn’t there and I waited for ages and-”

Bira cut you off, “I’m sure it’s fine. He probably just got an urgent summons and didn’t want to wake you. Just go ask the guards at the hold, I’m sure they’ll let you know he’s there and just busy”.

“Yeah, you’re probably right” you sighed, not really convinced but it did not hurt to check.

The good news was that outside the hold you recognized one of the guards, Ba’tual, one of Zen’jan’s closest friends and a member of the king’s guard. The bad news is that you recognized one of the guards and it was Ba’tual.

“Why hello my little friend” he smiled as you approached.

Much like Zen’jan, Ba’tual was was tall and well built, though unlike how Zen’jan spent a lot of time making himself look smaller and less imposing, Ba’tual seemed to enjoy looming over people.

“Ba’tual” you greeted him shortly, “Have you seen Zen’jan?”

“You’re his wife, do you not know where your own husband is?” he smiled back.

“Just tell me if you’ve seen him, I’m not in the mood for games”. You still were not sure how Zen’jan tolerated Ba’tual much less was good friends with him. Ba’tual was loud and boastful, often chatting up anyone he thought he could get to go home with for the night, and unfortunately it seemed to work pretty often.

He was also unsettling in a way you could not quite put your finger on. He moved unnaturally quiet much the same way Zen’jan did, but there was something about his mere presence that often sent a chill down your spine. Maybe it was the few war stories you heard about him from your father’s men returning from the war, at least you figured Ba’tual had to be the man in the stories based on descriptions. Supposedly he had a penchant for unnecessary violence in fights and had a cruel streak during the war. It was something that made you wary of him and concerned about anyone who would call him a friend, Zen’jan included.

“I’m surprised he didn’t tell you, well he actually actually say he didn’t tell you, but I really didn’t believe him” he trailed off.

“Just tell me where he is”.

“He showed up at my door this morning, he’s staying there for now since he didn’t feel like he could ask for your help”.

“Just take me to him” you snapped.

Ba’tual said a few words in orcish to the other guard before looking back your way, “If you insist” he shrugged, “Try to keep up”.

His strides were long as the two of you wound your way through the city, you taking nearly two full steps for each of his one, out of breath by the time you reached Ba’tual’s home.

“Perhaps you can be a bit kinder to your husband, he’s trying his best” Ba’tual said as he unlocked the door and let you in.

Without looking up Zen’jan called out in the troll language from where he sat at the table pouring over reports and documents. You had not heard him speak it since your first day in the city when the two of you were married. The language was almost melodic with the rises and falls in pitch, and while you did not know what Zen’jan said his tone did seemed a lot happier than usual.

“It’s not just me, Zen” Ba’tual called to him.

Zen’jan looked up, first looking at you with confusion, then something akin to disappointment. His shoulders slumped forward and he glanced up at you, looking very nervous.

You wanted to yell at him, annoyed at how worried you were that something awful happened just to find him hanging out at a friend’s house, but you could not bring yourself to. Whatever was going on did not seem to be an emergency, but something definitely felt off.

“Take this back to your place, I’m not getting in the middle of a lovers’ quarrel” Ba’tual warned.

Zen’jan looked between you and Ba’tual, seemingly deciding what to do before he gathered up his papers and slunk towards the door.

“You” Ba’tual directed to Zen’jan, “Need to explain this to your wife. And you” he turned to face you, “Need to be kinder to him”.

You walked side by side with Zen’jan in silence on your way home, close enough where his arm kept brushing yours and he kept looking down at you as if he wanted to say something. The way he looked disappointed to see you at Ba’tual’s house weighed on you, he always smiled and seemed happy to see you when he got home or when you first woke up. He always greeted you with warmth. Maybe Ba’tual was right, maybe you should be nicer to him.

Part 5

[im-an-anthusiast]

Good enough 

“Jeez, you alright?” Maxwell asked, offering his hand for the girl to take. 

“Uh, yeah, I’m good,” the girl said, an unconvincing grin splitting her face. She seemed to be in pain. 

You’re not good enough to help.

Only semi-aware of doubt twisting at his voice, Maxwell replied, “Ah, good. I am glad. Looked like one nasty fall.”  As he tried to help her stand – she didn’t seem to need much assistance – Maxwell couldn’t help but try and inspect her. She seemed about his age – but looked unlike anyone he had ever seen. She was far taller than him, for one. And as she kept grinning, he could see her teeth flash. They were... sharp. He almost thought she was a vampire. The pale skin, sharp teeth – and how pretty she was – all seemed solid proof. However, Maxwell knew Magic wasn’t real.  

Determined not to refer to vampire girl as ‘vampire girl’ in his head, Maxwell inquired, “What’s your name?” 

“I’m Erin. You?” 

“Maxwell.” 

“That’s a long name...” 

“It’s really not.” 

“It so is,” she said, her overt amusement concerning. 

Realising exactly what is about to happen, Maxwell startled and started, “Don’t-”  

Only to be immediately interrupted by Erin. “Max?” she asked, cutting him off with a now-genuine grin growing at his apparent frustration, “How about X?” 

“The dangers of getting hit by a football, I suppose. So sad seeing kids with brain damage at such a young age,” Maxwell said with as much wistfulness as he could muster, trying to talk over Erin’s increasingly annoying menagerie of nickname suggestions. 

“-Maxy?” 

Upon hearing those horrible four letters, Maxwell’s world shattered. She – through trial and error – figured out the worst nickname. The thing his mother calls him. “NOT THAT ONE,” Maxwell said forcefully, feeling his face heat up, “PLEASE NOT ‘MAXY’.” 

“What, can I not use that part of your name? Pfft, okay, Well.” 

He honestly wasn’t sure if being called a well, of all things, was better or worse. “Kids can’t go to prison for murder, right?” he muttered, hoping the nickname won’t stick. 

Erin doubled over, laughing her lungs out. Hunched over, giggling and holding her sides, she seemed genuinely happy, perhaps – and hopefully – having forgotten about the pain she had been in. Maxwell pulled a sore face, but couldn’t help but feel happy. He made a friend, and by God, her laughter was beautiful. 

- 

“And the winner is... yours truly!” she exclaimed in a sing-song voice – and far too tauntingly. 

Pointing his index finger at Inn, Maxwell did his best to glare at her as he spoke through ragged breaths, “N-no... no... God... No fair...” 

She laughed gloriously and teased, “Oh, don’t be a sore loser, Well! I won fair and square!” 

“I’m not-” 

Good enough. 

“-the biggest fan of this game,” he said, large breaths interrupting his speech. 

“Makes sense, since you keep losing,” she said, then added with a grin, “just like with every other game.”  

“You’re... cheating. Or something. Just... no fair!” 

“Well, that, or...” Inn hummed in mock thought, before her face lit up. Maxwell could swear he saw a lightbulb just above her head. She exclaimed confidently, “You suck, and I don’t?” 

You’re not good enough. 

“You are so lucky I am out of breath right now.” 

- 

“What is it?” Maxwell questioned, one brow raised. Inn seldom approached him so seriously. Even when discussing grave issues, she was annoyingly charmingly light-hearted about it. 

“Never mind, nothing,” she said after hesitating, her face twisting into a frown for just a split second. 

You’re not good enough to know. 

“Are you sure?” he asked, trying to smooth his voice out – and not show too much concern. 

“Yes.” 

You’re not good enough to help. 

“Alright, Inn. You know I’m always here – should you ever need something.” 

You’re not good enough. 

“Careful, or I might take you up on that, Well,” she said, a faint smile tugging the corners of her mouth upward. 

- 

She wasn’t saying anything. Neither of them was. The sound of the rustling of bandages filled the dark room – and was only occasionally interrupted by the sounds of either of their breathing. The not-quite silence hung heavy, and his hands shook as he used up the last of the bandages to finish wrapping her torso. 

Maxwell hated how silent she was being. How timid she was being. He hated that she wasn’t telling him why or how this happened. That she wasn’t telling him who did this to her. And he hated himself for not having been able to help her. But he couldn’t have. He couldn’t. Because she hadn’t told him.  

Because you’re not good enough. 

He sighed. “Tea?” 

“I- What?” 

Sighing again, he tried elaborating, “Tea always helps me when...”  

When you’re not good enough. 

He shook his head and refocused, before continuing, “Want some?” 

“Uh... yeah? Sure?” 

He picked himself up from the bed and left the room. His hands still couldn’t stop shaking, even after he washed Erin’s blood off of them and as he went through the usually soothing ritual of putting water to boil and pouring a hot cup of it. The tea spread through the scolding water like red, wispy smoke. Or like blood. 

Before long, he pressed the steaming mug into Inn’s hands. He hoped that she couldn’t see how wide his eyes were with distress and terror as his gaze roamed the wounded expanses of her not-sufficiently patched-up body. And worse yet, beneath the gashes and in-between the countless cuts and bruises, there were deep, horrid scars. He swallowed thickly, trying to steel himself. He met her eyes. 

“It’s fine.” 

But not good enough. 

“I’m fine.” 

But not good enough. Because you’re not good enough to help. 

- 

“I would have-”  

She wouldn’t have. 

“-told-”  

You weren’t good enough to know. 

 “-y-” 

You never have been. 

“Liar,” he cut her off bitterly. 

She never could have – never would have told the likes of you. 

“N-no. No. No! I’m... I’m not a-” she paused, as if hesitating, “You weren’t-“ GOOD ENOUGH. 

She could no longer get words out, as only ragged, incomprehensible sounds tore themselves out of her throat. 

He broke a friend – his very best friend, and by God, her sobs were horrifying. 

Liar, liar

“Jeez, you alright?” asked the boy, sticking his outstretched hand right up to her face. 

“Uh, yeah, I’m good,” Erin replied, plastering a toothy smile on her face. Liar, liar. 

“Ah, good. I am glad. Looked like one nasty fall,” the boy said almost absently as he helped her stand. Rising to her far-above-average-for-a-7-year-old height, Erin inspected the boy. He seemed about her age – but looked unlike anyone she had ever seen. His hand contrasted hers as she held it, tan skin far different to hers, pale and freckled; his hair was unlike any she had seen before, stark white waves curling around his face, far different from the dark brown hair framing hers. He was pretty. Whatever pretty even means to Erin when thinking about boys, anyway. 

“What’s your name?” the boy asks, pulling Erin out of her staring trance.  

“I’m Erin. You?” 

“Maxwell.” 

“That’s a long name...” 

“It’s really not.” 

“It so is,” said Erin, her amusement surely apparent. Another thing that was apparent – to her, at least – was what would come next. 

“Don’t-” he started, seemingly being able to tell as well – and not looking too pleased with it. 

“Max?” Erin interrupts, a grin growing at the boy’s – Maxwell’s – apparent frustration. “How about X?” 

“The dangers of getting hit by a football, I suppose. So sad seeing kids with brain damage at such a young age,” Maxwell said with an obviously forced wistfulness, trying to talk over Erin’s quickly growing menagerie of nickname suggestions. 

"-Maxy?” 

“NOT THAT ONE,” Maxwell said forcefully, blushing up a storm, “PLEASE NOT ‘MAXY’” 

“What, can I not use that part of your name? Pfft, okay, Well.” 

Maxwell narrowed his eyes, muttering, “Kids can’t go to prison for murder, right?” 

The pain in her side made itself more known as Erin lit up, doubling over in raucous laughter. Even so, hunched in giggling fits, she still towered over Maxwell. And despite the sore face he was making, she could see his eyes. Those smiling, steel grey eyes. 

- 

“And the winner is... yours truly!” Erin exclaimed tauntingly, her voice almost melodic. 

Gasping and panting, Well held up his index finger, before pointing it at her and talking in a manner most people with lungs don’t. “N-no... no... God... No fair...” he stuttered out, a half-hearted glare narrowing his eyes. 

She laughed heartily, and teasingly said, “Oh, don’t be a sore loser, Well! I won fair and square!” Liar, liar. 

“I’m not,” he paused, getting an impressively large and loud lungful of air, before continuing, “the biggest fan of this game.” 

“Makes sense – since you keep losing,” she said, then added with a grin, “just like with every other game.”  

“You’re... cheating,” Liar, liar. “-or something. Just... no fair!” 

“Well, that, or...” she hummed in mock-thought, lit up, and exclaimed as if she had a revelation, “You suck, and I don’t?” 

“You are so lucky I am out of breath right now.” 

- 

“What is it?” he questioned, one white brow raised. 

“Never mind, nothing,” she said after hesitating. Liar, liar. 

His eyes soft as they met hers as he replied, asking genuinely, “Are you sure?”  

“Yes,” Erin answered, the concern in his voice only making the bile rising up her throat more biting. Liar, liar. 

“Alright, Inn. You know I’m always here – should you ever need something.” 

“Careful, or I might take you up on that, Well.” Liar, liar. 

- 

He wasn’t saying anything. Neither of them was. The sound of the rustling of bandages filled the dark room – and was only occasionally interrupted by the sounds of either of their breathing. The not-quite silence hung heavy with unspoken words – with omission. Liar, liar.  

Erin hated how silent he was being. How gentle he was being. She hated that he wasn’t asking why or how this happened. And she hated herself for not telling him. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t. He can’t know. For his own good. Liar, liar. 

He sighed. “Tea?” 

“I- What?” 

Sighing again, he tried elaborating, “Tea always helps me when...” he went quiet, seemingly having lost his train of thought, before shaking his head and continuing, “Want some?” 

“Uh... yeah? Sure?” 

He picked himself up from the bed and left the room. She could hear him making noise in the kitchen – the kitchen she knew so well – even without using Magic and enhancing her hearing, and she was thankful for every noise cutting through the oppressively deafening silence.  

Before long, Well pressed a steaming mug into her hands. She hoped that he couldn’t see how they glistened with blood, that he couldn’t see the deep gashes in her flesh that stretched from her hands to her arms, morbidly decorating them – with no bandages to coat them, as her torso had required far more attention than she thought and far more supplies than he had. She met his eyes.  

“It’s fine.” Liar, liar. “I’m fine.” Liar, liar. 

- 

“I would have-” Liar, liar. “-told-”  Liar, liar “-y-” 

“Liar,” he cut her off bitterly. 

“N-no. No. No! I’m... I’m not a-” LIAR, LIAR. LIAR, LIAR. LIAR, LIAR. “You weren’t-“ LIAR, LIAR. 

She looked at him, sorrow and desperation twisting her face. But he couldn’t see it. She looked into his- Liar, liar. 

She tried looking into his eyes, but they weren’t there. All because of her. And no voice in her head told her otherwise. 

[thewritetofreespeech]

I don't know if you've done this before :( but could you maybe write about the Obey me brothers after an argument with MC?? Like a fight make up kind of situation??

400 years later.....

Well, maybe not that long, but certainly long enough. I'm sorry >.<. Hope this doesn't put you off on sending other things because I did like doing this one!

Obey me Brothers + MC After a Fight

Lucifer

It was late into the evening when you heard the knock at your door. Before you could ask who it was, you heard the even timber of Lucifer’s voice behind the door. “[Y/N], it’s me. May I come in?” There was a long pause than usual between his introduction and question, seeming to debate asking, or your response, before he asked it.

To be honest, he had a right to be cautious because you weren’t sure what your answer would be before you opened your mouth. “Yes. Come in.”

The heavy door opened and Lucifer stepped in. Prim and as well stationed as ever, but the confidence normally in his face diminished just the slightest. “I…came to apologize.” The words seem to want to drag out of his throat. Like it’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to say. Not the best start for an apology.

“You didn’t have to treat me that way.” You tell him. Telling you like a child in front of everyone. Getting your hand smacked for something you didn’t even do. No coming to give some lack luster, dutiful apology he doesn’t mean. “And don’t say your sorry if you’re not.”

“I am sorry.” Lucifer insisted, before he took a deep breath and tried to relax. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have embarrassed you like that in front of everyone. I was upset, and took it out on you. Sometimes you’re an easy target because I know you’ll care for me no matter what I do. We always hurt most the ones we love.” Your cheeks tint at the comment. Damn him and his suave words.

The demon makes the effort to cross the threshold and take your hands. “Please know that I am truly sorry for my behavior. I will strive to never make you feel foolish, or less than, again. My mission in life now is to show you how much more than I find you over everyone else.”

You roll your eyes a little at the comment. “Let’s not get carried away. You’re starting to sound like Asmo.”

You giggle when Lucifer gave a forced, disgusted shutter. He then lifted your hands to his lips and gave them a kiss. “Am I forgiven?” He asked.

“I suppose.” Annoyingly, he was right. You would always care for, and love him, so it was hard to stay mad at him for long.

“Good,” he said, with his usual prideful smile, “I’m glad. I do plan to still make it up to you though. So make no plans for Saturday.”

“Will do.” You agreed. Giving him a tiny salute. He then left to let you finish getting ready for bed. Ideas of how he’d ‘make it up to you’ swirling in your head.

Mammon

There was a sharp rap at your door that rung out clear in your room over your headphones. You were curious who was here at this hour, but got up to go answer the door before the tried again.

You open the door and are immediately confronted with a bundle of flowers being shoved in your face. Almost to the point of the blooms bursting against your cheeks. You stagger, at the afront of color, and the bouquet is pulled back slightly to reveal Mammon behind them. “I…bought you these flowers. To say I’m sorry.” The more he talked the more his voice trailed off. His normally confidence draining like the color from his face.

“Isn’t it rather cliché to buy someone flowers to apologize?”

Mammon flinched at your criticism. “I didn’t know what else to do. If you don’t like them I’ll buy you something else. Anything you want! Just please…talk to me.” Please forgive me, was what he was really saying.

You look at the demon for a moment. His defeated stance not fitting into his character at all. Ironic, since the fight was about Mammon being too full of himself. Confidence was one thing, but ever now and then it was too much, and when you tried to talk to him about it he turned on you. He had immediately regretted it, but you refused to talk to him for several days after to cool off.

Apparently, that was the worse punishment he could think of.

“You don’t need to buy me anything Mammon. I’ve already forgiven you.”

“Really??” He asked. Seeming unsure of what he’d heard or that he could trust you.

“Really.” You repeat, and immediate find yourself in his arms. Your flowers falling to the floor as he hugged you.

“Thank you [Y/N]! I’ll never do anything stupid like that again! I promise!”

“Well now, let’s not make promises we can’t keep.” You tease. Patting his back. “We all make mistakes Mammon. I’ll be angry with you sometimes, but I generally forgive you. How can I stay mad at my ‘First Man’ for long?” His hold on you tightened a little. It lingered for a moment longer before he let you go.

“Yeah. Right. Don’t you forget it.”

Levi

You were getting ready to head downstairs when there was a knock at your door. It was a surprise, since you were going down to meet everyone. So who was up here now? You open the door and find everyone’s favorite otaku, out of his hole and in front of your door, staring at you.

“Y-Y-You…You weren’t answering my texts.” Levi finally got out.

“That should have been a hint.” You tell him. Perhaps a bit more curt than need be.

The bluenette straightened in alarm before his shoulder slumped again. “I know. I’m sorry! But I couldn’t stand the thought of you being mad at me! I know I can get a little…-“crazy?” You interjected –“excited about my games and stuff, but I really didn’t mean to snap at you!”

The two of you had been playing some new quest game that was all the rage apparently on the deep otaku net. Supposedly it was unbeatable. No one had actually ever seen the final boss ending yet. Which of course meant Levi was determined to be the first. Confident that his eons of experience wouldn’t lead him astray.

Sadly, the legends of the unbeatable game were true. And after hour after hour of crushing defeat Levi snapped and took it out on you. He’s locked himself in his room after. Ashamed, and upset that he hurt you; if his texts were anything to go off of.

“I threw the game away and I’ll never play it again. I promise! I’ll never go all rage beast mode on you again as long as I live! Just please forgive me and talk to me again!”

“Oh Levi, it’s not that serious.” You insist as you reach out your hand to his clasped ones in front of you. Reassuring him. “We all get a little crazy when things don’t go our way. I forgive you. In the future lets try to play games that are a little less….taxing on our relationship, if we can manage.”

“R-R-R! Relationship!” Levi stammered. Turning bright red in front of you, which made you giggle. You lean in to give him a kiss on the cheek. Really frying his circuits. Maybe it was a little bit out of you missing Levi when you were fighting. And maybe it was also his ‘punishment’ for the fight as well.

Satan

Tucking into your homework for the evening, you look up from your desk when there was a knock at the door. It was sharp, to the point. You immediately knew who it was, and debated not answering. However, that would be rude and a level of pettiness not even you could manage.

“Hello Satan,” you greet when you open the door. Correct in guessing who was there. “How can I help you?”

The blonde seemed wounded by your formality, usually such a champion of manners. But he was a clever man and knew you were doing it to put some distance between you. “I came to apologize.”

“As you should.” Ok. Maybe you were a little pettier than you like to admit.

“You’re right, and I should have been here sooner. I was just….embarrassed.” Satan ran his fingers through his hair. “He just makes me so angry sometimes! Being so high and mighty. Bossing us around. I try to keep it under control but….I can’t.” Given he is the Avatar of Wrath, it’s a wonder he made any effort to keep his rage in check. Everyone says he was getting better though. Even his relationship with Lucifer was getting better; even with this spat. “It pains me more than I can tell you to know that I upset you in the process. Turning on you like that like an idiot when you were only trying to help. It was so stupid.”

“It wasn’t very like you.” You admit, and Satan gave a single, bitter scoff.

“Maybe not now. Maybe with you.” Cautiously he reached out his hand to take yours in a gentle hold. “But I am sorry. Please know that I’ll strive to not let my anger get the better of me again.”

“I’m sure you will.” You said. Squeezing his hand back. “And, I forgive you. I should know by now not to get involved with any of your fights. But I care about you all so much.”

“But you care about me most, yes?” He asked with a soft smile. To which you giggle and kiss his cheek.

“Yes. I care for you most.”

Asmo

It was late afternoon when you heard the knock at your door. Typically, everyone was off doing their own activities at this hour, so it was a surprise to have someone looking for you. You open the door cheerfully at first, but then frowned. “Oh. Hello Asmo.”

“Hello [Y/N]-kun.” Asmo greeted brightly, but you could tell it was forced. “I…wanted to come see you. To apologize. For acting so ugly earlier.”

It’s not often that Asmo lost his temper. He usually left that to his silly, older brothers. Rising above in dignified beauty, as he liked to put it. But every now and then it got the best of him, and his tongue was sharper than any knife in the draw when he got that way.

“What you said really hurt Asmo.”

“I know,” he admitted frowning. “I haven’t been able to sleep all night thinking about it. Look at these bags!” You frown as he pointed to his under eyes, and he realized he was being selfish again. “I’m sorry I said such awful things the other day. I don’t have an excuse or fix for it. Except to say that I’m sorry, and I hope you forgive me.”

You let out a soft sigh at his words. He did seem sincere. It was a little odd to see Asmo so down. “Alright, I forgive you.” The demon immediately perked up with his usual smile and took your hands in his.

“Thank you [Y/N]! Let me take you out shopping, as a further apology. I’ll buy you anything you like!”

“So we’ve resorted to bribery now?” Asmo giggled at your joke and you nod. “I’ll right. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to get out. Anything I want?” Asmo nodded and made some suggestions on what you could spend his money on as you walked. Inevitably ending up on lingerie, which earned him a smack.

Beel

You had just gotten back from class when you heard the knock at the door. It startled you. You had only just gotten back a moment ago, so what remarkably good timing.

You finish taking off your uniform jacket before you open the door. Startled, yet again, to find Beel behind it. “Beel?”

“Hi [Y/N].”

An awkward silence filled the space, one that hadn’t been there since you first arrived in the Devildom, before you spoke. “I uh…was going to change. I just got back from class.”

“I know. I waited for you to come back.” The red head confessed. Nervously scratching the back of his head. “I wanted…to talk. I wanted to apologize.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for.” You reply. Now nervously scratching the back of your head as well. “If anything I should apologize.”

Beel was so sweet and kind. But sometimes, his ‘space cadet ways’ over anything that didn’t involve food or fitness was very hard to deal with. He’d forgotten you were supposed to meet, yet again, so when he showed up an hour late for your date yesterday you had given him an ear full. He’d been hurt, but took it. Now you just felt bad, like you had kicked a puppy, with it over.

“But I should have remembered. It’s not fair that I forgot when we were supposed to meet. Again.” He looked upset with himself and fidgeted with his hands. “I really am sorry I forgot. I don’t want you to think you’re not important or anything. I’m just dumb.”

“You’re not dumb!” You scold Beel. Not accepting him putting himself down like that. “Can’t we just agree that we’re both at fault. You should have remembered, but I shouldn’t have yelled at you either. Can’t we just….make up? I hate fighting with you.”

Beel smiled softly and leaned forward to give you a hug. “I hate fighting too. I think I’ll be ok if we both take blame. That seems fair.” He let you go and stepped back. Seeming back to his usual, easy going self already. “Do you want to do a make up date? If you’re free. I can take you to Madam Scream’s or we can go get Fire Iceies.”

You giggle and nod. “Sure. That would be wonderful.”

Belphie

It was so late at night when you heard the knock at your door that, initially, you thought you dreamt it.

Hearing it again, you woke up and threw on your robe over your pjs to go answer the door. Groggy, and a little concerned as to who could be here at this hour. Something must be wrong.

“Belphie?” You question in a whisper. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.” He said. Remarkably less groggy than you were for a change. “I had to see you.”

“In the middle of the night?” You question. Getting more alert and annoyed at being woken up by him.

“Yes. I couldn’t sleep. Imagine that.” His fingers twirl at his long bangs while he looked down at the floor. “I came to apologize.”

“Apologize?” You repeat. Shocked, more than anything, that he was here to apologize. Not that he did deserve an apology to you, you just didn’t think he’d do it.

“Yes. To apologize. Can we make up now?”

“That’s it??” You remark after his ‘apology’. “You say you’re sorry like that and I’m just supposed to forgive you?”

“Yes. That’s how apologies work.”

“No it isn’t!” You snap. Louder than you wanted to with the late hour. You set your teeth and wheeze through them. You don’t want to start another fight. “You apologize because you feel bad about something and want to make it up to the person. It has to be sincere.”

“I am being sincere.” Belphie insisted. “This is sincere as I get.”

“Well it certainly doesn’t feel like it.” You reply. Crossing your arms.

It was Belphie’s turn to sigh at you. “Look. I’m not like Asmo or the others who are great with words. I came to apologize, and that’s it. I was wrong and I wanted to say I’m sorry. That’s the best I can do.”

“Why do you even want to say your sorry? If you don’t sound like you mean it.”

“Because I hate you being angry with me.” You blink in surprise at Belphie’s confession, and he sighed again. “I hate it. I hate not talking to you. I don’t care what anyone else thinks of me, but if you hate me, I can’t stand it. So, I came to apologize. To do anything so you wouldn’t hate me anymore.”

You uncross your arms and scrunch your lips a little bit. “That’s a better apology.” He looked back up at you with a questioning look. Seeming surprised that he had ‘done good’. “And, I don’t hate you. Just because I’m angry with you, for good reason, doesn’t mean I hate you. I could never hate you.”

The demon smiled softly. His expression tired, but hopeful. “Thanks [Y/N].”

“Now, we need to get back to bed. It is the middle of the night after all. And we have school.”

“Ok.” Belphie agreed. Then stepped into your room and made way to your bed.

“In your own room mister!”

[worstloki]

Fic gift for you

Variants come and go at the TVA, and the Judge rarely remembers the faces, so often does she have to prune annoying miscreants who risk ruining the Sacred Timeline. Almost all who come before the judge are guilty, and for those who are innocent, their timeline is still doomed – and them along with it. Is it fair? Perhaps not. But this is the job the Judge has been bestowed, and she has no memory or desire to carry out any other purpose, content to decree a death sentence to all.

There is one name however, that sticks in her mind, despite the fact that she wishes otherwise. Loki Laufeyson; Loki Odinson; Loki, God of Mischief; Loki, Prince of Asgard; Loki, Heir of Jotunheim – no matter the title or surname, the first name remains the same, and the parade of Loki variants who inevitably find themselves before the Judge bring with them their own versions of chaos. It would be exhausting, if the Judge could feel exhaustion.

There are Loki variants of all shapes and sizes, genders and abilities, and the unpredictable nature of Loki means the Judge presides over the pruning of their variants more than any other living soul in her career. The most frustrating variants however, are those who are so close to the Sacred Timeline – so close to perfecting the role set out by the Time Keepers – who then make one poor decision and ruin the natural order. The Judge hates these ones most of all.

-

L6128 is a version of Loki that falls under this category. The Judge is currently staring at a small boy, with pale skin, dark hair and slightly trembling knees.

‘Laufeyson, Variant L6128, you are charged with Sequence Violation 7-84-29. How do you plead?’

The boy before the Judge squeaks slightly, stumbling backwards in shock.

‘I’m Odinson, not Laufeyson,’ he mutters, chin stuck out stubbornly despite his shaking voice. ‘My father will come and destroy you for stealing me.’

The Judge leans forwards slightly on her desk, and peers downwards.

‘As you have just learnt, in your extremely ill-advised adventure into your weapons chamber, you are not an Asgardian, and Odin is not your father. Learning your true heritage at this point has caused a Nexus event. I find you guilty.’

The hammer slams down on the gavel, and the small boy is led away for pruning. Compassion is not instilled in the Judge, but look the boy gives her remains in her mind for a long time.

-

‘Laufeyson, Variant L3524, you are charged with Sequence Violation 7-28-59. How do you plead?’

L3524 stares back at her with a slightly haunted expression, which hardens when he hears the name.

‘Don’t call me that,’ he snarls, struggling against the guards holding him in place. This version seems to be more physically combatant than the last few, and the Judge eyes him warily.

‘You did not deploy the Destroyer against your brother on Earth,’ she announces. ‘I find you guilty.’

‘So what?’ snaps L3524. ‘I showed compassion for my brother and didn’t murder him, and for this I am condemned? Who the hell are you to determine what I should or should not have done?’

The Judge sighs. ‘By not deploying the Destroyer, you did not set the scene for your brother’s development,’ she drones, shuffling some paperwork. ‘You caused a Nexus event. Guilty.’

-

‘Laufeyson, Variant L9173, you are charged with Sequence Violation 7-46-39. How do you plead?’

Another court case, another Loki. L9173 can barely stand, covered in bruising and burn marks. He might drop dead before the Judge can issue a verdict, which would be efficient but unsatisfactory.

‘I don’t think my brother is very impressed that you stole me away,’ L9173 grunts out, an amused expression on his face despite everything. ‘Didn’t you hear, we had a very touching reunion when I managed to shake off a little bit of mind control? He’s not going to be happy he’s lost me yet again.’

The Judge gazes back with a bland expression. ‘Mister Odinson is not a concern to us. You were the one who violated the sequence and caused a Nexus event by choosing to fight the Chitauri instead of leading the invasion. The Avengers cannot continue down the Sacred Timeline if this happens. Guilty.’

-

‘Laufeyson, Variant L3372, you are charged with Sequence Violation 7-59-41. How do you plead?’

L3372 is being held up by two Minutemen, his face ashen and one hand attempting to staunch the flow of blood that is spreading across his chest.

‘I’d say interminable legalese is not my highest priority right now,’ he says, attempting to sound proud and strong despite slowly dying as they all stand in the court. ‘Perhaps we could discuss random allegations after I’ve taken a moment.’

The Judge doesn’t need a moment to determine guilt, however. This variant has not faked his own death for Thor Odinson, and was therefore not on the pathway to pretend to be King of Asgard. The events of Ragnarok had been moving further away; the Sacred Timeline must be preserved.

‘Guilty,’ the Judge announces, a bored wave of her hand. She can’t be bothered to even give an explanation this time – and L3372 is leaving an annoyingly large pool of blood on the floor.

-

The Judge is performing deskwork rather than court duties when the whispers and rumours begin to trickle around the office. A Loki variant, who escaped the Minutemen and is now set free in the timeline. It’s a concerning accident, but the Judge is sure the TVA will resolve it in an appropriate manner. It is not the Judge’s problem to deal with, however, and so she pushes the thought aside. There is more pruning to be done.

-

‘Laufeyson, Variant L6742, you are charged with Sequence Violation 7-93-19. How do you plead?’

After the last few variants, it’s almost surprising for the Judge to see such a strong and triumphant looking Loki, despite a heavy layer of annoyance displayed across his face, and bruises littering his cheek. He’s still clutching a blue, glowing box.

‘What right have you to bring me here?’ L6742 snaps, clutching the box tighter. ‘I demand you release me and take me back to Thor at once.’

The Judge reads out loud from the paperwork. ‘You have violated the Sacred Timeline and caused a Nexus event through using the Tesseract to save yourself and Thor Odinson from Thanos the Titan. You are guilty, and sentenced to pruning.’

L6742 fights back against the Minutemen at this, managing to kill one with his own weapon before more Minutemen burst in and surround him.

‘Whatever it is, you’re wrong about me,’ L6742 says desperately. ‘I was making a difference.’

‘Exactly,’ the Judge feels compelled to interject. ‘You were making the wrong difference. Stop fighting the inevitable. You were born to cause pain and suffering and death. That’s how it is, that’s how it was, that’s how it will be. All so that others can achieve their best versions of themselves. Stop trying to stray from your path. Guilty.’

The hammer bangs on the gavel with finality, and L6742 is led away for his sentence.

-

There’s another Loki variant at the TVA not long after – L1130. The Judge doesn’t meet this version – Ravonna Renslayer herself oversaw his sentencing. But she is surprised to hear that the variant is allowed to keep existing, at least whilst helping on a case. Mobius always was a bit pathetic. The Judge doesn’t waste any more time reflecting on L1130 however – she has too many other important duties to be concerned about.

Indeed, she doesn’t think of him again until the TVA is burning around them. All of the Judge’s purpose in existence, going up in flames and she simply stares, for once truly feeling the shock. L1130 rounds the corner, followed by Mobius and a small man in bland office attire. They are all carrying weapons. There is no history between the Judge and L1130, but she swears she can see hatred in the Variant’s eyes before they open fire.

The Judge is disintegrated in an instant.

[arrowjaeger]

Basic TMNT Headcanons (2012)

because i think we need more tmnt headcanons that aren’t solely revolving around how they would be as a boyfriend…

Leonardo

• he/him

• bi guy in denial

• doesn’t fully understand what LGBTQIA+ is but supports it

• is the oldest of his brothers

• definitely has all the first born traits

• goody-two-shoes, tattletale, annoyingly nice etc.

• has seen every episode of space heroes 37 times

• is maybe a little too protective over his comic book collection

• like he wouldn’t even let his brothers talk about it

• pretends he’s edgier than he is

• is listed as “Fearless” Raph’s phone

• often wrongly deemed as Splinter’s favorite

• listens to one direction

• unknowingly listens to music about gay men and vibes to it not realizing he relates to it

• always makes his bed in the morning

• probably does yoga at 6 am in the dojo

• will only watch sci fi

• plays adventure games like Zelda or Tomb Raider

• makes the best tea

• is mostly vegan

• a poser when it comes to skateboarding

• has separation anxiety

• teachers pet when it comes to learning ninjitsu

• thinks he has the best smile

• probably has dimples

• would rather be cold than hot

• being cold blooded that leads to issues

• relates to Linkin Park’s “What I’ve Done” on a spiritual level

• cannot sing

• like he cannot carry a tune whatsoever

• if the ninja turtles came out with a christmas album, Leo would be stuck playing the triangle

• he’d try to sing backup but Donnie would turn his mic off

Raphael

• he/him

• kinda homophobic but he doesn’t realize it/kinda just internalized homophobia

• second oldest

• is sour that he isn’t the tallest

• secretly likes frank sinatra music

• most protective brother but he’d never admit it

• honestly he’s just a big teddy bear

• is determined to make himself look good in grey sweatpants

• doesn’t know how to play his drum set but likes the vibe it gives his room

• wishes he could learn how to play the guitar but he doesn’t have enough fingers

• is listed as “hulk” in Mikey’s phone

• is probably still learning how to read

• problem child (tm)

• dry scoops protein powder

• always adds 30lbs when he tells you how much he can bench press

• likes action movies as much as he says he likes horror

• he hates horror

• rages when he plays Fortnite or Apex

• he also plays Twisted Metal

• does clap push ups to show off

• has amazing thighs

• surprisingly the best driver out of all of them when he tries

Donatello

• he/they

• baby he’s bi bi bi

• likes April and Casey both but hasn’t realized it yet

• third oldest

• middle child (tm)

• complains about being the middle child but no one hears him cuz he is *cough* the middle child

• has a concerning obsession with star wars

• hopeless romantic

• has like 12,000 date ideas but is too scared of rejection to ask anyone out

• 70% brains, 30% coffee

• corrects others grammar (sometimes he just mutters the corrections under his breath)

• gives the BEST gifts

• super insecure about the way he looks

• hates his hands and wishes they were smaller so he could work on his tech easier

• love language is definitely words of affirmation

• listens to too much dubstep music

• he definitely listens to vocaloid

• read all of the harry potter books in a week

• he is nearsighted and he didn’t even realize people could see things that were so far away-

• wore April’s glasses once and was blown away with how much he could see that he asked if he could keep them

• she let him have them (seeing as she either wears contacts or just accepts the fact that she can’t see) and he popped the lenses out making his own customized spectacles

• he only wears them sometimes but usually has them on him

• wants to wear a bi flag colored mask in june

• is obsessed with hoodies

• is listed as “Donato” in Leo’s phone

• anxiety and depression

• maybe a little ocd

• probably helps tutor kids online

• enjoys Alfred Hitchcock and Twilight Zone

• really doesn’t feel like he has time for games but when he does he sticks to the classics like Tetris or Kablooey

• occasionally plays Overwatch because April plays it

• is basically the therapist of the group

• gives the best advice unless it comes to relationships

• knows all the LGBTQIA+ labels

• if you talk to him about how you are feeling about sexuality or gender he with diagnose you

• memorizes spotify ads

• lip syncs to them whenever they play

Michelangelo

• he/they

• doesn’t use labels but identifies strongly with pansexuality

• go with the flow kinda dude

• doesn’t care about labels

• supportive as fuck-

• youngest out of his brothers

• used to like being called “baby brother” but after being called it for 15 years he started getting sick of it

• *fs 180 ollies into your dms*

• brain empty unless it comes to skateboarding moves, then he knows all the terminology

• probably a pro at Tony Hawk 3 for the PS1

• secretly is an amazing graffiti artist

• has teamed up with Casey to make amazing pieces more than once

• definitely makes tiktoks and everyone just thinks he is a guy in costume or is a cgi creation

• has an insane amount of followers

• is OBSESSED with Jojo Siwa

• would wear high tops if his feet would fit into them

• probably has a JoJo Siwa scooter with matching knee and elbow pads

• has “High Top Shoes” on repeat in his brain 24/7

• ADHD

• is listed as “Baby Bro” in Donnie’s phone and he hates it

• honestly an amazing cook when he tries to be

• laughs at hate comments

• Splinter’s actual favorite

• only watches cartoons or Nickelodeon sit coms

• relates to Cat Valentine

• sucker for minecraft

• he found a cat village and built his house right next to it

• screams whenever he sees a baby zombie

• they run so fast

• gives the best relationship advice

[vera9]

KinnPorsche fic: Kindness (Porchay/Macau)

Summary: Like his brother before him, Porchay tries to keep Macau from abusing animals. Thankfully, it goes a little better this time.

AO3 link

It was a lovely afternoon in Lumphini Park, and Macau Theerapanyakul was bored out of his mind. While he and his brother were driving home for lunch, Vegas had announced he had some urgent business to take care of. Macau had been ready to voice his objections on account of an empty stomach, but not before he spotted a fresh bruise on Vegas’s arm. Even though Vegas had noticed him noticing and covered it up with his sleeve, Macau figured he could wait a little if it meant his big brother didn’t receive any more bruises for the day. He supposed he wasn’t that hungry.

So here he was, downright starving, and trying to kill time by feeding the ducks instead; feeding them pebbles, that is. He smirked when he hit one and watched it fly away, quacking in distress. A mother with chicks came paddling into view, and Macau tossed a second rock in his hand. They were next.

“What are you doing?”

Macau turned his head. Some guy was watching him at a safe distance. He seemed to be of similar age, and his face couldn’t scream “weeny” harder if it tried. Macau wasn’t going to waste his time on him.

“Fuck off,” he snapped, and he chucked the pebble at the unsuspecting family. Missed. Shit.

Macau grabbed another pebble before the mother used the opportunity to guide her chicks to safety, but the stranger’s hands were on his arm now.

“Stop it! You’ll hurt them!”

Macau roughly shoved him off. How dare he touch him?

“That’s the point, shithead. Now leave me alone.”

“No.” His peer paused for a minute, uncertain, but managed to push through his hesitance: “Those ducks didn’t do anything to you. You can’t hurt innocent animals.”

Macau scoffed, barely able to contain his laughter. Why could he never just bully aquatic life in peace?

“I can do whatever the fuck I want,” he spat, eyes venomous as they fixed on that annoyingly timid face. “Do you have any idea who I am? The last guy who bothered me was nearly killed for it. Do you understand that?”

“It–it doesn’t matter,” the kid insisted. His eyes weren’t nearly as forceful, but they were still determined. “Animals don’t care who you are. All that matters is that you’re a threat.”

Fucking hell. What a loser. 

“Please,” Macau sneered, “they’re just stupid ducks.”

“You think so?” The guy knelt by the edge of the water and pulled a small bag from his pocket. When he opened it and tossed out the contents, Macau realised they were seeds. 

The ducks watched with apprehension, still shaken by Macau’s assault, but they quickly changed their minds when it clicked that they were being fed. They zoomed over to snatch the seeds under a chorus of enthusiastic quacking.

“See? Kindness can be rewarding too.” The guy lifted his head to look at him, and Macau wasn’t prepared for the expression on his face: it was the definition of pure innocence, without a hint of malice, his smile as bright as the sun. Macau had never seen someone look so cute before.

He scoffed again, about to say something dismissive, but he was interrupted by a flash of lightning, closely followed by rumbling thunder. An incoming storm was hanging right above their hea–no, nevermind “incoming”. 

“Shit, shit, shit!” Macau hissed, fussing to find shelter as the shower had him drenched within seconds. The trees looked tempting, but Vegas had taught him never to use them for cover from a thunderstorm, lest he was going to end up fried. 

“O-over there,” the kid pointed, and he pulled him over to the Chinese pavilion by his sleeve. Macau yanked his arm back indignantly once they were safe and (sort of) dry.

“This is your fault,” he snarled.

“W-what?” The kid stared at him. “How?”

“I would’ve seen the storm coming if you didn’t distract me. Why don’t you just keep out of other people’s business?”

“I told you! Hurting animals is wrong!”

““Hurting animals is wrong”!” Macau repeated in a high-pitched, mocking tone. His features were nothing short of spiteful. “Such a saint, aren’t you? I bet you never do anything wrong. I bet you have a pair of loving parents waiting at home, who do nothing but coddle and spoil you all day.”

“I don’t.” To Macau’s surprise, the kid looked down at his feet. That defiant attitude was finally dwindling. “My parents passed away.”

… of course they fucking did. Macau looked away too; annoyed with this brat, with himself, with everything. Why couldn’t he one-up him just once without coming across as a total asshole?

He wasn’t going to apologise, though. Fuck that. Like he was supposed to know his parents were dead. He may be from the minor family, but Macau wasn’t going to lower himself to begging forgiveness from a nosy commoner. 

… no, not even when the whimpers came. He didn’t care. Maybe this wimp ought to grow a spine instead, how about that? Macau wasn’t responsible. He was blameless. He kept telling himself that even as he snuck a peek at the kid–only to find an expression that didn’t resemble sadness in the slightest.

No, without a doubt, this was fear.

“... are…” Macau started slowly. “... are you scared of thunderstorms?”

He nodded. See? Absolute pussy. Not worth Macau’s time. It’s not like storms used to terrify him for a long time or anything. Flinching at every clash of thunder, afraid to be struck by lightning and die, waiting for the world to crash down on him? No idea what that felt like.

… sigh.

Macau had gotten over his fear, but he very much remembered how paralysing it was. If it weren’t for Vegas talking him through the storms as they were happening, he didn’t know how he’d have coped. Did this kid have someone to do that with? His parents were out of the picture. Did he have siblings?

“... hey,” Macau said, and the kid looked at him, lips trembling. “What’s your name?”

“P-Porchay,” he stuttered. “Porchay Pichaya Kittisawat.”

That was a mouthful. And strangely familiar. But Macau had a name, too.

“Macau Theerapanyakul,” he replied with an air of arrogance, as if Porchay was supposed to know who he was. Of course he didn’t, but at least he was distracted from the storm.

“Ah, er–nice to meet you.”

Was it? They’d been arguing this whole time. Maybe he was just saying it out of habit. Besides, no one particularly liked getting acquainted with Macau.

“So, Porchay. Do you have siblings?”

He nodded again. “I have an older brother.”

Weird coincidence.

“Me too. And when I–uh–when his friend gets scared of thunderstorms, he distracts him by talking. Just chatting about stuff, you know? You should try that with your brother.”

Porchay was visibly surprised by his advice, and Macau couldn’t blame him. He didn’t know why he was saying it, either. It was pity. Yeah, of course–sheer pity for this pathetic little whelp. He ought to be gratefu–

His stomach made a noise that even the thunder couldn’t drown out. Porchay blinked, then struggled not to smile. 

“Are you hungry?”

“No,” Macau snapped, cheeks heating as he glared out at the rain. Why’d he even bother being nice to this brat?

Porchay reached inside his other pocket and presented something to him. “Here.”

Macau glanced at his hand. It was a dorayaki.

“My brother likes these. You can have it if you want; it’s chocolate.”

Macau frowned, as if he heard “poison” instead of “chocolate”. “Why would you give it to me? It’s not like I did anything for you.” The opposite, rather.

“But you did,” Porchay countered, and there was that blinding smile again; a smile that pierced right through his soaked clothes and melted his heart. “You were comforting me just now, right? This is my thanks.”

Of course he wasn’t trying to–ugh, fuck it. Frankly, that dorayaki looked far too tasty for Macau to keep up pretences. He snatched the snack from Porchay’s hand as if he was entitled to it, ripped the packaging, and sank his teeth in. Gah, that was good.

Porchay continued to smile, pleased that Macau accepted the gesture. He didn’t seem as bad as he made himself out to be. Maybe the ducks had been nothing but targets of pent up anger–which, granted, definitely wasn’t the right way to deal with it, but he might be persuaded into handling it differently. He just needed a little kindness.

“–ah,” Porchay uttered, and Macau looked up. A tall, handsome guy was approaching the pavilion with what could only be described as two thugs in tow. He held one umbrella open above his head, another closed at his side.

“So here you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

“Vegas.” For the first time, Porchay detected actual happiness on Macau’s face. He looked at him and grinned: “That’s my brother. Gotta go.”

“Oh–,” Porchay started, though he had nothing to follow it up with. Asking Macau (and, by extension, his brother) to stay until the rain stopped was too much to ask. He wished Porsche was here.

The grin on Macau’s face faded just then, as hit him that leaving Porchay alone in this weather was a bad idea. Thankfully, Vegas had brought the sun with him: just as Macau opened his mouth to maybe invite Porchay along, the pittering against the umbrella stopped, and faint rays were starting to peek through the clouds. Macau was left with mixed feelings. Porchay wasn’t such a bad guy. Maybe they could’ve been friends or something. Having a friend would be nice.

“–well,” he mumbled, piquing Vegas’s curiosity with his lack of usual vigour, “I’ll see you later, I guess.”

“See you, Macau.” Surprisingly, Porchay flashed him one last smile. “I’ll be here tomorrow, too.”

Macau lit up. “With a dorayaki?”

“And sunflower seeds. We can feed the ducks together.”

“Deal,” Macau beamed, giving him a thumbs up before he joined his brother’s side with the last of Porchay’s pancake. Porchay watched them leave under the pavilion, and he chuckled sympathetically when Macau appeared to choke on the snack. He was out of earshot, so he had no way of knowing that Vegas had just explained why his name had rung so familiar–

–nor did he spot the glint in Vegas’s scheming eyes.

[ickle-ronniekins]

the one i was meant to find

request: from nonnie! “soulmate au with George??? maybe tattoos or something with the red thread of fate?”

pairing: george x fem!reader

word count: 4.8k

warning(s): angst, mentions of impending war, torture, sadness, anxiety

desc: your seventh year takes a wild turn when umbridge announces the arranged establishing of relationships to keep things in order. keep things in order? sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? people shouldn’t be paired off, you should find one another through fate! so when umbitchbridge ultimately decides to pair students off by blood status, it seems as though fate (or the ministry) is pulling you and your boyfriend miles and miles apart.

tag list: @mintlibri @georgeweasleyx @seppys-return-to-madness @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @darling-details @laneygthememequeen @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @dreamer821 @feffffffy @the-hufflepuff-of-221b @62442-am @wtfweasleyy @obsessedwithrandomthings @thoseofgreatambition @harrysweasleys @sleep-i-ness @shadowsinger11 @shadychaoticcollection @haphazardhufflepuff @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @hood-and-horan @letsfightsomeorcs @theweasleysredhair @purpleskiesstorm @hxfflxpxffs @wand3ringr0s3 @finecole @angelinathebook @highly-acidic @purplefragile @90shermione @zreads @susceptible-but-siriusexual @hollands-weasley @andromedaa-tonks @bbstrawberry0421 @princessof-theuniverse @cappsikle @mytreec @imseeinggred @idont-knowrn @flyingserpxnt @auroraboringalis57 @godricsswords @jejegu @annasofiaearlobe @starlightweasley @alwaysasadaesthetic @thisismysketchbook @izzytheninja @imboredandneedalife @hemmoporro @valwritesx @heavenlymidnight | message me to be added!

Umbridge’s slimy voice rang violently throughout the Great Hall. Suddenly everything sounded very muffled in your ears, and you swallowed thickly in the hopes of unpopping them. Your breathing became heavy, just as it had that winter day at the Weasley home.

You’d been sitting outside the Burrow in the snow near the garden shed with the lot of them, before Fred, Ginny, Ron, Harry, and Hermione had all excused themselves, leaving you and George alone. You’d sworn that you’d seen Fred wink at you before vanishing inside the bustling home. You’d bit down on your lip, knowing exactly what he’d been trying to do. Damnit, Fred.

You’d stolen a glance at George, who’d looked as calm as could be. That hadn’t helped your nerves at all. Neither had the slight mistletoe that had materialized above you both, the unmistakable sound of Frederick Weasley cackling emanating from the second floor of the house.

“You know,” George began, his voice steady as a rock as he inched closer toward you. He lifted his eyes to glance above you both. “Legend has it that if you don’t song whoever you’re with whenever mistletoe appears, you’re both cursed for life.”

You’d actually snorted and immediately caved in on yourself. How embarrassing was that? Your cheeks flooded red, both from the embarrassment and from the way his laughter had warmed your entire body. You’d hadn’t even known what to say. “You’re full of it, Weasley,”

He’d placed a hand dramatically across his chest. The tips of his ears and nose were pink from the cold, and you’d sworn you were going to spontaneously combust at the sheer sight of it. “Swear to Merlin, Y/N, I read about it.”

“You? Read about it? Sure. In what -- Ten Ways To Charm Your Crush?” you’d internally scolded yourself for saying something so bloody stupid, but George had clearly thought it was cute because his grin deepened alongside the dramatic drumbeat of your heart. You’d decided to dive in head first. “I reckon you just want to kiss me.”

His features had twisted into a childish smirk and the wind ruffled his bit of bright red hair sticking out from his hat. A few snowflakes had fallen onto his eyelashes and melted when he’d blinked. “Absolutely, I do.”

He’d caught your lips with his in a moment of clarity. It was new and invigorating and familiar all at once. You may had been informed of your magical abilities at the age of eleven, much to the surprise of your Muggle parents, but in all the years you’d been attending Hogwarts, you’d never felt magic quite like this. The feeling of his eyelashes brushing against your cheekbones and his tongue gliding gently over your bottom lip had sent you gasping for air --

A hand on the small of your back pulled you from your memory. You turned to your side and looked at George for some reassurance, except all he was able to give you were worried eyes and a clenched jaw. You noticed the way his eyes glistened, but not the way they had underneath the snow and the stars and the mistletoe. They were glistening with tears.

“You can’t pair people off like this!” Yells were ringing throughout the Great Hall, along with complaints and quite a few expletives. You squeezed George’s hand. All you wanted him to do was tell you everything would be okay. “George, she can’t --”

Umbridge kept on talking, annoyingly enough, and you were surprised at how loudly her words echoed in your ears. “The Ministry has concluded, boys and girls, that students will be paired off by blood status. Pure-bloods are to marry pure-bloods, half-bloods with half-bloods, Muggle-borns with Muggle-borns. No intermingling will be tolerated. There will be daily checks to make sure you are abiding by the rules. Be warned, children, there will be disciplinary actions for those refusing to obey. No exceptions.”

You felt as though your throat was closing up. George’s face was blurry through your vision, but you could still see the worried look glazing over his eyes. How the hell did she expect to pull this off -- daily checks? This woman was absolutely mad. Somehow though, you knew she’d stop at nothing to make sure her rules were being followed. The thought terrified you to your core. To George, you said shakily, “But -- I love you.”

You’d known it since the day you met him, and even before that. You knew that he was the one you’d been waiting for. The overwhelming feeling of warmth you’d felt when he’d introduced himself with a lopsided grin all those long years ago in the middle of a Herbology lesson was like nothing you’d felt before. You had first met his gaze across the classroom, and he’d held it a little longer than he normally would have. You’d been in love ever since. And so had he.

It isn’t fair, you wanted to yell out. What authority did Umbridge have to decide who you’re meant to be with? Weren’t soulmates to be determined by fate, and not by the corrupt Wizarding government? You had a thought of hexing her right now, but her pompous laugh made you feel as though you turned to stone. By the look on McGonagall’s face from the other end of the hall, you were quite certain she felt like hexing Umbridge, too.

Who the bloody hell was she to think that she had a say, any say, over who you were allowed to marry?

George’s lip wobbled a bit as he breathed in deeply. “I love you, too.” His voice was hoarse and different and worrisome. “It’ll all be okay, darling, I promise.”

Somehow you knew that George didn’t fully believe his own words.

What were you supposed to do, coming from a Muggle family, when the whole lot of Weasleys were pure-bloods? What were you supposed to say to this vile woman to make her reconsider her choices? When your eyes met hers in a fit of fury, you squeezed George’s hand tighter, all while Umbridge threaded her brows together and stood up a little straighter.

What were you supposed to do if your soulmate wasn’t allowed to be your soulmate at all?

-- -

As you stealthily flicked your wrist, a dull light emanated from your wand, causing Professor Snape’s hair to stand up on command and turn a rather ugly shade of yellow.

You squealed; how you’d managed to pull it off was beyond you. Behind you, your boyfriend squeezed your shoulders and grabbed your hand before pulling you out of the Great Hall and around the bend. He was finding it very difficult to suppress his laughter, as evident by the red colour rising in his cheeks and the slight tears in his eyes. “You’re brilliant, you know that?”

You flipped your hair and grinned at him. “I know,” you said cheekily, earning yourself a playful jab to the ribs. You locked your arms around his neck. “I learned from the best.”

You adored the dimple that appeared on his cheek each and every time he smiled. You pushed his long hair out of his eyes. “The best, eh?”

“The best of the best,”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead and lifted you into the air, your feet dangling just above the corridor floor. He spun you a bit until you claimed you were getting dizzy. “My girl is going to out prank me one day.. how’d I get so lucky? I reckon I’m the luckiest bloke there is.”

You giggled and played absentmindedly with the hairs at the nape of his neck. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” George breathed, placing you back down and bringing a hand to the back of your neck. The cheekiness in his features almost immediately twisted into that of compassion, of admiration, of --

“I love you.”

If you hadn’t been so absolutely floored (even though you’d kind of been expecting it), you would’ve noticed how very quickly those three words had brought tears to your eyes. Except, you were too excited to notice such things. Nothing at all could’ve prepared you for those three words. You reckoned your smile was stretching from ear to ear now.

The three words you’d been waiting to hear for so long were playing in your head on repeat. You couldn’t wait another second before saying them very quickly back through a very excited squeal. “Iloveyoutoo!” He laughed and kissed you softly, his mouth moving very carefully against yours. You whispered against his lips in a calmer, more serious tone, “I love you, too.”

-- -

Your seventh and final year at Hogwarts was not going according to plan. Not only had Umbridge mechanically established relationships via blood status, but she also split all of the students up by blood status as well. So there were no longer Hogwarts houses. Each student were given new, generic Hogwarts robes and new common rooms. You shifted uncomfortably in a particularly painful armchair in what used to be the Slytherin common room. How convenient, you thought, that Umbridge had deemed the dungeons an appropriate spot for the new “Muggle-born Residencies”.

And George.

He was struggling to get used to the strange entrance of the previous Ravenclaw common room, now deemed the “Pure-blood Dormitories”. Umbridge had completely banned the selling of any and all Weasley products, even confiscating their trunks and blasting their items to smithereens. Everything George and Fred worked on for so long was just...gone, and you couldn’t even be there to comfort them.

The most interaction you were able to have with George were stolen glances across the Great Hall and in lessons. McGonagall didn’t have much say over the pairing off, but she did have a say in how lessons ran. She shut down Umbridge’s ludicrous “lesson by blood status” idea almost immediately.

George had sworn to you that it would be easy to sneak around, that he could jinx Umbridge or remove her memory or outsmart her any day. But bloody hell, it was proving to be difficult. This woman had certainly done her research. The Ministry had you all on a strict lockdown control.

Fleeting moments with George came less often than both of you would have liked. One recurring time Umbridge couldn’t stop you (because she wouldn’t dare step out onto the Quidditch pitch) were matches. The schedule had already been established, McGonagall had fought. It was the only time the “four houses” were able to reconvene during the school year. You waited patiently, nervously, restlessly outside of the Gryffindor changing rooms and yanked George rather violently behind the tent before pulling him onto a bone crushing embrace.

An exasperated breath left your lips. “I don’t know how much more of this I can handle.” you told him. It had only been a month -- surely it had been longer? Like five bloody years maybe?

“Me neither, love.” The feeling of his arms wrapped around your waist was exhilarating in a way that nothing else was. When he pulled away to look at you, he kept his hands gripped tightly on your hips, as if he were afraid you were going to slip through his fingers. Which, you thought, was pretty accurate. These fleeting moments were exactly that. Fleeting.

You expected to see the usual cheekiness glistening in his eyes, but he looked -- empty. Like the life had been sucked right out of him. Like he didn’t care about anything anymore. Like he hadn’t caught sleep in days.

You tugged hesitantly on his robes. “I -- I got paired off last week.”

You didn’t say this to hurt him; you said this to be truthful. You saw his jaw clench as he prepared himself for answers. “Who is it? I know him?”

You waved George off. “He’s just some guy.”

And then, amazingly, incredibly, George actually snorted. For a brief moment, you saw traces of happiness nearly lift him off of his feet. “Some guy?”

“Well I don’t bloody know!” you laughed too. It felt like discovering a completely new emotion, since despair seemed to be the only thing you were feeling these days. “We -- haven’t really spoken much. Just the bare minimum. He’s got a girl in Ravenclaw. Half-blood. So he’s dreading this just as much as us.”

George breathed a sigh of relief. “Same with mine.”

So he’d gotten paired off too. You felt a huge bout of nervousness tense your muscles, and you nodded. The question you were wanting to ask must’ve appeared blatantly in your eyes, because George took your hands in his and squeezed them. “You know that Hufflepuff? Lead singer in the frog choir?”

Your heart dropped about a thousand stories. Of course you knew her. She was stunning. And dating that Slytherin bloke, the one who was exceptionally good at Charms. It didn’t stop the nerves from bubbling up inside of you though. You bit your lip and stammered, “She -- she’s beautiful.”

George brought your hands to his lips and kissed them gently. He hated seeing you like this, you could tell, because there was a type of yearning in his eyes you’d never seen before. He shook his head and pushed a piece of hair behind your ear. “No, you’re beautiful.”

Just then, the very obnoxious foghorn-like sound emitted from the castle, signaling the end of Quidditch and that all students must return to their respective dormitories immediately. Gravity was pulling you both apart, but you both defied it, testing fate, holding onto one another just a moment longer.

George kissed you with an intensity you’d never known -- you didn’t exactly know when the next time you’d be able to be this close to him. It proved to be the most difficult thing you’d ever had to do to pull away. “Be careful, be safe -- I love you.”

“I love you too, George.”

You watched as he ran forward to meet Fred, who shot you a sympathetic gaze. You mechanically entered the group of Muggle-borns who were heading back to the dorms. Before vanishing toward the opposite end of the castle, George threw you one last inconspicuous glance and brought a hand gently to his heart.

-- -

“George, it’s not up to me, it’s not up to you,”

Grimmauld Place looked disturbingly non-Christmas like, despite Molly’s best efforts at decorating in her spare time between visits to the hospital to see Arthur. You’d managed, in a strange, winding way, to end up here. It proved to be very difficult though. Umbridge was now monitoring all floo-networks and the skies for flying, and it was becoming increasingly hard to apparate when your heart just wasn’t in it. But you’d made it -- somehow. You worshiped these few days here, unbeknownst to her.

You shifted uncomfortably underneath the blanket, unable to find a position on the couch that made you feel okay. Comfortable. Safe.

You glanced down at your scarred hand and ran your fingers along the words that were reflected on George’s as well.

I must not disobey the law.

The law. That’s what Umbridge thought this was. So when she caught George attempting to sneak down to the dungeons one night to see you, if only for a moment, she threw the both of you in separate four-hour long detentions, these six words now permanently engraved into your skin.

“I don’t care,” George breathed. “I don’t care about Umbridge, or these stupid rules, or the shop, or the fact that I’ve got this ridiculous phrase on my skin. I don’t care about any of it, I care about you.”

You bit your lip as the tears began to flow. You knew he didn’t mean that. Of course he cared. “I care about you too, but what are we supposed to do?”

“Let’s fight this!”

“We’ve tried! We’ve tried, George! Umbridge is so set in her ways, not even Dumbledore can shut this down! D’you think this is easy for me?” you cried. “D’you think it’s easy knowing that there’s a beautiful woman you’ve been paired with, or that there’s a man who I’m expected to spend my life with when all I’ve been doing for the better half of the last two and a half years is planning my life with you? It’s not bloody easy, George, it’s not, tell me how this is fair, tell me!” You weren’t sure when you’d started pounding on his chest, but your rattled cries echoed throughout the empty living room space. George pulled you into his chest, gripping the back of your neck tightly in his hands as he continually pressed kisses into your hair. Your sobs turned hoarse and raspy; you were crying fully now, desperate moans evaporating into the tense air above you.

You hated hearing him cry, so when he opened his mouth to speak and his words were jumbled and emotional, you squeezed your eyes shut tight, hoping that you’d open them to something other than this nightmare. “I don’t -- I don’t want to give up on us, love.”

“And you think I do?”

“No, no, of course not!” he cried, letting his emotions get the better of him. He sucked in a breath as you dabbed gently at your tears, even though fresh ones fell just as quickly as the old ones vanished. How could this be the plan for you two? How could this be your fate, when you were so in love with one another? He shook his head. “No, I’m not done. I’m not done fighting for this. Bloody hell, I don’t even care if I’ve got to use the cruciatus curse on her. I’ll give up the shop, I’ll do anything. I don’t care about anyone else --”

“George, please, you can’t give up the shop, I won’t let you --”

“Come hell or high water, I’m fighting for you,” in a moment of fury, he grabbed and cradled your head in his hands before pressing a forceful kiss to your lips. It didn’t stop you from crying. When you both parted, you peered up at him and noticed tears near the edges of his eyes. “I’m not giving up on us. I love you.”

You gently brought a hand to his cheek and caressed his skin. You choked out, “I love you, too.”

Sometime later on, after you’d both drifted off, you woke to the sound of slight shuffling around the room. Wrapped around you in a tight embrace, George was fast asleep, his breathing now steady and slow. You noticed Molly walk over to you both and cover you with an extra blanket, her wedding ring dazzling brightly in the moonlight flooding the room.

She must’ve noticed your puffy eyes and blotchy cheeks, because she reached out and ran a gentle hand through your hair. Tears had risen in your eyes immediately at her touch, as well as surprise. You’d expected a scolding for falling asleep together, but instead she just whispered, “Fate will win in the end.”

You squeezed your eyes shut and let the tears fall, but managed to nod at her and squeeze her hand. She gently caressed your cheek and placed a kiss to your head and to George’s before crossing the room and quietly closing the door.

George stirred a bit when you interlaced your fingers with his. You pressed your lips softly to the top of his hand before letting more tears fall and adjusting within his embrace, the one you came to know so well, and found yourself craving more than oxygen itself.

-- -

“They love you. I promise. They always have, haven’t they?” The fire reflecting in his eyes resembled how the fire in your bones felt. Wild. With reckless abandon.

“But this is different!” you squealed, pushing gently away from him so he couldn’t tickle you. “Before I was just good mates with all of you. Now I’m -- your girlfriend.”

George threaded his brows together in confusion. “Wait, you are? Since when?”

He earned himself a playful jab to the ribs for that one. Outside the Burrow, the snow was falling soundlessly. It had been three days since George had kissed you under the mistletoe, two days since you made it official, one day since he re-introduced you to his family as his girlfriend. It was the perfect Christmas.

“I’m just.. worried, is all. They’re getting to know me in a different way, you know?”

“Don’t worry, love,” he reassured you, placing a gentle kiss to your hairline. “Fred’s mad for you, always has been -- waiting ages for us to get together, hasn’t he? Ginny and Ron adore you.. I can’t wait for you to meet Bill and Charlie finally. Er -- can’t make any promises about Percy, though. No matter -- he’s a foul little git, anyway.”

You sniggered a bit and felt your breath catch in your throat when George began to trace small circles on your knee. You swallowed. “And your mum and dad?”

His smile only deepened. “Well they love you, don’t they? Mum’s always called you part of the family already. And my dad, well -- you know about my dad.”

You’d never felt the Muggle part of you was that exciting, but somehow Arthur Weasley’s enthusiasm for it made you feel like it was such a precious part of you, that you were all the better for it.

George continued, “Now that you’ll be spending more time here, I reckon he’ll keep you occupied in conversation for hours. Making you tell him everything about Muggles. Apologies in advance.” George laughed softly for a moment and waved his wand to bring you both cups of tea to settle in for the evening. “Besides, he’ll go absolutely mad when he meets your parents. He’s always hoped one of us would have Muggle in-laws.”

You raised an eyebrow in surprise and teased him. “In-laws? Already have us married, do you?”

When you giggled playfully, George didn’t, but instead squeezed your hand a few times and let his sincerity speak for itself through his facial features. His soft eyes, yearning and hungry and wildly in love. His mouth in a lazy grin. His chest rising and falling slowly, as if being able to look at you had finally regulated his breathing. Like you were the oxygen that was finally refilling his lungs.

You stammered, breathless. “Y-you do think about that, don’t you?”

He shrugged, as if to play off the whole thing. “Haven’t scared you off, have I?”

You brought a hand to the back of his neck and laced your fingers through his bright red hair. You smiled. “Of course not.”

“Good,” he replied cheerily, as if the idea of you two getting married was obvious. “Because I’ve known it for years, you and I. Fred reckons I may have willed this into existence,” He chuckled to himself more so than to you. You didn’t think your heart could pound any faster than it had the other day when he’d kissed you for the first time. You were wildly wrong. He pressed his lips to the back of your hand. “You were the one I was meant to find.”

-- -

December 1997

The cobblestone on Diagon Alley was slick with fresh rain. The lights on either side of the street flickered ominously. But there it was, as bright and brilliant as ever, colours in the dismal gray, light in the impending darkness.

“I’m not leaving! I’m giving up the shop and I’m staying here at school, alright? I’m staying with you.”

“No, George, you can’t! You can’t give that up for me. I won’t let you. You’ve worked far too hard for this.”

“I’m not leaving you here! Not with her! She’s torturing students left and right --”

“And I will be okay,” you replied with tears in your eyes. You squeezed his hands tight and his chest was heavy with sobs. “Your plans are bigger than this, and they’re bigger than me.”

It had been almost two years since he’d left on a broomstick, firework dragons swimming through the castle and the sky as he and his brother left their final mark on the Hogwarts grounds.

Almost two years since Umbridge had been replaced by Dumbledore, and the Hogwarts you knew and loved went back to some type of normal, the entire idea of blood status pairs driven into the ground with a stake.

But it had also been almost two years since Muggle-borns were forced into hiding for fear of the impending war.

Two years since you’d seen him. Heard his voice. Felt his touch.

He was crying fully now. “This -- this can’t be it for us.”

Your lip wobbled hearing those heart wrenching words. He’d always been the stronger of you two, comforting you when you cried -- this felt strangely unfamiliar. You didn’t quite fancy being the strong one, but he needed you. “It’s not. It’s not, okay? This is not the end. I promise. But you deserve this, George. You deserve the world. And one day, when this is all over, if I’m still lucky enough -- I’ll find you again. Come hell or high water. You need to follow your dream, okay?”

It wasn’t a breakup, but it sure felt like one.

He pressed his forehead to yours and an involuntary, hoarse cry escaped his lips. “But you’re my dream.”

“George, please --” you stopped yourself. You didn’t finish the words that were rising to your lips. Please don’t make this harder than it needs to be. You cupped his chin in your hands and peered up at him, your vision blurry. But you could still see his lips were set in a thin, firm line, his jaw was clenched tightly. He was going to leave.

You looked down at the red thread tied loosely around your pinky finger. You followed it with your eyes as it wrapped around street lamps, signs and other shops, before ending up exactly where you’d always known it would when it had first appeared on your finger after you’d graduated school.

93 Diagon Alley.

“My heart will always belong to you, love.”

As you hurried down the street, following your little thread, and the shop came into better view, you could feel the sheer intensity of the anticipation bubbling up inside you.

You pointed your wand ahead, illuminating the dark street and readying yourself for any dementors or Death Eaters that were lurking close by.

But before you reached the doors, someone ran into the middle of the street and stopped short. You lifted your wand higher, ready to hex, until you realized who it was.

George was standing in the middle of the cobblestone, hair in disarray, in his sweater his mum had knitted him every single year. He’d always told you how comforting it felt to wear. You couldn’t help the slight laugh that escaped you, for the first time you’d seen him in two years he so very similarly resembled that young, cheeky boy you’d teased your first Christmas at Hogwarts for the socks he’d knitted on his own to match the gift from his mother.

He said your name in a whisper, but in your ears it sounded like a booming shout -- like all the world could hear it, if they were listening.

And you noticed your little thread, stretching along the street, ending in a tiny knot on his own hand.

You wanted to tell him that you were here to find him, and that you’d been able to escape the hiding you were under, due to being a Muggle-born. You wanted to tell him that you hadn’t once stopped thinking about him since you’d last seen him all those years ago and that when you’d finally seen that thread, you were convinced it led here -- you’d just never been able to act on it. You wanted to tell him that you prayed for him every single night.

But all that escaped your mouth was another nervous laugh before you were running and slipping along the street before winding up in a bone crushing embrace you were bound to feel the effects of tomorrow.

He wanted to tell you that he’d never met anyone as selfless as you, how equally excited and heartbroken he was when you’d told him to leave and charge forward. He wanted to tell you that he’d been spending every single day waiting for news, any news at all that Muggle-borns were no longer in hiding. He wanted to tell you that he’d had enough, and he was coming to find you just as he stumbled before you on this little street. He wanted to tell you that he’d never once stopped loving you.

But instead all he could do was kiss you fiercely and brush the tears away that were escaping your eyes, because that kiss was telling you both everything you needed to know -- all of those unspoken words, all of those bottled up feelings, all of the unwavering love you’d carried in your hearts for one another throughout all of the moments that kept you apart.

And then he was kneeling before you, raindrops dripping down from his hair and onto his face and neck, and he was saying the things you’d always dreamt of him saying, and he was opening a box with a ring inside that took your breath away, just as his first kiss had.

A familiar ring.

Molly’s ring.

Your breath hitched at the sight of it, and her words from that Christmas echoed in your mind.

Fate will win in the end.

When George placed it on your finger, you both noticed through blurry vision that the thread that had been attached to you both had disappeared into thin air.

You’d found one another again, despite it all, despite the tyrants and the war and the rules that were holding both of you hostage.

Because this was the fate you were both destined for. This was the moment. Husband and wife, together or apart.

Fate had won in the end.

Just like Molly had told you.

The fire crackled pleasantly alongside the faint sound of Christmas music. You reached out and traced a finger over his jawline. His words made you feel simultaneously cozy and incredibly nervous. “The one you were meant to find, huh?”

George laughed, probably because of how corny that had sounded. But he didn’t care -- he knew it was true. He’d known it since the day he met you, that fate had brought you together. He breathed in deeply and squeezed your knee. “Yeah, darling, I’ve already planned my whole life with you.”

reblogs, feedback, comments, and shares are all appreciated! thanks for reading :)

[baby-bearie]

romeo, juliet, and evites to funerals

(NOT MY GIF)

jj maybank x reader

taglist: @sunflowermotel @howdyherron @drew-starkey @maraseavey @outerbanqs @tinylatina01 @yelyahryan @loveylangdon @obxwriterfan @jjmaebank @avashroom @rewindlr @katie-avery @raekenliar @ceruleanjj @adoreyoudrews @dolanfivsosxox @heyhargrove @lashtonandmalumsbaby @beautyandthebleh @pancahke @outrbank @kiarasflowr @corleigh @poguemacking @kristineee-obx @shawnssongs @thorsangel @daniel9seavey9 @hopefultrashforanythingreally @pixelated-pogues @dpaccione @thatshiscigar @hesscott @damonsalvawhore27 @fanficscuziranout @trustfundparker @teamnick @becca-harlow @trashmouthpogues @rudys-pankow @ilovejjmaybank @tomzfrog

a/n: uh oh. back again. thank you @jjmaebank for the beta read i love u. i did switch that one tangled reference i made.

JJ hates when you’re mad at him. You won’t text him, you won’t answer your phone, if you actually see him you’d never acknowledge him, and kisses? Forget about it. You’re not exactly a lot of fun when you’re mad at JJ.

You’re currently mad at JJ.

He figured that out after about the 3rd call you failed to return, and now he’s blowing up your phone. Nearly 50 unread texts, 27 missed calls and 13 voicemails, all in a span of 2 hours.

He’s persistent, he really is. Annoyingly so. Whenever JJ upsets you, his go to plan is to just irritate you into forgiveness. He thinks you can’t ignore him forever. You’re determined to prove him wrong. It’s been 3 days, and you’re proud of yourself. This is the longest you’ve held out against his torrent of digital apologies. You want to go longer.

It didn’t take JJ long to realize what you were mad about. For at least the fourth time this month, JJ had missed your date. You had planned a day on the mainland at a local fair, but you spent last Friday waiting as the ferry came and went.

If he had just canceled, you wouldn’t be mad. But he didn’t cancel, he just texted you every half hour, just when you were ready to give it up and leave, that he was coming and to hold on. And then around 5, a good 3 hours after he said he would come, he showed up.

And then he made fun of your outfit.

“Dude, what the hell are you wearing?” He even laughed.

So you left.

It is now Monday morning, and your phone has not stopped ringing for the past 8 hours. How the hell did he manage to keep going, nonstop, for 8 hours?

You can’t deny that you miss him. Going without JJ’s touchiness is affecting you too. Last night you had to cuddle a pillow.

You’re fixing your bed when the pebbles start hitting your window.

One, two, three, four. A pause. And then at least 30 pebbles all hit the window at the same time. You huff in annoyance, rolling off your bed to unlatch the window and shove it open.

“Hi, baby.” JJ is standing on your lawn, sheepishly smiling at you. His hand reaches up to rub the back of his neck.

You quirk an eyebrow at him, unamused.

“Oh, c’mon, Y/n! You can’t still be mad at me.” “Oh, I very much can! Or could you not tell from the numerous times I called you back?” You scoff.

JJ laughs, pushing his hands out at you, as if he’s reaching for you. “See, you’re talking to me already.” “Go away, JJ!” You grit your teeth.

“No.” “Go. Away.” “I don’t want to! Not until you forgive me!” “If you stay here another second, I’m literally going to ignore you for the rest of your life. We’ll get married and have kids and I still won’t talk to you.”

JJ snorts. “That would be bad for our family.”

“I will communicate with you through our children.” “Okay, well you’re pretty, like, vocal, if you know what I mean- “JJ, you disgust me.” “so I don’t know how you plan on me puttin’ a baby in you if you won’t talk to me. Communication is key, Y/n.”

“Okay, first of all, shut the fuck up. Second of all, if you don’t get off this street in the next ten seconds, I will call John B and I will make him drag you off.” You deadpan.

“That wouldn’t even work, John B would take my side.” “I’m his favorite!” You insist.

“Okay, I’m done talking to you, goodbye forever,” You begin to close the window, and JJ shouts. “Wait, wait, Y/n, wait, I swear I will start yelling.” “Goodbye, JJ.” You shut the window and JJ sighs dramatically.

He smirks up at you through the window before he opens his mouth.

“I am hopelessly in love with Y/n Y/l/n, and I’m going to scream about it now.” He whoops. Your neighbor sticks his head out his door. JJ turns and waves at him. “She’s up there!” He shouts, pointing at your window.

You yank the curtains in front of your window and flop back on the bed.

“Y/n, oh, Y/n, parting is something something? Oh, sweet sorrow! Something, something, I never read Romeo and Juliet last year, true beauty?” He screams.

You pull another pillow on top of your head, trying to muffle JJ’s yodeling outside your window. It barely works. You can make out more half-assed Romeo and Juliet references, but you know for a fact the only version of that play he knows is the gnome one.

Eventually, he leaves. You don’t dare actually check to see if he’s gone, scared that in true JJ fashion, he’s just baiting you. But after a good 30 minutes of quiet, you know JJ’s not patient enough for this. He’s gone.

He’s not done though.

He continues to overheat your phone with calls and texts. At one point he sends you an evite to his funeral. “Rip: jj maybank. Cause of death: lack of y/n.” The invitation reads.

At least he’s getting creative.

You’re almost thankful when the clear weather turns into a thunderstorm, knocking out your power. With no wifi, there’s no JJ.

Or so you were hoping.

You’re curled up with a cup of coffee and a family sized bag of chips in front of the TV, barely paying attention to the movie playing when he starts knocking on the door.

You’re not sure who would be at your door in the middle of a storm this bad. Obviously, one boy, but even he’s not dumb enough to come all the way here in weather this bad.

Except he is dumb enough.

You swing the door open to reveal a soaked JJ, squinting in the rain and holding up a bouquet of drooping carnations. He grins at you goofily.

“JJ, you dumbass, what the hell? Get in here!” You grab his wet arm and drag him inside. Even better, he came here in the rain, in a sleeveless shirt.

“Did you get my evite? Because I’m fucking freezing. I think this is how I go.” He’s dripping all over the floor.

You throw a glare over your shoulder as you retreat to find a towel.

Once you’ve wrapped it around him and forced him into a chair, you finally get to scream at him.

“You’re- You’re infuriating, you know that?” You cry out. “You drive me insane! What am I supposed to do if you get sick? Or worse!”

“Then you could’ve sent out those evites.” He smiles hesitantly.

“I’m being serious!”

JJ gives you another toothy smile and holds out the wimpy flowers. You take them from him and immediately hit him with them, spraying water droplets across his face.

“Ow. Okay, I deserved that.” JJ holds his hands up in defense and you hit him with them again.

“Maybe I shouldn’t buy you flowers anymore!” “You’re such an asshole!”

“I’m the asshole?” JJ stands now. “Yes, you’re the asshole.” “I’m the one getting beaten up with flowers!”

“What, did you think you could just show up here with stupid flowers and your stupid face and all would be forgotten?” “Well, no, okay, kind of?” JJ doesn’t know what to say to make you happy.

“That’s not how this works. You can’t just pull some big gesture and fix everything.” “Okay, you’re right. Y/n, I’m sorry.” He grabs your shoulders to look you dead in the eyes.

“You’re sorry?” “I’m sorry.” He shakes you a little.

“You’re sorry for what?”

JJ rolls his eyes, but finishes. “I’m sorry for standing you up and then being harsh about your fashion choices. I did not mean to hurt your feelings. It will never happen again.” JJ sounds like he’s reciting from memory.

“It’s going to happen again, you loofah.” “Loofah? I feel like that’s a new one.” “But you have to apologize, JJ.”

“I tried!” JJ protests, but you cut him off.

“And not over the phone.” You give him a look.

“Okay.” His hands travel to your hips. “Next time, I’ll say I’m sorry. Not over the phone. Can I please just kiss you now?”

“Is that all you came here for?” You laugh. “Pretty much, yeah.”

JJ leans down to kiss you, and you can feel him smile against you.

You pull away, eyes still closed. “I swear, stand me up one more time and I will dump you for- “Shut up.” JJ kisses you again but you lean back. “For good.” You finish and kiss him again.

“But then how would we,” He pecks your lips between words, “have that family you were talking about.”

You tug your head back completely. “I will leave you and my imaginary family.”

JJ shakes his head at you before he looks at the tv.

“What are you even watching?” “Romeo and Juliet.”

“Wait, isn’t he supposed to be a lot shorter than that?”

[impagines]

Falling for you!

(Childe x Reader one shot)

Content Warning: blood mention, concussion, mild violence typical to genshin.

Summary: You asked the traveler‘a team to escort you through some of the more dangerous part of Liyue. Of course, things don’t go according to plan. But at least Childe is there to soften the blow!

Childe and you are out with the traveler’s exploration team. As an archaeologist, you may not be a fighter but you’re still curious and adventurous. Thus, leading you to being escorted by everyone.

Childe played up his role as escort, going as far to say that he was “your knight in shining armor” for the afternoon much to your chagrin. He even takes your hand and hovers his face over it while over-exaggerating some kissy noises.

Everything was supposed to be fine. Until, of course, it wasn’t. Somehow, the Traveler and Childe always seem to be attracting trouble to themselves. This time the trouble came in the form of three abyss mages; one hydro abyss mage, one pyro abyss mage, and one cyro abyss mage.

Your group was now stuck in a cavern, trapped in by the trio of misfits. You were standing behind everyone, at the edge of a harsh cliff side leading into a deep, dark ravine below, trying your best to not get in the way of the group. However, this doesn’t prove to be useful in the face of enemies that can teleport straight towards you.

A cryo abyss mage appears in front of you and cackles at your fear. With a yelp, you barely dodge a stray icicle it unleashes, stepping backwards in the process. You stumble, and look behind you to see there’s little to no space between you and the cliffedge. One step forward means getting caught up in the abyss mage, and one step back means falling straight off, there’s no way you’re getting out of this without being hurt.

A little more luckily, Childe had seen your distress and immediately sprinted towards you and the abyss mage. Even if the element matchup was horrendous, he was still determined to keep you safe. A quick shot of hydro from Childe is enough to get the abyss mage’s attention. But it’s not enough to draw it from its position, where it starts to dance and chant. Your eyes widen at the barrage of icicles that are about to rain down upon you. You close your eyes tight, wishing that at least it’d be a quick death.

Childe is at your side in an instant, holding onto your waist, pushing your head into his chest and… leaping down the ravine?

You let out a scream of pure terror, trusting a fatui with your life had to be the worst mistake you’d ever made!

Except for the fact you weren’t exactly plummeting, instead you seem to be making a slower descent than you initially thought. You peek up from Childe’s chest, where you not-so-discreetly were curling up, to see that his glider had been pulled out and a cheeky grin was plastered onto his face.

“Scared?” Childe teases. “I promised I’d protect you already, and I can’t just back out of a promise.” He readjusts you in his arms, which is a lot more horrifying when you’re midair and the only thing you can latch onto is him. “Hold still, this is gonna be a rough landing.”

You brace yourself for impact, your jaw still managing to find a way to knock into a rock and reverberate the pain through your skull. Although you have a minor migraine, your fall has been mostly cushioned by Childe, who groans in pain below you. Despite his masochistic tendencies, it doesn’t look like he’s enjoying himself.

Quickly, you scamper off of his body and check him over. You pull his hair back with your hand, looking on in horror as you spread blood through it like it’s a gel. You wipe the blood off your hand and onto his uniform.

“Oh my archons, Childe are you alright?” Putting the slightly-bloody hand to his cold cheek as you inspect his face for any injury, he half-heartedly laughs at the concern.

“Aw, you don’t have to worry about a guy like me,” He pats the hand on his face. “I’m tough as nails. “

“That doesn’t mean anything, where does it hurt?” You continue to nag slightly, and he takes a moment to process the question before answering.

“It’s blurry,” he starts. “My head hurts, ears are ringing.” He gives another pat to your hand. “But I’m all good.”

“I think,” You squint at him, carefully looking into his eyes, and watch as his pupils dilate further. “You may be concussed.”

“Am not.” He slurs unconvincingly.

“Follow my finger with your eyes.” You hold up a finger, waiting for Childe’s eyes to latch onto the digit, and slowly move it from left to right. His eyes lag behind and he squints at the air dubiously.

“I’m no doctor but I think, at the very least, something is not right here.” You sigh and settle for unbuttoning his coat. Childe lazily pushes at your hands.

“Woah, woah, isn’t this a bit fast?” He wiggles his eyebrows, or at least tries to. It still gets a reaction out of you in the form of a flushed face and a scowl.

“You’re freezing, Childe. Or do you not remember the Hydro and Cryo Mages?” You bat his hand away and with shaky hands you unbutton the rest of the coat. Once you push the offending piece of cloth off of his shoulders, a shiver racks through him once exposed to the cool air. A droplet of water rolls down from his neck, going down the middle of his chest and into the crevices of his muscles before you catch it with your hand and wipe it away. His abs tense up for a moment before he relaxes, but he’s still shivering.

“Here, put your arms out so I can put you into this.” You request while taking off your own coat.

“Don’t need that,” Childe insists. “Won’t fit.”

“It’s oversized on me anyways, and you need it more. Just stop complaining already and let me help you.” You insist.

It’s a struggle to pull Childe’s arm through before he gives in. Once he’s in the overcoat, he seems much warmer once you button it up. On you it swamps your shape, but on him it’s a better fit, and he seems comfortable in it, albeit grumpy.

“Better?” You ask with genuine concern, eyeing up the apparent red spotting in his hair.

“‘M a bit cold, maybe a kiss will warm me up!” He makes an annoyingly exaggerated smooching sound as he looks up at you with mirth.

Your tongue swipes at your bottom lip and a copper taste fills your mouth. Your lip is totally busted from the whole ordeal.

“Sorry, I can’t do that. My lips are-.” You manage to catch yourself a little late, and your face heats up. Obviously Childe was kidding with you, even if it was a lot slower of a quip, but that was just due to the nature of a concussion!

Childe straight up giggles, it’s giddy and childish and you briefly wonder if this was a sound his family heard a lot growing up. “Your face, you should see the look on it,” Childe’s hand comes up to your cheek this time, and you know he can feel the heat because your face feels uncomfortably warm in this frigid cave. “Ah, my own personal fireplace.”

You have half the mind to scold him, but you figure it’s not worth the energy and you just slump against him carefully. Your arms come around Childe’s form and you hear his breath hitch in your ear.

“Is this warmer?” You ask quietly, but you know he caught it because you’re right next to his ear that is slowly turning red.

“Yeah.” He chokes out. Dare you say it, he seems nervous when he wraps his own arms around you and returns the embrace. You smile into his neck.

“Thank you for saving me. The others will certainly come looking for us. So we can stay like this for a while, yeah?”

[wizardofahz]

Sentinel vs. CatCo

Kara sighs internally as she spots the Superfriends whiteboard.

While it has become a permanent fixture in Andrea’s office, it doesn’t always feature so prominently. The focus of the meetings determines its location. If it’s an internal meeting unrelated to the Superfriends, it can be pushed off to the side: towards the balcony or in front of the cabinets. If the meetings involve board members or anyone Andrea wants to impress, it’s tucked into a corner and discreetly covered.

Today, the Superfriends whiteboard stands right beside Andrea’s desk, which means their meeting is going to entail more requests for Superfriends interviews.

Kara braces herself.

And then Andrea says some of the worst words possible: “I want an interview with Sentinel.”

Kara wills herself not to react. On the other side of William, Nia actually snorts.

Nia has worked her way back into Andrea’s good graces, but Kara very much doubts that openly snorting at their boss’s request will lead to another mental health day. Before Andrea can react, Kara says, “I, uh, I don’t think she likes giving interviews.”

“That’s what Nia said about the Superfriends,” Andrea says, completely undeterred, “and we have since gotten interviews with most of them.”

As much as Kara hates to admit it, Andrea’s right. They never participate in puff pieces about what they do for fun, but when they have a cause to promote, they lend their voices in support.

Through his PI work and with his deep ties to the alien community, J’onn had been encountering many others who were also the last of their kinds. With an interest in preserving these alien cultures, he had dedicated a portion of the Mars space in the planetarium to a rotating exhibit of those cultures. He had also teamed up with Kara to revive her Aliens of National City series for a special feature.

Brainy had volunteered for a live public service announcement when a toxic chemical spill had breached the boundaries of an industrial complex and threatened nearby neighborhoods. He had been a little too thorough with the technical details though, and Dreamer had had to intervene to make it more vernacular friendly. His PSA had been big with the scientific community, where some of his equations had been beyond current understanding and sparked contentious debates.

Nia had done a fantastic interview of the new Guardian about marginalized human communities. To quell any curiosity, Guardian briefly mentioned that she wasn’t ready to reveal her identity, but she did reveal that she had the previous Guardian’s blessing to pick up the mantle. Annoyingly, most media outlets chose to focus on that rather than the deep dive into intersectionality.

Alex hadn’t done any interviews. None of the Superfriends had thought twice about it.

Until now.

Knowing how private Alex is, Kara can already picture her reaction to this request.

“If it’s about the ratings, I could get another exclusive from Supergirl,” Kara volunteers. “You said she’s the ideal Superfriend for interviews.”

“Mmm, but we’ve had Supergirl,” Andrea says. “We’ve had all the other Superfriends. We don’t know enough about this Sentinel.” She taps the board under Alex’s picture where it says “HUMAN?”. “Is she fully human? What is her motivation? If she is human, how did she come to join the Superfriends? I want to know.”

“And if Kara’s right?” William asks. “We seem to get interviews with the Superfriends on their timeline, not ours.”

“Then get yourselves on their timeline,” Andrea says. “But I’ll be generous and give you a week instead of 24 hours. If you still fail, well, you’ve heard me say your alternatives enough by now.”

On their way out of Andrea’s office, Nia passes by Kara and mutters, “I’m not touching this one.”

Kara cannot disagree with that life choice.

“What did Nia say?” William asks.

“Nothing.”

...

Alex looks up from her console as Kara enters the Tower. “Hey, what did you want to talk about?”

Knowing how little Alex will appreciate the conversation, Kara says, “You love me beyond measure, and that will never change, right?”

Alex turns around completely, resting her back against the console. She crosses her arms. She knows the difference between Kara approaching her abandonment issues and something Alex will find unpleasant. “Yes? Am I going to change my mind?”

Kara grimaces. “Andrea wants an interview with Sentinel.”

The look of horror on Alex’s face would be hilarious in any other circumstance. “Why?”

“Because you’re the last Superfriend not to give an interview. Andrea thinks that makes you mysterious and intriguing.”

“Not happening.”

“I figured as much. I tried offering up a Supergirl exclusive instead.”

“I love you.”

“Well, she didn’t bite.”

At that, Alex’s head drops back, and she stares at the ceiling.

“I'll write something up anyway,” Kara continues. “Hopefully it will keep Andrea happy in the meantime.”

“Thanks.” Alex gestures for Kara to come in for a hug. “I know you don’t like puff pieces either.”

“It’s okay,” Kara says into Alex’s shoulder. “I’ll find something meaningful to write about.”

...

Alex glances around the downtown street. Luckily she, Brainy, and J’onn had arrived in time to stop an Infernian from destroying a private lab. The police had also shown up and set up a perimeter, which was helpful as a crowd had developed to the south.

“Sentinel!”

Alex spots William Dey at the front of the crowd. "Oh, hell no.”

She normally likes William well enough, but given what Kara told her about Andrea’s request, he’s now on her list of the last five people she’d want to see at any given moment.

“I gotta get out of here,” Alex tells J’onn. “You and Brainy got this covered, right?”

They look over to where Brainy is explaining his containment technology to the police officers taking custody of the Infernian.

William says her name again.

J’onn glances at William then back at Alex with amusement. “Go. We’ll be fine.”

...

“Sentinel!”

Alex looks across the chaos of overturned cubicles and office supplies to see William Dey approaching.

Alex frowns. How did he get here so quickly?

Luckily they are on the fifth floor of the building, which means Alex has an exit strategy William doesn’t. “Supergirl, meet me outside.”

“Copy that.”

A few of the windows were broken in the fight. Dreamer already has the offending meta-human contained, so Alex doesn’t feel bad leaving William behind.

Alex picks the window with the cleanest break and jumps through.

...

Andrea drops something on Kara’s desk. “What is this?”

“An interview with Supergirl,” Kara responds after a quick look.

Andrea sighs. “Kara, I know you heard me when I said I wanted an interview with Sentinel, not any Superfriend.”

Kara shrugs. “I couldn’t get ahold of Sentinel, neither could William, and Supergirl had something she wanted to say.”

“Did you ask Supergirl about talking to Sentinel?” Andrea asks expectantly.

Kara blinks. “I think they have more important things to do than to act as messaging services to one another.”

“It’s not your job to think about their priorities. It’s your job to think about CatCo’s priorities,” Andrea says. “Get me an interview with Sentinel. You, specifically. And again, I don’t think I need to give you the consequences spiel. You have 24 hours.”

Kara reaches out to clear the Supergirl interview from her desk, but Andrea snatches it back up.

“I’m still publishing this.”

...

Kara looks apologetically across the couch.

Just as Kara had tried to give a Supergirl exclusive to spare Sentinel an interview, Alex is now giving an interview to spare Kara’s job.

“Okay, I have to make this on the record, so let’s maybe do a rehearsal.”

Alex sighs but shrugs her agreement anyway. “Yeah, okay.”

Kara hands over her notepad where the questions are written out. “These are the questions I’m going to ask you.”

“You already know the answer to most of these,” Alex says as her eyes glide down the page. “And there’s no way we can publish them.”

“I know. That’s why we’re rehearsing. We’ll have to come up with something that’s real but not revealing.”

Alex balks. Kara doesn’t have to wonder which question its at because Alex reads it out loud. “‘You’ve been a super hero for a while now, but this is your first interview. Why now?’ Seriously?”

Kara grimaces. “Yeah.”

“Because my little sister’s boss is a pain in the ass.”

“Alex.”

“Right, come up with a fake but real answer.”

But their quest for acceptable answers is a tedious process that comes up short.

“I can’t do this,” Alex groans and flops back into the couch cushions. “How about I promise that when I have something to say, I’ll say it to you? You can have that promise on the record.”

“I’ll try,” Kara says. She’s also tired, and she hates forcing this on Alex.

Andrea won’t be thrilled with it, but Kara will make it work.

...

The next day Alex sighs in relief at Kara’s single emoji text.

A thumbs up.

[wesawbears]

Posting here in its entirety now that it’s complete. Featuring the favors Neil used to get Andrew to go to Aaron’s wedding, Neil being a menace, and Andrew and Aaron talking, as well as Andrew submitting to the mortifying ordeal of being known.

Enjoy!

--

Andrew shut the door with his foot, letting his bag sit by the door for a minute. He knew Neil would call out his hypocrisy the moment he saw,considering their previous conflicts about what apartment etiquette entailed, but for now, what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Walking into the kitchen, he set his keys down on the table and scratched at Sir’s chin where he was headbutting against his hand. He stopped when he saw something unfamiliar on the fridge and walked over to inspect. They weren’t the type to keep mementos or reminders there; the dark blue stood out against the bareness there.

In loopy script, it read: “Save the Date! October 21st. Aaron Minyard and Katelyn Winters”.

He began peeling it off the fridge. Neil had wanted him to see it, but there was no way. Just seeing their smiling faces made something surge up in his stomach. He had let Aaron go years ago, but he never said he had to be happy about it, and he certainly had said nothing about supporting Katelyn or their relationship, the same as Aaron had never said anything to Neil that wasn’t strictly required for Exy. He could tolerate talking to Aaron, more than he had when they’d been in the same state, but that didn’t mean they did things like this. Nicky’s wedding was bad enough.

“Oh, you found it.”

Andrew turned, determined to not give Neil the satisfaction of seeing that he’d startled him. The slight smirk told him he hadn’t succeeded, but he kept his face placid and unbothered. “So you put it there on purpose? I assumed it had been put there by mistake.”

“No. I put it there so I’d remember to put it on the calendar...eventually.”

“What for?” Andrew asked, tilting his head in mock confusion. Better to not give him the satisfaction..

Neil raised his eyebrow, a look of condescension that had Andrew’s hackles up. “Because I’m going? I assumed you would too, but I can go alone.”

It was true. Neil was an adult who could make his own choices and Andrew wouldn’t stop him from going. But somehow he doubted that Neil would leave it there. The very fact that Neil had taken the time to put it on the fridge meant that this was premeditated and that, likely, this was an argument he wasn’t going to win. That didn’t mean that Andrew didn’t intend to gain as much ground as he could.

“So eager to go play with your friends?”

“Our friends.”

“Presumptuous.”

“You’re right. Aaron will be there, considering it’s his wedding. So he would be just yours then.”

“Aaron is no longer my responsibility. He can fuck up his life however he wants.”

Neil leaned against the kitchen counter, staring back at Andrew with the same level stare. “What do you want for it?”

Andrew held himself against the weight of being known that well. He kept his voice casual. “Skipping ahead so soon? You haven’t appealed to the fact that he’s my brother yet.”

Neil huffed. “Wouldn’t work. I’ve already worked through all your arguments. Had about a week to practice.”

Andrew drummed his fingers on the table. It was unnerving, as always, to know that Neil knew him well enough to anticipate his arguments, to have already taken the time to work this through in his head. It was as irritating as it was calming, in a way only Neil could manage to be.  “You assume you have something worth that much to me.”

“Don’t I?”

“This conversation is starting to bore me. Get to the point.”

“I can sign the papers. One phone call and I’m transferred to Chicago. Same schedule, same weekends off. No more watching each other’s games on TV.”

Andrew worked his jaw. Neil’s status states away had been a source of more irritation than he wanted to admit. It had taken him a long time to be able to admit that Neil was a part of his life that was maybe permanent, as close to permanent as he could allow himself, and now that he had, he felt every mile like a slow healing bruise. Neil’s contract was due for renewal, but Andrew’s team conveniently needed a striker. No coach would turn down one of the best strikers in the game. It was the one thing worth saying yes to and Neil knew it.

“Yes or no?”

Andrew knew that Neil would drop it the moment Andrew said no. Neil didn’t pick fights he couldn’t win. He was only asking because he knew from the start Andrew would agree.

“I’ll go.”

Neil grinned, and moved closer, hovering his hand close to Andrew’s. Andrew took the next step and linked their fingers together. For once, Neil didn’t push his luck with some smartass comment, but Andrew could practically see him biting it back. 

“What?”

“Nothing. I’m just glad you’ll be there.”

“Don’t say stupid shit,” he countered, pulling Neil in. 

“Yes,” Neil said, before Andrew could ask.

He pressed him to the counter and kissed him, letting the invitation fall to the ground.

--

It takes another favor for Neil to convince him that threatening Katelyn at the wedding wasn’t worth the trouble. Andrew severely disagreed, but pushing the issue wasn’t worth it, when Neil would pull back on both their agreements if he did. He didn’t linger on what that meant, on the fact that somewhere along the way he’d decided that keeping Neil meant more to him than settling past scores, and more to him than his brother. He wasn’t sure if that was healthy or not, but healthy had never been in his lexicon either way.

Neil still looked like a disgruntled cat any time he had to wear a suit, but Andrew had picked out a nice fitting one for him years ago, and he takes a moment to appreciate his handiwork. Neil is oblivious as always, though, and it takes him about two minutes of trying to get his tie right until Andrew can’t take it anymore.

“Impossible,” he huffs, and moves closer to secure it properly. Neil grins down at him and Andrew still feels the urge to push his face away, not knowing what Neil finds there to look at. “Staring.”

“Says the man who was literally standing there for two whole minutes.” Not as oblivious then.

Andrew doesn’t dignify that with a response, turning with a hum and heading towards the door. He’s timed it so they’ll be just close enough to on time for the ceremony that they can slip in the back. He lets the hum of the highway drown out the tight feeling in his chest.

When they get there, there’s an annoying sign that says “We’re all family! Pick a seat, not a side!” and Andrew considers walking out, but Neil is swept up by Matt and carried away, so Andrew has to follow, despite his misgivings. Nowhere in their agreement did it state that Andrew had to pay attention to the ceremony, so he tunes out and recites some book he has memorized to himself instead. 

It becomes painfully obvious at the reception that Neil is keeping an eye on him, so Andrew leaves him with Kevin, fighting over something inane and exy-related, and goes outside for a cigarette. He steps onto the terrace, only to find his brother leaning against a fence.

“I don’t think this is how weddings work,” he says as a greeting.

Aaron glances up, scowl as familiar as a mirror. “I told Katelyn I needed a minute.

Andrew nods and leans against the fence, taking a drag of his cigarette.

“Didn’t think you were going to come.”

“Thank Neil.”

“After you thank Katelyn. It was her idea to send you the invitation. I told her not to bother.”

“And yet here I am.”

“Here you are,” Aaron agrees, leaning further back against the fence.

Andrew lets the conversation drop for a moment. He’s about to head back inside, when he hears, “Why?”

He turns back. “Why what?”

“Why did you come? We both know Neil isn’t here as a favor to me. So why would he think it’s important for you to be here?”

And wasn’t that the million dollar question. Why had he bothered to come, when he and Aaron only spoke a handful of times a year? 

“I don’t know,” he answers truthfully.

Annoyingly, Aaron scoffs. “Yes you do.”

“Enlighten me then,” he plays along.

Aaron shrugs. “I didn’t say I knew why. I just know that you don’t do anything without having some convoluted reason for it.”

“I didn’t know I was coming out here to have a conversation with the cheshire cat.”

Aaron chuckled and the sound was foreign to him. “We’re not 16 anymore. Hell, we’re not 20 anymore. We’re grown up.” He holds his glass up, toasting to nowhere.

“When did you start philosophizing? Andrew asked.

“It’s my wedding day-I’m allowed,” Aaron says, shaking his head.

“You’re so weird,” is all Andrew can think to say.

He looks at Aaron and wonders what he sees. Wonders if he mirror the relaxed posture, the way Aaron looks comfortable in his own skin. He wonders how long it’s been since he woke up screaming, if it’s a dull ache in the back of his mind, or an almost healed bruise, flaring up only when pressed on.

He hears the tell tale sound of heels on cobblestones. “Aaron? Honey, we’re about to cut the- oh.”

He looks up and sees Katelyn, wide-eyed and hesitant. He feels long forgotten anger well up, but thinks of Neil and pushes it down. With a long forgotten salute, he turns and leaves Aaron to his future.

Inside, Neil is leaning against a table, sipping his drink that Andrew can tell he hates. He takes it from him and downs it in a quick swig.

“That was mine,” he complains, nudging Andrew’s hip.

“You were too slow.”

“Everything okay?” he asks.

Andrew looks down at their hands, sees the newly acquired neat letters on the side of Neil’s thumb that match his own and feels something settle back into place. He looks up and past him to where Aaron is laughing while Katelyn puts whipped cream on his nose. 

“Yes or no?” he asks instead.

Neil smirks. “In the middle of their moment?”

“Yes,” he taps Neil’s thumb, “Or no?”

“Yes, Andrew,” he says and pulls him in the rest of the way. He hears Nicky yell something and flips him off. 

He’s okay.

[rhysismydaddy]

Unholy Matrimony Pt. 2 (Nessian)

Damnation Series

Parts 1 / 3 / 4 / 5 

_____________________________________________________

~Nesta~

The day after meeting my fiancé, I drop Alexei off at the plane, tell him goodbye, and drive further down the tarmac to where Cassian’s waiting in a completely different private plane.

Very environmentally conscious, our lifestyle

The stairs are unfolded, so after making sure my luggage is transferred over, I head inside.

Cassian’s waiting, sipping bourbon despite the fact that it’s nine in the morning.

He’s dressed in dark jeans, boots, and a black long sleeve t-shirt that makes the tattoos on his hands and knuckles seem even more pronounced. He seems more comfortable now than yesterday.

Like he’s not trying to fit into the mold of a respectable gentleman in a suit.

He looks over as my heels click against the floor, eyes dragging up my legs, pausing at my chest, and scanning my face.

“Hey,” he murmurs, almost like he doesn’t know what else to say.

My lips twitch as I slide into the seat across from him, staying silent for now to throw him off.

As expected, he shifts in his seat, looking mildly uncomfortable.

Then, like he realizes what I’m doing, he narrows his eyes. “You realize that a woman who just sits there, looks pretty, and doesn’t argue is pretty much a man’s dream, right?”

A smile tugs at my lips, but I sigh like I’m not the least bit amused. “Good morning, Cassian.”

His mouth opens and closes a few times as he tries to determine the proper response for such a ground-breaking conversation opener.

He finally decides on: “You don’t have an accent.”

“Not when I speak English.”

Alexei, the hypocritical bastard, said English should sound like English and Russian should sound like Russian.

“Do you speak any other languages?” he asks, apparently not having looked in my file. He’s probably trying to figure out if his secret conversations with his fellow countrymen are safe.

“I speak Italian, since that’s what you really want to know.”

He grins, playful light in his eyes. “I think I’d like to hear that.”

An amused laugh escapes me at that, but I give him what he wants as I murmur, “Sono sicuro che lo faresti.” I’m sure you would.

His eyes seem to darken, and I roll my eyes. Men.

“I speak a little Russian, but not much,” he tells me. Considering I, unlike him, I did my homework, I already knew that.

Done with this conversation, I close my eyes and attempt to sleep. A plan that goes out the window when Cassian says confidently, “I usually only speak Italian when I fuck.”

I know he’s trying to feel me out, get a rise out of me, so I keep my voice completely deadpan as I reply, “Interesting. I tend to choose French.”

He laughs, face splitting into a humongous, goofy-looking grin. “Now that, I can’t wait to hear.”

Ah, yes. Because the idea I won’t sleep with him is unthinkable.

To me, too, but at least I’m not an asshole about it. Time to humble him a bit.

I feign like I’m not attracted to him in the slightest as I make a show of looking him over. “I never said you would, tupitsa.”

Before he can respond to me calling him a dumbass, I close my eyes and go to sleep.

~Cassian~

My fiancé passes out in a matter of seconds. It’s a little impressive, honestly. One second she’s teasing me with the thought of French whispers under silk sheets, the next she’s dead to the world.

I, unfortunately, am stuck on the first part.

Fuck, she’s hot.

It’s an effortless sort of beauty, considering she isn’t wearing makeup and her hair appears to be naturally blonde and straight.

Regardless, she looks like she just stepped off a runway.

Delicate bone structure, fierce eyes, full lips that sounded so good saying my name it took me a moment to formulate a response.

Distracting curves, sweeping hips, long legs that are currently crossed and allowing the slightest hint of lace at the top of her stocking to show.

My dick takes notice of that site, and I remind the greedy bastard she’s a Russian--an enemy--but he doesn’t seem to care. Nope, he wants me to peel those stockings down. With my teeth.

What’s somehow hotter than even her choice of legwear is the fact that she isn’t doing it on purpose. She’s completely relaxed, asleep for God’s sake, not trying to seduce me.

I grit my teeth and look out the window.

Like every other time I fly, I get restless after about ten minutes. I pull out my phone and make sure everything’s ready for when we land, work on my laptop for a bit, stare at Nesta sleeping for a longer bit, and pace the aisle like a caged lion when I start to feel like a creep.

Because I’ve been dealing with administrative shit like getting engaged, it’s been a while since I’ve done something to quell the rush in my blood.

Business, surprisingly, is boring when an army of hateful Russians isn’t trying to kill you all the time. I haven’t fought in days, haven’t shot my gun in longer.

I send Ricardo a text and have him set up a fight for tonight, but even the thought of the coming violence does nothing to help me calm down.

By the time we land, I’m more than ready to get the hell out of this plane.

Nesta wakes up when the wheels touch down, stretching and looking annoyingly well rested.

As the plane taxis, I tell her, “I have to work tonight.”

It’s a lie, and she cocks her eyebrow like she knows it. But she doesn’t call me on it, doesn’t even seem that interested. “I already requested a separate car.”

My brows furrow because I hate being predictable, but I keep my mouth shut.

Nesta stands as the stairs drop open, straightening her dress and pulling it down over the lacey top of her stockings that are now right in front of my face.

Before I even realize what she’s about, there’s a sharp smack to the bottom of my chin that forces my head up. She tsks, shaking her head teasingly.

“What was that for?” I ask, even though I already know.

She grabs her bag, and I follow as she walks down to the tarmac. “Somnophilia.”

I take a second to look up what the hell that is, laughing so hard I have tears in my eyes when I find the definition. Nesta shakes her head, small smile on those distracting lips, and walks to her waiting driver.

“I’ll see you at home, wife,” I call, not able to resist.

She just flips me the bird over her shoulder, making me laugh again.

Like I said, not what I was expecting.

~Nesta~

Things with Cassian are going... well, I guess.

He has the emotional maturity of a seventeen year old boy, but he isn’t terrible. As long as he stays out of my way, I dare say this marriage might work.

He’ll go about his business, I’ll go about mine, and we’ll avoid each other for happily ever after just like the fairytales say.

I shake my head as Maxim, one of the first New York transplants, navigates us through the city and to Sera. I’ve visited all my clubs at least once, and I have to admit, this one is by far my favorite.

As it should be.

The other three I run in New York were all my father’s originally. Built by a man, for the entertainment of men, I have to say they aren’t places I’d visit myself.

But I built Sera from the ground up, and while it’s designed to appeal to both men and women, men are--for the first time in history--not the priority.

The building it’s located in is a skyscraper, one I rent out to different businesses that don’t need an entire place to themselves. The ground floor is a bank, one that discretely cleans Russian money and makes us more through interest.

All in all, an unremarkable location to the public eye.

But every night, after normal banking hours have long passed, a select number of guests are invited to Sera--a speakeasy-type burlesque club with a hidden entrance in the secondary vault of the bank.

It’s secret, exclusive, and private as hell.

When we get to the bank, I enter the passcode on the side door--changed nightly--and walk through the silent lobby to the back room where the bouncer sits on a wooden stool.

“Privet, boss,” the burly man greets, sweeping the door open and ushering me through with a meaty hand. “Man in the back is asking for the owner.”

I nod and step inside, the door immediately closing behind me.

It’s the perfect level of crowded; enough people that no one stands out but not packed to the point of misery. By design, of course.

Everything seems to be the same as when I visited a few months ago except for the changed flooring I had installed last week. The tables and booths in the back are full of people captivated by the jazz singer on stage, a woman I discovered while walking to a business meeting in Paris.

Her cigarette-roughened voice had pulled me in, much like it does the audience now, and I’d offered her a job on the spot.

One of the bartenders, an ex-con who was locked up for stealing insulin for his diabetic daughter, smiles at me and slides me a tumblr of vodka as I make my way over.

“Good to see you,” Dima greets warmly. “How long are you here for?”

“Permanently.”

His eyebrows shoot up, which makes sense, considering the engagement hasn’t been announced properly. We’re apparently having a party of some kind in two weeks to celebrate the big news.

“I’ll explain later,” I tell him, noticing a group of people approaching the bar.

He nods, and I slip away towards the back corner where a roped-off set of stairs lead down to the basement below.

Like usual, there’s a private poker game happening in the main room of the bottom floor, and I stop to make say a few hellos but eventually move on to the hallway containing offices for some of the management.

The soldier stationed at the door to mine nods in acknowledgement, then tells me a whale’s inside.

My brows raise at the idea of a big-time investor coming to see me at this hour, but I shrug and walk in, shoulders back and face blank. I learned a long time ago to never let my emotions play out on my face.

The man waiting inside looks to be in his forties, richer than sin, and cold. Mafia, undoubtedly. His dark eyes rake over me, and he asks in a tone I don’t appreciate, “Who the fuck are you?”

“Nesta Orlov. You requested to speak to me?”

His bushy brows pinch together. “No, I want to speak to the owner.”

“One and the same.”

“I was told Cassian Azara is the owner.”

My jaw clenches at the thought that we’ve been engaged for less than two days and people already assume my shit is his. “By who?” I ask, remembering our upcoming nuptials aren’t even public news yet.

“My Capo.”

That gets my attention.

Rhysand’s telling people my club is Cassian’s? Why?

Something isn’t right.

I might not know the Italian boss, but I’ve heard he’s straightforward. Ruthless but honest. So why would he lie?

A little voice inside my head whispers, What if he isn’t?

Mind whirling, I turn to the man and smile politely even though it’s the last thing I feel like doing. “Would you mind giving me a moment? If you go upstairs, our bartender will get you anything you want, on the house.”

He shrugs and leaves, and as soon as the door clicks shut, I go to my desk and pull up the electronic copy of our marriage contract.

Like I thought, nothing’s amiss.

I read this shit thoroughly enough to know exactly what I was getting into, and in case I missed anything, I had my private lawyer scan over it.

But that little voice, that gut feeling, refuses to go away. So I grab my bag and look through the physical copy, dread unfurling when I notice an extra page tucked in the middle.

It’s a prenup.

One I’ve never seen.

And there, smack dab in the middle, is a line declaring the deed to Sera the property of Cassian Azara.

A rough breath forces its way out of me, and for a second, I’m so angry, so blind with rage, I can’t hardly think. What the hell is going on?

I force myself to think through this, to rationalize what I’m seeing.

Replaying the moment in the Capo’s office, I realize the switch between the original and this version of the contract must’ve happened prior. I was only in there a few minutes and had the papers in my hand the whole time.

Which means...

Alexei picks up on the first ring, like he was waiting for the call. “Da.”

“What the hell have you done?”

He sighs. “What needed doing.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it. I wasn’t the one who started a goddamn war with the Italians, and yet I’m the one who’s paying all the prices. I’m marrying the bastard, for fuck’s sake. Give him one of your clubs.”

His tone hardens. “He didn’t want anything else.”

“I don’t give a shit! This place is my property. It isn’t yours to give away.” I take a deep breath and try to quiet the rushing in my veins. “That idiot will run it into the ground.”

There’s a long moment, and I swear he sounds a little guilty as he says calmly, “He has more than a few businesses of his own, Nesta. It will be fine.”

I pinch my lips together to keep from cursing the man who raised me.

“If you read the document,” he says, a strange note to his voice. “You’ll notice there are a number of clauses.”

My eyes scan to the bottom of the page, and I read as Alexei continues. “He is permitted from selling, unless to you. The investors have the option to vote him out at any time. And if he is unfaithful to you or ends the engagement for whatever reason, Sera is returned to you in full.”

All the violence, all the rage, seems to dim. Just a little.

This is so like Alexei; in fact, it was one of his first lessons to me.

Give someone the illusion of winning, and they’ll sign anything you want them to.

I read through the clauses again, lips twitching. “Let me get this straight. If I can prove Cassian Azara--notorious playboy of New York--is cheating on me, the club is mine? And if the board at Sera votes him out, he can’t fight it?”

I can practically hear my father’s smile. “Da.”

“Or if I drive him crazy and he ends the engagement?”

“Da.”

Sounds easy enough. I drive Alexei absolutely insane and have never had a long-term relationship. I’ll have him running for the hills in no time.

One thing doesn’t make sense, though. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I knew if I told you, you wouldn’t sign. It’s still a risk, even with the clauses” He takes a deep breath. “I never told you, but we were losing the war in New York. We would’ve lasted another year, and then we would’ve lost the city.”

“Alexei-”

“I need this alliance to hold, Volchonok,” he says. “And either of you calling off the engagement or divorcing the other is grounds for the war to start back up.”

“So you’re saying I still need to marry him.”

He gruffs a confirmation, and my brain whirls as it thinks of a new plan.

My options are down to three: have him sell to me, prove he’s cheating, or get the board to vote him out.

“One more thing. You only have until the wedding. Once you’re married, the only way to get your property back is if he signs the deed to you.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, moving my timeline up by a factor of a hundred. Checking the calendar proves what I already know: I have less than thirty days to somehow convince one of the most notoriously stubborn men in the world to give me a multi-million dollar company.

Easy.

“I’m... sorry. For lying.”

I’m so shocked he just apologized--something he’s never done in my twenty-five years of life--it takes me a moment to respond and tell him he’s forgiven. “Ty proshchen, otets.”

I disconnect the call and swivel around in the chair, a smile pulling on my lips.

I’m going to drive him fucking crazy. All while I make him fall in love with me.

Oh, Cassian. I almost feel sorry for you.

_______________________________________________________

NEXT CHAPTER

[kpopfanfictrash]

Refinery29 (M)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Seokjin

Rating: 18+

Genre: Established relationship / humor

Warnings: positive and supportive dirty talk, slight impreg kink, fingering, oral (female receiving), seokjin says the words “balls-deep,” no condom (established monogamous relationship)

Word Count: 2,965

Summary: Your boyfriend, Seokjin, is an annoyingly loyal reader of the lifestyle website, Refinery29. Too often, you find yourself the recipient of his determined curiosity. (Refinery29 is a series of smaller one shots. Each one consists of a time Seokjin incorporates a dumb article/idea on sex into their love life).

Title: The One With Positive Affirmations 

A/N: Thank you to @baebae-goodnight​ for bringing this phenomenon to my attention and apologies to @underthejoon​ for the morning @baebae-goodnight​ and I spent trading positive sexual affirmations back and forth in the chat.

“What’re your thoughts on positive affirmations during sex.”

Setting your book on your stomach, you glance over at Seokjin. He lies beside you on the bed, glasses on and sweatpants riding dangerously low on his hips. On one hand he holds his phone, pausing mid-scroll through his Twitter timeline.

“What?” You blink, truly having no idea what he means.

“Positive affirmations.” Seokjin looks up. “You know, like what you say in the mirror to yourself every morning.”

“I don’t say anything to myself in the mirror each morning.”

“Really?” He frowns. “Then what’s taking you so long?”

“Hey!” you blurt, hitting him with your pillow.

Seokjin cracks up, grabbing the pillow to set this aside. Settling back on the bed, he picks up his phone and continues to scroll. You resume reading your book, but find yourself distracted. Lowering this to your lap, you glance curiously at Seokjin.

“What brought this on?”

Holding up his phone, Seokjin wriggles his hand. “There’s a trending Twitter topic about how hot it is to say positive affirmations to your partner during sex. I was intrigued.”

“Hm. Let me see that,” you say, reaching for his phone.

Seokjin hands it over, rolling onto his side to watch you scroll. Immediately, you see what Seokjin is talking about. A subsect of Twitter thinks it’s hot to say positive, affirming phrases to your partner while inside them.

“Okay.” With a snort, you look up. “Are you serious? Some of these are ridiculous. ‘I’m so proud of you.’ ‘I’m so lucky to experience you.’ ‘I love our connection.’ ‘Your energy is incredible.’ Seokjin,” you say, looking at him deadpan. “If someone said these things to me during sex, my vagina would dry up so fast.”

“But I am proud of you!” he insists, trying not to laugh. “Why shouldn’t I tell you that while I’m balls-deep inside you?”

Rolling your eyes, you sit up. “Okay, first off. If you ever say the phrase ‘balls-deep’ while referring to our sex life again, there won’t be a sex life to reference. Second, this has no place in the bedroom. Unless, I don’t know, we’re talking about our day before bed.”

“I don’t know. I think it could be hot,” Seokjin says, looking thoughtfully at his phone.

“Seokjin. Do you really want me to say, ‘don’t worry about the things you can’t control’ while we’re fucking? Or, ‘happiness comes from forgiveness’ while I’m sliding down on your cock?”

“That’s not fair.” Seokjin groans, shoving a hand through his hair. Messy brown strands stick straight up. “Everything you said became white noise the second you said cock.”

Laughing, you set your book aside. Swinging one leg over his waist, you settle onto his lap. “Oh, really?” you tease, hands sliding up his arms. “That gets you turned on, huh?”

“Obviously. Everything about you turns me on.”

Pointedly, you glance down at your worn, ratty t-shirt – admittedly, it is his worn, ratty t-shirt.

“Even now?”

“Especially now.” Pulling your t-shirt tight around your waist, Seokjin stares appreciatively at the swell of your chest. “It’s like you don’t feel my cock against your ass, or something.”

“Is that what that is? Thought I sat on a peanut.”

“Cute,” Seokjin smirks, gripping your butt with both hands. “I love when we pretend like my dick is small.”

Your breath catches because yes, you can feel his dick against your ass and no, it is not small. His thin grey sweatpants do little to hide this.

“But seriously.” You smile, shaking your head. “Is this something you actually think would be sex? For me to whisper while we fuck that your ability to conquer obstacles is unparalleled?”

Seokjin arches a brow. “Y/N, I’m surprised.”

“What? What by?”

“I would’ve thought you’d love me hyping you up,” he teases, grasping your waist. Gentle, he shifts to lower you down on the bed.

His hands skim your waist, casually positioning himself at the foot of your bed. Sitting back on his heels, Seokjin makes a show of running his hand through his hair. The sweatpants stretch tight across his thighs, highlighting how much he has been hitting the gym.

He cockily arches a brow. “Don’t you want to hear about what a strong, powerful woman you are while I eat you out?”

“How would you do both at the same time?”

Despite this, you shiver. His gaze darkens when he speaks, as though he truly believes what he says and cannot fathom how lucky he is to have you. For a moment, you consider if there is merit to the idea after all. Lowering his phone to the bed, you casually stretch out a leg.

“Mm, I don’t know,” you say slowly. “What would you say?”

Smirking, Seokjin grasps your ankle to drape over his shoulder. Turning his head, he gently kisses your skin. The softness of his lips makes you tense, fingers digging into the sheets of the bed.

“I’d say how grateful I am that you share your life with me,” he confesses, lips sliding down your calf.

His words are mumbled and you know that he means them, since Seokjin always gets embarrassed when he tells the truth. His ears are bright red under his hair and his breath quickens a little, grip tightening in an almost imperceptible manner.

“You’re fearless,” he says, spreading your legs to fall on either side of his waist. His hands skim your thighs, coming to a halt at your shots. “Bold,” he adds, cocking his head. “I’m constantly in awe of what you do.”

He reaches up, hands curling around the waistband of your shorts and here, he pauses, forcing you to hold your breath.

Abruptly, he lets go and breaks out in a grin. “What’d you think?” Seokjin slaps your thigh. “Hot, or not?”

“Ugh!” you groan, tossing an arm across your face. “You’re the absolute worst.”

Seokjin cackles, shifting his weight back on the bed. When you peek out from under your arm, you find him removing his shirt. He tosses this onto the floor, revealing toned pecs and abs.

“What’re you doing?” you say, letting your arm fall to the bed.

Seokjin pauses. “I thought it was obvious. I want to have sex with you while insisting you have all the qualities necessary to be extremely successful in business.”

“Seokjin.” You burst out into laughter. “Don’t you hear how ridiculous that sounds? This is what I was afraid of!”

“What were you afraid of?”

“I was afraid you were going to make this weird!”

“Not weird!” He grins, grasping your shorts to yank down to your ankles. These are also thrown across the room. “I just wanted to remind you that everything which happens, happens for your ultimate good.”

“Oh?” Hooking both ankles around his waist, you tug him towards you. “Is that so?”

Seokjin catches himself with both hands. “Obviously,” he grins, removing his glasses. These are placed carefully on the nightstand beside you. “I’m going to make sure only good things happen to you, babe.”

Your smile falters a bit when he leans down to kiss you, since his words are sweet and his taste even sweeter. Seokjin’s hand finds your hair, wrapping around strands to gently pull. His kisses are soft at first, his mouth melding with yours, but then your lips part and his tongue slips inside.

“Still,” you groan, forcing yourself to pull back. Seokjin pants a little, his cheeks flushed and warm. “There’s a line between positive affirmations though, and things which would turn me on.”

Seokjin begins to kiss up your jaw. He lingers a bit at your ear, biting down on the lobe. “Such as?” he muses, soothing this with a kiss.

“I don’t know,” you say, distracted by what he does with his tongue. “Telling me every cell in my body vibrates with good health and energy? Not hot. Telling me I’m a bad bitch? Hot.”

Seokjin’s breath catches as he looks up. “You don’t want me telling you good things are coming?”

Keeping his gaze locked on yours, he slides a hand down your side. The warmth of his palm slowly travels your curves, making you tense with eager anticipation. Seokjin lingers at your breast, tracing the side as you bite down on your lip.

No longer content with this, Seokjin moves to cup your breast in one hand. His thumb brushes your nipple, making you hiss and he smiles in triumph when it peaks against his palm.

“This has to go,” he complains, grasping the edge of your t-shirt to drag overhead. “Whoops – sorry, sorry,” he says when it tangles in hair. Tenderly, Seokjin works to get you free. 

You snort, laughing until he bends and closes his mouth over your breast.

“O-oh,” you falter, falling back on the sheets.

Seokjin sucks on a nipple, teasing the other with the pad of his thumb until you arch against him. 

“Seokjin,” you groan, hands winding into his hair.

Releasing you with a pop, Seokjin grins and strokes your glistening nipple. The act makes you shiver, your breasts aching and heavy with desire.

“You’re a goddess.” Seokjin presses a kiss to your clavicle before moving down. “A strong, soft, powerful woman.” He hovers above your abdomen. “You can fucking create life. How badass is that?”

The idea makes you shiver, seeing his lips pressed to your belly like this, his hips wedged between yours. You imagine the possibility of it happening one day – of Seokjin filling you up with his cum, giving you everything until you make something together.

“Is… is that something you think about?”

Seokjin’s gaze flashes. “Mm,” he says casually, dragging a finger up the center of your panties. “Can you imagine you pregnant? Carrying my baby for everyone to see. It’d be fucking hot as hell,” he groans, cupping your heat. “I’m losing my mind thinking about it, but that’s not what this is about.”

“No?”

He shakes his head. “Tonight is about me telling you how sexy it is when you make positive decisions. Mm, shut that negativity out of your life,” he grins, slipping your panties aside.

You want to laugh, but find this to be impossible when his finger slips into your folds, sliding up and down to feel how drenched you are. Lingering at your clit, Seokjin rubs the hood and pulls a whine from your lips. Then he pulls back, yanking your panties down and opening your legs to spread you further.

Seokjin groans, seeing the way arousal clings to your folds. Using two fingers, he drags them up and down your sensitive sex. Each time he gets near the top, he squeezes gently on either side of your tender clit. It forces your hips to arch on the bed, wanting him closer.

“Seokjin,” you pant, grabbing his hand. “Put a finger inside me.”

“Good decision.” Seokjin shakes his head, hair falling into his gaze. Slowly, he sinks a single finger into your heat.

“Shit,” you moan, reveling in the stretch he gives you. Seokjin slowly slides in and out, bending to press a kiss to your hip.

“Want your mouth,” you whimper, grasping his hair to gently push down.

Seokjin does not hesitate, grasping your hip to lick your sex. He moves casually at first, tongue curling against you, but then he gives in to eat you out in earnest. A gasp tears from your lips, hands fisting in hair while he sucks your swollen clit. His finger refuses to stop, hitting even deeper and you cry out his name while he splays you on the bed.

Pulling back, he spreads your lips with one hand before diving back in. You moan, feet planted firmly on the bed while a fresh wave of arousal soaks his finger inside you.

“Want to come like this?” Seokjin breathes, pulling back.

His lips glisten with your arousal, hair dark and messy where you have pulled at the strands.

“No,” you declare, pulling him upwards. Grasping the cotton of his boxer-briefs, you push them down. “Want to tell you what an innovator you are while you’re balls-deep inside me.”

Seokjin cracks up, a gigantic grin on his face. “You used balls-deep,” he says, chucking his underwear to the floor. “Does that mean it’s officially approved as foreplay material?”

“Absolutely not.” You guide his cock to your center. “I was just feeling generous.”

“You are generous,” he agrees, sliding his cock up and down your folds. Seokjin’s jaw goes a bit slack, lost in realization of how turned on you are. “You generously let me give you orgasms whenever I want.”

Slipping partway inside, Seokjin looks up to relish the sight of your parted lips. You get like this whenever he enters you, and he does not know if you notice. Dazed, fucked out and seeming like you can’t take anymore – although you always do. You always beg him to move and it drives Seokjin crazy; makes him feel so big inside you.

“How is that generous of me?” Eager, you cant your hips against his. “You’re the one making me cum. Seokjin… baby… please.”

Seokjin smiles, triumphant, and pushes inside you another inch.

“It’s generous because of that look on your face.” Bending his lips to your neck, he pushes in a bit more. “You look fucking destroyed whenever you come. Makes me so hard. Sometimes days later, I’ll be in the middle of a work meeting and remember your face while I fucked you against the mirror and then, it’s a battle to tame my raging hard-on.”

“So, really, I’m an inconvenience,” you say, wriggling your hips underneath him to force him in a bit more.

“Never,” Seokjin says, as he bottoms out.

The look on his face is so soft, you cannot help but pull his lips to yours. Seokjin holds himself still at first, but soon the kiss deepens, and he starts to thrust. Your lips move together, forging a pattern which mimics below.

His cock stretches your walls, bowing your back as you arch from the bed. Legs wrapping around his waist, you hook them over his ass to take him even deeper. Seokjin keeps one arm on the sheets, his other hand grasping yours to stretch overhead.

He does not pull out with each thrust, keeping himself inside as he rocks forward. Each time he moves brushes his pelvis to your clit, teasing your body and making you tremble.

“Seokjin,” you whisper, lips brushing his nose.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Maybe there’s merit to this whole thing after all.”

Chuckling, he squeezes your hand above you. “I just want you to know how perfect you are. Also, I genuinely think it’s impossible for sex with you to be bad.”

When you tighten further around him, Seokjin begins to move faster. His hips smack against your ass, scooting you up on the bed.

“You never know,” you warn, sliding a hand down his back. Tenderly, you cup his ass with one hand. “What if I use teeth in my next blow job?”

“How much teeth are we talking here?” he grunts, angling his hips to hit even deeper. “Because like, a little teeth might be fun. If you bite down on my dick though, we’d have to talk.”

You gasp, legs shaking when he hits a certain spot. “Okay, no teeth,” you agree, gripping him tighter. Your entire body feels like a live wire, waiting to snap. “Can’t do anything to risk this perfect dick of yours.”

Seokjin inhales and pulls back, sitting down on his heels. Sliding one hand to each of your knees, he pushes them up on your chest. Before you can utter a word, he thrusts back inside you, stretching you out in a way which leaves you unable to speak.

“You like that baby?” he says, catching the look on your face.

“Yes!” you gasp, helping him out by grabbing both knees yourself. Pulling them higher, you spread yourself wider.

Seokjin groans at the sight, bending forward to slip his thumb over your clit. “You’re so fucking hot,” he breathes, and when you open your eyes, you find him staring at you.

Not your tits, which are bouncing, nor where his cock enters your body, but at you and the emotions of this make you snap in his arms. Seokjin crushes his mouth to yours as your orgasm claims you, following this up with several thrusts as he comes undone. You feel him spill inside you, a wet, sticky mess which slowly seeps around his cock.

Seokjin’s lips soften, gently pulling back to rest his forehead to yours. After a while, you stir in his arms.

“Seokjin?” you mumble, a bit dazed.

“Yeah?”

“You’re gonna get cum on the bed.”

He snorts, chest shaking yours as he pulls out. Rolling over, Seokjin snags a tissue from the nightstand and returns to clean you up. After your trip to the bathroom, you hop back in bed and find Seokjin under the covers.

He makes room for you, draping an arm over your waist to pull you to his chest. You eagerly obey, wrapping around him like a koala.

“Y/N,” Seokjin murmurs, as you drift off to sleep.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Snuggling even closer, you hide your smile in his chest. “I know. Love you, too.”

He nods, the room falling into silence, quiet except for the distant honking of cars below. You allow the lull to pull you under, relaxing against him until Seokjin sighs.

“But please don’t use teeth anywhere near my dick.”

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