#even if he is an arsehole a lot of the time

[phantom-of-the-501st]

"Not 'til tonight. 'Til I saw you look at him... the way you once looked at me."

-Ross Poldark, 3x8

Look, Ross may be a pillock some of (a lot of) the time, but this line still hurts, okay!

[pseudowho]

The Stacks

(Higuruma art by @milanvaan on X)

Stuck together on an all-night study session at the University library, you and your rival Higuruma Hiromi find you may have more in common than you thought...

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, rivals/enemies to lovers, breaking point smut, mild brat-taming/retribution, 'missionary so we can continue fighting'

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The twilight crept in-- but, while your fellow students were heading out for a night of drinks and debauchery, you walked under the evening-dappled willows, to the entrance of the library. You already knew it would be as quiet as the grave.

In the morning was your final, decisive Law exam; this was it. The culmination of years of effort. The final hurdle before the start of a glorious, prolific career. The recognition of yourself as the best Lawyer that your University had ever produced. And, with a curious, melancholy twinge of anger, the last time you would ever have to share a classroom with--

"You." Two voices rang out through the library entrance corridor; one disgusted, the other surprised. Higuruma Hiromi's hooked nose wrinkled at you, beetle-black eyes glinting as he straightened under a straining bag of books, to full height.

A taut moment of silence. Something in Hiromi's jaw clenched and unclenched rapidly, his foot tapping, and he looked aside. Looking back at you, his fury a thin veneer over a flicker of curiosity, he tensed to feel you sweep past him.

"I'm taking the Law section. You can grab some books, and fuck off to study somewhere else, Higuruma."

"Hey-- hey-- you can get fucked if you think you're taking over the place, sunshine--"

Hiromi prickled, rushing to catch up with you. You raced him, his long spidery legs easily putting him in front of you. Two sets of frantic footsteps running up the staircases, crashing and jostling-- "don't touch me!" "--stop it, you're a fucking menace--" "--not sitting with an arsehole like you all night--"

Hiromi and you approached the Law section at speed, a single plush sofa hidden away within circular stacked shelves, tables running between them like the spokes of a wheel. Hiromi shunted you aside at the last moment, slamming his bag on the couch with a satisfied hoot of success, turning to you with a grin and a twinkle in his eyes.

"Bastard!" You snapped, your hackles raised, and the twinkle in Hiromi's eyes dulled, replaced by tired disappointment as he looked away again, jaw twitching under your hateful gaze. Hiromi huffed, moving to empty his bag of textbooks and scattily-organised notebooks.

"Not like I'm going to stop you from studying here," Hiromi clipped, tense, "Lots of room. Didn't anyone ever teach you to share?" He teased, offering another wan smile. You rejected it categorically.

"I don't share with rats," you snapped, grabbing your bag and slamming it onto a nearby table. Hiromi was silent, tapping his fingers against his thigh, mouth puckering up into a bitter snipe.

"Yeah, well...let me know if you want to borrow my paper from the Spring term," Hiromi offered sarcastically, his anger burning low, "I know you didnt do so well on that one--"

"Shut up! My paper was perfect, it was--"

"--second best in the class?" Hiromi hissed air through his teeth, his crossed legs bouncing and jittery as he started to sort through notes, "Yeah, it's okay, I suppose...always room for improvement though, right?"

"Yeah, well..." You retaliated, stumbling over your words, "...you know where you can find a decent essay on Commercial Law, I know you struggle with it."

Hiromi ignored you, relaxed and not taking the bait. It pissed you off how effortless he found all of this, how he didn't have a competitive bone in his body...and all the while, you had toiled away blood, sweat and tears to get to the position you were.

You sat in stony silence for an hour, studying quietly. Any time you relaxed in his presence, you mentally snapped at yourself, not willing to concede one inch to such a snake--

A cup of coffee from the vending machine was dropped in front of you by one long-fingered, elegant hand. You looked up to see Hiromi loping away, warm and lackadaisical in his slim black jeans and Law school sweatshirt. You bristled. Hiromi sat on the sofa again, rolling his eyes as you pushed the coffee away from you with a huff, his own coffee hiding the hint of a smile on his lips and coal-ember eyes.

You tried to hide a yawn behind your hand. Between studying, and part-time bar work to pay your way, sleep was a rare resource. You knew no light in your life other than that from the candle you burned at both ends. Rubbing your eyes, your elbow slipped when you moved to rest it on the table. Your impeccably written flashcards hit the floor, scattering as you swore, kneeling to pick them up.

A few slow footsteps, and those long-fingered hands appeared in your vision again, helping to collect your flashcards with meticulous care. Your shoulders bunched up, and you snatched the pile of cards from Hiromi's hands when he offered them to you.

"Thank you," you begrudged. Hiromi remained on his haunches, hands clasped in front of him.

"Nice flashcards," he offered, and you bristled again, looking for insult, "want me to quiz you?"

"I can do it by myself," you snapped, turning to sit on your chair again, your back to him. You weren't sure if you heard Hiromi sigh.

"Suit yourself, misery guts." Hiromi moved back to the couch, not partaking in the bitter little competition he had never entered. As the clock ticked onwards, approaching midnight, the sky beyond the windows now an inky black, your brain began to fog. You caught yourself reading the same sentence again, and again, and again--

You heard a persistent little tapping. Hiromi had not looked up from his notes, but patted the spot on the sofa beside him in invitation.

"Come on," he pressed, soft and unyielding, "bring your flashcards over, and I'll quiz you. If we're here all night, we might as well be useful to each other."

Your resolve crumbled, despite your prickles of disgust towards Hiromi, and you picked up your lukewarm coffee and your flashcards to sit beside him. You hadn't realised how cold you were, until you felt the warmth of his thickly muscled thigh against yours. You shivered. Hiromi's gaze flicked up and down your body, his hangdog eyes impassively reading you.

He took off his sweatshirt in one fluid movement, holding it out to you. You pretended to ignore him, turning your face away with a pout. Hiromi scoffed. Momentarily, you squealed in indignation to feel his sweatshirt being pulled over your head, your arms being pushed through the sleeves like you were a child.

"Do as you're told," Hiromi chastised without venom, "and wear my fucking sweatshirt. You're cold." You swallowed, rendered speechless by his warmth, the soft notes of his shampoo, and, to your surprise, cologne.

"Did mummy buy you some nice perfume?" You jabbed, and you blushed as Hiromi surprised you with a laugh, deep, rich and genuine. Hiromi leaned across you, his face skirting so close to yours, on his way to reach for your flash cards. He moved his face even closer, his voice conspiratorial as you felt his warm, coffee'd breath over your lips.

"Mummy still thinks I'm some little boy."

You felt a shiver down your spine, feeling heat pool in your belly and pussy, before mentally shaking yourself. Higuruma Hiromi? You berated yourself internally, don't be so fucking ridiculous.

You had felt your eyes wander to him, early in your first year, his quiet confidence so magnetic. You had almost been pulled into his gravity. Then, he bested you in test, after test, after test, never seeming to break a sweat, being lauded as a prodigy, touted as the youngest Judge the Law school would ever see instated. It hadn't taken long for you to see him as the nuisance he was.

Then, he had done something unforgivably dirty, becoming a filthy little sellout, and your conviction in your opinion of him was solidified with brutal finality.

Your train of thought was interrupted by your coffee being pressed into your hands.

"Drink up," Hiromi urged, his tone broaching no argument, a wonky smile on his face which made your stomach somersault, "and get ready. I won't go easy on you."

And, he didn't. He grilled you mercilessly, becoming more and more thrilled as you snapped back each time with devastating precision and accuracy. The flashcards soon became secondary, and eventually discarded in favour of a soulful debate. The back and forth roared through you both like wildfire. You bounced off Hiromi's challenge with ease, his natural foil, and he took it all with a sultry delight that intoxicated you.

Your legs were entangled, now, facing each other on the sofa, and ribbing each other for all you were worth. You hadn't noticed how low your guard had dropped, until you saw how Hiromi looked at you, your wide sparkling smile, your twinkling eyes, your dimples. His square jaw leaned on one hand, his slim fingers stretching from chin to temple, one finger between his teeth, eyes dipped low and burning through you as he smiled. You gulped, feeling the fire warm you from head to foot.

"I'm, uhm..." you trembled, pushing your glasses up your nose as he raised his eyebrows, otherwise still as a panther in the rainforest, "...uhm...just going to get a snack...want anything?"

"...sure," Hiromi eventually answered, watching with mischief as you untangled your legs from his, "anything." You skittered past Hiromi, and it took everything in his power not to pull you to straddle his lap and see just how much he could steam up your glasses.

Turning the corner to the vending machine, you finally released the breath you had been holding. You fanned your face, pressing buttons, selecting a random assortment of snacks, and tapping your card to the card reader. Three little bleeps-- declined.

You felt a thread of panic. You checked your bank account with your heart in your throat...pennies. Literal pennies left to your name, until payday before the weekend. You now burned with shame, considering just leaving your books and bag and turning tail back to your apartment. Instead, with a furious blush over your cheeks, you headed back to the sofa, Hiromi looking at you curiously as you pulled a book onto your lap, empty-handed.

"Nothing decent," you lied, "sorry." Hiromi was silent; his gaze rendered you transparent in a way that was so unwelcome to you now. You felt a wash of relief as he stood up and walked away.

A few minutes later, Hiromi returned, gently placing a bag of crisps and a bar of chocolate down on the book on your lap. Tears of shame prickled in your eyes.

"You like these, right? I've seen you eat them before," Hiromi mused, gentle and casual. You pressed your eyes and lips shut, tears threatening to overspill.

"You didn't have to," you urged, your voice tight. Hiromi hummed to himself, taking a bite of his chocolate, and raising your chocolate bar to boop you softly on the nose.

"Big day tomorrow...today. You won't do well if you're hungry." A pause. "You work hard. It happens." You flooded with a sickening rush of gratitude, Hiromi's easy empathy almost washing away the shame.

"...thank-- thank you," you mumbled, fingers closing round his, your little heart thumping for him, as you accepted the chocolate bar. "I get paid on Friday, I'll pay you back--"

Hiromi scoffed, playful, "Don't worry about it. Just...buy the second round of drinks." You felt your stomach flip, your fingertips pressed over your mouthful of chocolate as you blushed. He was so casual about it. You couldn't see how his heart pounded in anticipation, awaiting certain rejection.

"...I...uhm...yeah. That sounds...that sounds...nice." Hiromi released the breath he'd been holding in a shaky, quiet whoosh. He felt the bridge of his aquiline nose redden. He tried to look surreptitious as he scooted closer to you on the sofa, pretending to choose a textbook.

The exam in the morning was now the furthest thing from Hiromi's mind. You shivered to feel the heat of his thigh against you again, and your fingers itched to reach out and feel the hot corded muscle of them. Hiromi wanted nothing more than to turn, pull your mouth to his, and share the taste of chocolate on each others' tongues. He was torn by indecision.

Shifting your legs, your textbook tumbled off to the side of you. You leaned back, reaching down to the floor, at the same time as Hiromi leaned over your body, his fingers stretching out, too. You found yourself suddenly bracketed by his lithe, long body, his arms either side of your head and his lap pressed to yours.

You stared up at Hiromi, like a little bunny rabbit, trapped. You reached one hand up to brush the black commas of hair off Hiromi's forehead and he shuddered, feeling his cock throb and fatten behind the zipper of his jeans. He leaned down towards you, pupils dilated, a pit of possessive thrill just above his aching length as he spoke, millimetres away from your lips.

"How long has this been almost happening for?" Hiromi pondered aloud, his cock thickening even faster as you squeaked, little hands gripping his biceps.

"Never," you challenged weakly, "it was never going to happen--"

"Yeah, right," he whispered, low and sarcastic, one hand looping behind your neck in preparation for fucking into your mouth with his tongue, "always the same shit with you--"

"-- it might have happened sooner if-- if you didn't sell yourself to that filthy company to become their corporate lawyer lapdog--"

Hiromi stiffened instantly, pulling away from you, your lips chasing his briefly in confusion. You blinked up at him, feeling so small as his face twisted in fury above you, his eyes incandescent with rage.

"I'm sorry-- what?" He snarled, climbing off of you and leaving you cold, confused, blinking.

"--you--you were scouted by that nasty finance company, right? And you accepted. Everybody said--"

Hiromi laughed, humourless, both of his hands cupping his nose and lower face as he leaned back into the sofa, staring at the ceiling, "Yeah? Everybody says, do they? You listen to everybody, do you?"

You felt a thread of dread run through you, the adrenaline of having almost been taken by Hiromi, now replaced with the adrenaline of confrontation. You felt a ruffle of indignation through you.

"I always thought you'd go that way," you asserted, doubling-down, rendered stupid by the need to win, "some little corporate rat for pay."

Hiromi's teeth clenched so hard, you heard the crunch, and you felt exactly how seriously you had fucked up. You gulped. You stood, brisk. You crammed books and flashcards into your bag, before moving to make a swift exit.

"--a--anyway. Good luck in the morning. Have a nice life."

You hurried away, towards the tightly packed bookshelves, at first hearing silence behind you, before the sudden rush of heavy footsteps chasing you and your heart in your mouth and--

You squealed, forcibly spun by one strong hand, your back slammed against the bookshelves. Books slipped and fell around your head, but none of them hit you; Hiromi barely winced as he craned over you, books tumbling off his head and shoulders while his arms blocked your exit. His hips pressing against your belly trapped you further, and you felt the erection you had left him with, straining against his jeans.

"You're smart, but you're such a fucking know it all," Hiromi spat, urging you to answer for your crimes by forcing eye-contact. You swallowed, heart fluttering between your legs, speechless.

"Oh, what? Now you shut up, huh?" Hiromi tsked, a wonky smile on his face, still twisted in anger as he laughed, humourless, into his shoulder.

"What the fuck did I ever do wrong?" Hiromi demanded, leaning down so the side of his hooked nose pressed against yours, your lips almost touching, "What did I do to make you hate me? So fucking competitive, you act like a total brat to the one guy who's good enough to keep up with you."

"Higuruma, I-- I'm sorry, I didn't mean--"

"Oh, no no no," Hiromi whispered, nose still pressed to yours, his cock rigid and twitching against your belly, "Hiromi, please. Enemies are just as intimate as lovers, after all." You shuddered, and Hiromi felt a drip of pre-cum soak his boxers, to see you finally yielding beneath him, and in his sweatshirt no less.

"...I did accept a job, obviously," Hiromi sniped, watching the colour drain from your face as he told you, "...at the Public Defence Office...you gullible little tart."

"...but if you think I'm such a bad person, how about I fuck you like one, hmm?" Hiromi drank down your squeak with a nose-crinkling grin, before crashing his lips to yours, moaning with relief into your gasping, warm mouth. The tension snapped in you, brittle under Hiromi's righteous rage, and you tangled your arms around his neck, pressing your body flat against his, in a kiss that was three years in the making.

"--oh, fuck yes-- fucking pain in my ass-- hate me all you like, still better than being ignored by you--" Hiromi nipped your bottom lip between his teeth, before sucking it between his, soothing the sting. You could feel how he shook with restraint, wanting retribution for years of ill-treatment. In a fleeting moment of shame-faced acceptance, as Hiromi laid claim to your neck, you realised you absolutely deserved it.

Hiromi marked your neck, sucking with his teeth and lips, raking the neckline of his sweatshirt down to do the same to your collarbones with a sandy moan. He scooped his arms under your thighs, lifting you against him, carrying you back to the sofa where he fell back, forcing you to straddle him. The sudden jolt of your clothed aching pussy against his cock made you both moan, and Hiromi bucked his cock up against you instinctively.

Feeling Hiromi's gaze burning into you again, you blushed, looking aside and sheepish. He reached up, tangling one hand roughly into your hair, tilting your head to the side, examining the lovebites down your neck with a shudder.

"You-- you're such a dickhead-- always came so fucking easy to you--" You whined at Hiromi, blushing as he laughed, his hand snaking under the sweatshirt to cup your breast with a groan of satisfaction.

"Fuck off," Hiromi scoffed, "fucking easy-- you treat me like scum, and you think I'm going to let you see me struggle? Please. Been fighting me for three years when you should have been fucking me instead."

Hiromi scooped your tank top and bra down beneath the sweatshirt, doing the same with his other hand, taking both of your breasts between his long, kneading fingers as he rutted his aching cock up into you.

"So go on then, if you're so clever...fuck me with your clothes on." You whimpered above him, feeling both of your nipples rolled insistently between his thumbs and forefingers. Your skirt had rucked up around your hips, and Hiromi swore under his breath to feel your arousal soak through his jeans, onto his cock.

He bucked up against your pussy again, and you mewled as shockwaves ran through your clit. Hiromi's fingers dug into your breasts, squeezing them with barely-contained need. You did as you were told, and hooked your panties aside, your pussy now flush against Hiromi's concealed length, and began to ride the underside of his weeping cock.

Hiromi threw his head back with a hiss, "Good girl-- not such a brat, now you're doing as you're told..." Hiromi bit his lip, moaning unashamedly to feel you hump yourself to orgasm against him. Despite his punishment of you, he already longed for you to fight back. He bucked his hips into you in challenge, thrilled when you planted your hands on his belly, your breasts squeezed together in his hands beneath the sweatshirt.

"--bet you're-- bet you're really fucking pleased with yourself--" You blushed, tears glittering bitterly in your eyes, moaning into Hiromi's mouth as he laughed again, kissing the pout off your face.

"I am, actually," he gasped, tweaking your nipples hard enough to make you whimper, "--gonna cum on my jeans, huh? Shit...don't know-- you never knew-- so fucking beautiful when you're being mean to me--'

Your thighs burned with the effort of rubbing your pussy against Hiromi, but you felt your orgasm building with the rough friction of Hiromi's trapped, twitching cock. Hiromi helped you, rutting up into you, staring at where your lap joined his, his face twisted into a feral snarl.

"--cum on me-- cum on me...shit, I need it, need to see your face when you finish...come on sweetheart--"

Hiromi's insistent growls send you tumbling over the edge, and you came with the sweetest cries Hiromi had ever heard. He watched you convulse and twist above him, his fingers still rolling over your sore nipples, his pupils blown with lust, teeth clenched with the effort of not spilling in his boxers. Hiromi rutted slowly into you, guiding through the haze of your pleasure until you came back to him, glassy-eyed and supple.

Hiromi released your breasts, flipping you over so your arse was on the edge of the sofa, with you on your back. Kneeling, Hiromi positioned himself between your thighs, one hand squeezing the plush of them, while his other pushed the sweatshirt up, his tongue drawing circles on your belly. You tangled your fingers into his hair, tugging until he moaned into your skin. His mouth travelled downwards, dipping beneath your skirt.

"Want to taste you," Hiromi insisted, yanking your panties down your legs, balling them up and shoving them into his back pocket. You opened your mouth to object, suddenly self-conscious. Hiromi growled at you, squeezing your nipple again until you keened at him, high and whimpering.

"Just shut up, and let me taste you," he growled, nuzzling his nose between your folds in an instant, rubbing it harshly from side to side over your sore, abused clit. You clapped a hand over your mouth to hold back the scream. Hiromi reached up, tugging your hand away and gripping them both together on your belly, "and hear you."

Hiromi swore into your cunt, lost in the taste of you, licking quick little flicks over your clit, in a way that filled your head with stars. Your thighs trembled, and you babbled Hiromi's name, watching with fascination as Hiromi unzipped himself, pulling his fat, heavy cock into his hand. He began to stroke himself with wet little plap plap plaps, soaking your pussy with his spit in preparation for sinking himself between your folds.

"Hiromi I-- right there god yes keep going with your nose I love it-- so good, I-- gonna cum, Hiromi--"

The last syllable of his name was dragged out in a sobbing cry. Hearing you whimpering and begging him as his nose and tongue fucked you through the waves of bliss, was worth all these years of your miserable torture, Hiromi thought lightly.

You blushed deeply as Hiromi came up for air, his gleeful face glistening with your cum. He grabbed you by the hips, yanking you so they almost fell off the sofa at an angle you knew would have you twisting against him.

Hiromi grasped his red tipped cock, and you drank it in hungrily; its pretty upward curve, three thick veins running down its length, the thick jet-black hair trailing down his belly. You felt your mouth water, and Hiromi was hyperfocused, sliding his cockhead up and down your folds with hooded eyes, sloppy and pussy-drunk.

"...fuck...I can't wait-- sorry, I--" Hiromi sheathed his length inside your slippy cunt in one slick thrust, whimpering and gripping you to him with dimpled fingerprints, "-- I can't wait any-- ahhh shit, so tight...squeeze my cock, c'mon--"

You didn't need to be told, clenching involuntarily as Hiromi completely impaled you on his cock. Hiromi gasped and cursed, yanking his t-shirt up and gripping it between his teeth, so he could stare down at where his cock sunk into you unhindered.

He fucked into you, slow and smooth, eyes flitting between your fucked-out face, your hands clawing at the sofa, and his cock pushing through your tight walls, its sweet upward curve dragging harshly against your spongy sensitive spot, nudging into your cervix and belly. Hiromi rolled his thumb around your clit, pinching the fatty flesh around it, gently pleasuring you to feel the way your walls fluttered and gripped him.

You locked your ankles around Hiromi's lower back, dragging an animalistic growl out of him. Hiromi stood bringing your hips with him, holding you by the thighs as he planted one hand on the sofa above your head, and upped his pace, fucking into you with messy abandon.

Watching your glasses bounce in time with your tits as he rammed into you, stoked a competitive urge in Hiromi, and he cursed, spitting venom as he upped his pace again. You arched involuntarily, feeling him fill you with such ragged fucks, that you forget where you were, clenching and whining around him.

You felt a fire, deep in the pit of your belly, watching Hiromi with absolute awe as he chased his orgasm, using your body as a cock sleeve with total reverence. Every muscle in his body twitched with effort, and you felt his cock twitching within you as he moaned and cursed. You clenched your pussy deliberately around his length, and Hiromi almost fell apart, his fingernails leaving crescents in the smooth leather of the sofa, his face twisted in anguished ecstasy.

"--so long waited so long-- shhhhit, ugh, s-so tight-- wet, fffuck...squeeze me agai-- oh fuck yes, cumming, I-- I--"

Hiromi broke off into strangled, desperate strings of moans, spurting hot, thick glugs of cum against your cervix. Hiromi continued to pinch and roll around your clit, and you felt yourself judder weakly as you came again, Hiromi gasping as your wet, velvety walls sucked the last spurts of seed from him.

Hiromi dropped to his knees, weak, still plugged inside you, gasping. He dropped his head onto your belly, grinning at the feel of your fingers sinking into his hair, holding him to you. A few sweet moments of companionable silence.

"...still gonna beat you in the morning, though."

Hiromi laughed into your plush belly, biting the soft skin there until you squealed, hearing him mumble against his sweatshirt.

"You wish."

[mashtatosworld]

lesson learned (1)

summary: in which an encounter with your professor teaches you a lesson in desire.

warnings: lots of cursing, minor smut, drug-use

a/n: this is an au and GD isn't really a drug using arsehole <3

You were barely paying attention as you walked through campus, headphones in, mind elsewhere - until you felt a firm hand wrap around your wrist.

You yanked out an earbud, already annoyed, but then you saw who it was.

Professor Kwon Jiyong.

Shit.

His grip was already gone, but the weight of his presence was just as suffocating.

Dark eyes, sharp jaw, lips pressed together in that ever-present look of condescension. He stood there in his usual effortlessly cool way - black button-up sleeves rolled to the elbows, the expensive watch on his wrist catching the sunlight.

His expression was stone cold, sharp jaw clenched, dark eyes scanning you like you were a particularly frustrating problem he couldn’t solve.

"Skipping class again?" His tone was mocking, but beneath it was something else - something curious.

You shrugged. "And?"

Jiyong exhaled slowly, like he was already tired of this conversation before it even began.

"The administration asked me to check in on you."

You raised an eyebrow. "Check in?"

"They’re concerned," he said, tone clipped, as if he found the whole thing as ridiculous as you did. "You haven’t attended a single lecture in weeks."

"I've been busy."

He let out a humourless laugh. "Busy. Right." His gaze flicked over you, unimpressed. "You’re wasting your own time, you know that?"

"It’s my time to waste."

His jaw ticked.

The thing was - you knew you should be careful here. Kwon Jiyong wasn’t just any professor. He was sharp, perceptive, and had zero patience for bullshit.

But still.

"You’re smart," he said lowly. "But you’re arrogant. I don’t tolerate students who think they’re too good for my class."

"Then fail me," you shot back.

Something flashed in his eyes.

He stepped closer - too close. Not close enough to be inappropriate, but enough that you could smell the faint trace of his cologne, the slight scent of cigarette smoke clinging to his shirt.

Your stomach tightened.

You forced yourself to hold his gaze, but suddenly, it felt like a challenge.

Jiyong tilted his head, eyes flickering over your face. Curious. Amused. A little dangerous.

"I don’t care what you do," he murmured. "But don’t waste my time."

And just like that, he turned and walked away.

But the way his gaze had lingered on you, slow and assessing, made you realise - this wasn’t over.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The place was buzzing - low lights, rich velvet booths, expensive whiskey swirling in crystal glasses.

It wasn’t the usual student dive bar - this was where the city’s well-dressed and well-connected gathered. A place for quiet deals and whispered secrets.

You hadn’t expected to see him here.

But the moment you walked in, your gaze collided with his - and the air between you seemed to shift.

Kwon Jiyong was already looking at you, leaning back in his seat like he had all the time in the world. He exhaled slow, lips parting just slightly as he breathed out a thin stream of smoke.

And his friends?

They noticed. Immediately.

One of them nudged him with a low chuckle. Another shot him a sideways glance, muttering something under their breath.

"Shit, do you know her?"

Jiyong didn’t answer right away. His fingers tapped lightly against his whiskey glass, eyes still on you.

"Yeah." His voice was low, casual. "I know her."

Another laugh. A knowing one.

"Oh? How?"

A pause. A beat too long.

Then, finally - "She’s one of my students."

That got a reaction.

His friends traded eager, intrigued looks. One of them let out a whistle.

"You’re fucked, man."

Jiyong barely reacted. He just took another slow drag of his cigarette, eyes dark and unreadable.

And then - you walked over.

His friends exchanged glances before they casually slinked away, leaving him alone at the bar.

Still watching you.

Still waiting.

You didn’t say anything as you leaned against the counter, waiting for the bartender to notice you.

You didn’t even look at him.

But Jiyong?

Jiyong was studying you.

The way your fingers tapped absently against the bar, the faint scent of your perfume lingering in the air. The way you were so utterly unfazed despite the fact that, just days ago, he had dragged you aside on campus and practically dared you to fail his class.

You didn’t look like someone who lost sleep over that.

And for some reason, that got to him.

He exhaled, setting his glass down. "Need something?"

You turned your head slightly, finally looking at him. Slow. Measured.

"What?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jiyong shrugged lazily, taking another drag of his cigarette. "You came over here," he said smoothly. "I figured you wanted something."

You smirked. Just slightly. "Well, if you’re offering…"

And then you did the one thing he wasn’t expecting.

You pulled out a barstool and slid onto it - right beside him.

Jiyong’s grip on his glass tightened.

For a fleeting second, he thought this was about to go somewhere else entirely.

But then -

"So about your assignment - "

His brows lifted slightly, surprised. "What?"

You rested an elbow against the counter, looking utterly unfazed. "Your assignment. I haven’t started it yet."

He let out a sharp exhale, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Why am I not surprised, y/n?"

"I don’t like it," you admitted, tilting your head. "It’s boring."

Jiyong just stared at you.

Then he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. Just write whatever you want."

You grinned. "Why? You’ll give me a good grade anyway?"

Jiyong paused.

Then, without hesitation, he looked you right in the eye and murmured -

"Maybe."

The air thickened.

Your stomach flipped.

And then - he raised his hand, immediately gaining the attention of the bartender, and he ordered you both a drink.

And just like that - it began.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The whiskey burned warm in your throat, smooth but strong. You hated whiskey, but you weren't going to tell him that.

Jiyong watched as you set your glass down, licking the taste off your lips - and he definitely noticed.

You had both settled into this easy, reckless rhythm.

Drinking. Smoking. Stealing glances.

The conversation? It had already strayed far from professor and student.

You flicked ash off the cigarette you were sharing, holding it between your fingers before passing it to him. He took it without thinking, his fingers brushing yours, the touch lingering just a second too long.

You smirked. "So you don’t want to talk about school?"

Jiyong exhaled, shaking his head. "Not tonight."

"Fine by me," you murmured, resting your chin in your hand. "What do you want to talk about then?"

His gaze dropped, flickering over your lips, your neck, the way you tilted your head just slightly - as if you already knew exactly what he was thinking.

"Anything except that," he said finally, voice lower now. "Just keep drinking."

So you did.

And somehow - the space between you kept shrinking.

A casual brush of knees beneath the bar. His palm resting against the edge of the counter, fingers just barely grazing your wrist. The way his eyes tracked every little movement you made, dark and unreadable.

You leaned in slightly, the scent of whiskey and smoke thick in the air between you.

Testing. Pushing. Waiting.

Jiyong didn’t pull away.

And then -

"Yo, we’re heading to the afterparty!"

His friends were back, cutting through the moment like a blade.

"You're coming too right?" One of them addressed to you, leaning against Jiyong with a devilish grin.

Jiyong straightened instantly, but he didn’t say anything. He just looked at you, waiting.

Waiting for your answer.

You glanced at him briefly before turning to his friends. "Sure," you said, casual, like this wasn’t a line neither of you should be crossing. "Can I bring my friends?"

One of them grinned. "Hell yeah - the more hot girls, the better."

That’s when Jiyong tensed.

You felt it immediately - the shift in his energy. The wary glance he shot you. The slight narrowing of his eyes.

"Maybe it’s not a good idea," he murmured, low enough that only you could hear.

You turned toward him, brows lifting slightly. "Why?"

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he let his tongue press against the inside of his cheek, staring at you like he was trying to figure something out.

"They’re not from college, if that’s what you’re worried about," you pointed out, amused. "They're older, with normal jobs."

Jiyong met your eyes. "Mm. But you're my student."

You grinned.

"I mean… I’m probably failing anyway, right?"

His jaw tightened.

For a second, you thought he was about to shut it down completely.

But then - you were already stepping away, following his friends toward the door with a sly smile.

Unbothered. Untouched. Unfazed.

And Jiyong?

He swore under his breath - because he knew, he fucking knew, he should just let you go.

But instead -

He followed.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The afterparty was a different world.

Music pulsed through the dimly lit apartment, thick with cigarette smoke and something sharper - something illegal. The air smelled of expensive liquor, sweat, and bad decisions waiting to happen.

Jiyong had been watching you all night.

From the moment you walked in, the moment you settled onto the couch beside him, legs tucked under you, drink in hand - like you belonged there.

Like you belonged with him.

You weren’t just drinking anymore. You were laughing too loudly, swaying too easily, the heat of the night wrapping around you like silk. The tension from earlier? It hadn’t gone anywhere.

If anything, it was worse now.

And then - the drugs came out.

Little baggies exchanged between hands, disappearing into pockets, onto tables, into the spaces between fingers.

You turned toward Jiyong, eyes gleaming under the low lights. "Do you have any?"

He exhaled through his nose. "No."

You didn’t believe him.

You leaned closer to him but he didn't back away.

His pupils - blown. Jaw clenched. He was already high.

You smirked, drawing back slightly. "Sure."

Jiyong just looked at you, taking a slow sip of his drink.

"Whatever," you shrugged, standing. "I’m sure I can find some."

But before you could even take a step - his fingers wrapped around your wrist.

Firm. Possessive.

"Don’t."

You blinked, looking down at him.

"Why not?"

He exhaled sharply, voice lower now. "Because the shit they have here is mixed. You don’t know what’s in it."

You tilted your head, amusement flickering in your gaze. "And you do?"

A pause.

Then - he made a decision.

Jiyong stood, fingers still wrapped around your wrist as he pulled you through the crowd - past the smoke, past the music, past the blurry mess of strangers.

Until you were in the bathroom.

A single dim light buzzed above.

Jiyong locked the door. Then, finally, he turned to you.

And when he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small bag of white powder - you laughed.

"Holy shit," you breathed, grinning. "I can’t believe I’m about to do drugs with my professor."

Jiyong just smirked, shaking his head as he passed you the bag. "Shut up."

You didn’t.

But you did inhale a sharp bump, the burn hitting fast and clean.

Fuck.

When you blinked again, Jiyong was still watching you - closer now.

You swallowed, carefully passing it back into his grasp.

"What about you?" you asked, scanning your eyes over him.

Jiyong raised a brow. "What about me?"

You smiled, stepping back until your thighs hit the sink. Unbuttoning the first few buttons of your top.

"Don't you want to do a line too?" you murmured.

You saw it - the flicker of hesitation. The brief moment where he still had a choice.

And then - his gaze dropped.

The black lace of your bra peeked through the undone buttons, the delicate straps taunting him.

He caved.

His tongue swiped over his bottom lip. Then he moved closer, pressing his hand against your waist, lowering himself slowly after tapping a small line onto the swell of your chest.

You barely had time to react before you felt it - the sharp inhale as he snorted the line straight off your body.

Your breath hitched.

And then?

Jiyong didn’t stop.

His nose trailed up - slow, deliberate - dragging against your skin, up the curve of your collarbone.

Then his mouth.

Then his tongue.

And then - his teeth, sinking into the soft flesh of your neck, sucking a dark hickey into place. He could feel your pulse beating wildly under his tongue and sucked harder, until the pain bloomed sweet and sharp beneath his lips.

"Jiyong - "

Your voice was breathless, shaking, head falling back.

He just exhaled against your skin, lips ghosting over the bruise. "You’re so fucking reckless."

You smiled, eyes closed. "And you’re not?"

Jiyong laughed.

And then?

He kissed you.

Hard. Desperate. Messy.

The sharp taste of whiskey lingered on his tongue as his lips moved against yours - hungry, demanding. His fingers slid to the back of your neck, keeping you exactly where he wanted.

And fuck, you let him.

His body pressed against yours, trapping you between him and the bathroom sink. His other hand? Firm at your waist, sliding lower, gripping tighter.

A laugh bubbled up in your chest. Breathless, taunting.

"We shouldn’t be doing this," you murmured against his lips.

Jiyong just smirked, dragging his mouth down - past your jaw, your throat, back to the mark he’d already left.

"No shit."

His teeth scraped against the bruise, making you gasp. He was teasing you now, his hands moving with slow, deliberate intent.

But then?

He stopped teasing.

His fingers curled into your thighs, hard enough to bruise, hoisting you up onto the sink, legs spreading open.

You barely had time to catch your breath before he was undoing his belt.

No hesitation. No second-guessing.

His lips crashed against yours again as he pulled your underwear aside, his fingers sliding against you, finding you already soaked, waiting.

"Fuck," he muttered, voice rough.

You barely had time to respond before he was lining himself up, and then -

Your head snapped back against the mirror, a sharp gasp escaping as he stretched you open.

"Shit - "

Jiyong just groaned as he snapped his hips forward again, and again.

Hard. Fast. Filthy.

The sound of skin on skin echoed in the small, dim space. Your teeth sank into your lower lip, but it wasn’t enough - you needed to bite something or scream.

So when he slipped his thumb between your lips, you bit down on it - hard. Jiyong wasted no time using this new leverage to his advantage, tilting your head back so he could study your every reaction.

He was watching you with dark, hazy eyes as he kept fucking into you without mercy.

“You’re such a fucking mess,” he rasped, sweat dripping from his temple.

You clenched around him in response. He hissed, head dropping into the crook of your neck.

"Oh fuck - "

He was getting close. You both were.

And then -

He pressed his fingers between your legs, rubbing tight, fast circles over your clit - forcing a choked gasp from your throat. Your head was pounding, beating to the pace he set.

"Cum for me," he muttered, his pace rough, relentless. "Be good for me, baby."

Your body snapped.

Everything in you pulling tighter, spiralling.

The orgasm hit hard, burning pleasure tearing through you, making you shudder and clutch at him.

Jiyong cursed under his breath, fingers tightening on your hips as he buried himself deep, finishing with a harsh groan.

He rocked into you slowly, lazily, drawing out every last bit of it until you both were breathless.

Your forehead rested against his shoulder. Sweaty. Overheated. Fucked-out.

You both just breathed.

And then -

BANG. BANG. BANG.

"Yo, someone in there?"

You both froze.

Your head snapped toward the door.

Jiyong, on the other hand? Didn’t move an inch.

His mouth was still hot against your throat, his cock still deep inside you.

And fuck - he was smiling.

Like he wasn’t fazed at all.

"Fuck off," he called out lazily, voice deep and thick.

A beat of silence.

"Alright, well hurry the fuck up."

The footsteps faded.

You exhaled. "Shit."

Jiyong laughed softly, pulling out of you with one last slow, teasing roll of his hips before finally stepping back.

Your body shook.

You knew that you wouldn't be able to stand if you hopped off the sink now. Your hands gripped the porcelain as you tried to catch your breath.

Jiyong watched you.

The undone buttons, the smudged lipstick, the way your chest was still rising and falling way too fast.

"You look like a fucking mess," he murmured.

Your breath hitched.

His fingers brushed your lip, smearing the corner even more.

And then?

He fixed his belt.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out another cigarette, rolling it between his fingers. "Fix yourself up, yeah?"

Your brows shot up, amused. "That’s it?"

Jiyong exhaled through his nose.

"We’re at a party, princess," he murmured. "Not a hotel room."

And with that?

He unlocked the door and walked out.

Leaving you in the mirror - wrecked, ruined, and wanting more.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You stared at the screen.

Your latest assignment. The one you had joked about at the bar, teased him over.

The one you barely even tried on.

A+

No notes. No feedback. Just a single comment at the bottom.

Good work.

And you laughed.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

this is my first time writing smut so be nice or i'll get my wives on you 👭

inspired by @gdinthehouseee and @aizshallnotbefound <3

this will be a mini series!

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev , @xxxicddbr88 , @onyxmango , @tryingtolivelifeblog , @tulentiy , @bettelaboure , @maskedcrawford , @breakmeoff , @emmiesoverthemoon , @rafesbunniebby , @ricecake9999 , @fleabagspurplewife , @sylviavf , @ldydeath , @wonyluvi

[ynscrazylife]

seekers get stitches (poly!marauders x slytherin!seeker!reader)

In your opinion, the Marauders are arseholes. They were tolerable as first years, even as second years, but was they grew up, they only got more annoying as their pranks got bigger and bigger. It doesn’t help that they seem to hate all Slytherins, which is the house you belong to. You understand that yes, many of the students have given the house a bad name, but it’s not all of you! Yet somehow, you frequently ended up on the unfortunate end of many of their pranks.

Now, you’ve had the chance to stand up to them, being the Seeker for the Slytherin Quidditch Team this season. James is the Seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, giving the Marauders even more of a reason to dislike you. James and Sirius even go as far as to hang around during your team’s practice time, booing you or making jokes at your expense from the stands.

Well, it’s the semi-finals. Gryffindor vs. Slytherin. Whoever wins this will go up against Ravenclaw for this year’s Quidditch Cup. Everyone is talking about this game — Remus even put his book down to pay attention. Both teams’ chasers have been scouring points, but the crowd’s eyes are locked onto you and James. You can feel hundreds of stares lasered on your back as you race around the pitch. When you finally spot the golden blur of the snitch, you don’t think twice before racing towards it. James follows you and soon, you’re quite literally neck and neck.

“Just give up now, Y/LN! You’re not gonna catch it,” James yells over the wind.

His words vaguely register in your mind, but you don’t pay attention. Everything is riding on this. You’ll either return to the common room as your house’s hero to pat on the back or their villain to torment.

“What, no comeback?” James prods.

You grunt, stretching your hands out. The snitch’s wings flutter against your fingertips. You lean forward as far as possible, one shaky hand remaining on the broom, you’re so close.

But so is James. His hand joins yours. Curse his tall stature, you think. It’s just not fair!

You swear you’re about to have it in your hand when—a bludger beams your shoulder, knocking you sideways and directly into James. The snitch flies away as the both of you fall, tumbling straight towards the ground. Lights out.

//

When you open your eyes, you find the faces of a couple friends staring back down at you. They tell you that you’re in the hospital wing after a Quidditch accident, with a dislocated shoulder, a concussion, and a broken ankle. Madame Pomfrey used a spell to set your shoulder, but you still need to stay in bed and take potions for your injuries, requiring a longer stay here.

“Who caught the snitch?” You ask, the memories hazy.

“I did.”

You turn your head, only to see James Potter lying in the bed next to you. Sirius Black and Remus Lupin are sitting by him and they wave. James’ nose, arm, and leg are all bandaged up.

“Caught it right before you knocked into me,” James elaborates.

Your stomach churns, realizing why only your friends are here and not your team. You lost the game for them, they must be disappointed.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, unsure of what you’re supposed to say to that.

“Don’t be, it’s the bludger’s fault. James is just being difficult,” Remus says, waving his hand. Out of the three of them, he’s definitely the nicest.

//

As the days go on, Sirius and Remus are there every day. Your friends aren’t. They visit a couple more times, then they stop. They’re busy, they have classes, you understand. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. Oftentimes, you end up accidentally listening to the Marauders’ conversations. James gives Sirius and Remus his plans for pranks, the other two update them on what’s going on around the castle.

They visit a lot.

One afternoon, you wake up from a nap to find them visiting again, though, and talking about you.

“Isn’t it weird that her friends barely visit her?”

“Haven’t seen her team around either. Thought Slytherins cared about their own.”

“Must suck for her.”

“Yeah.”

Your nap wasn’t particularly good, with the uncomfortable mattress and scratchy sheets. You open your eyes, frowning at the trio, in a bad mood. “You know, I don’t need your pity,” you say.

Three heads snap towards you, all looking like deer in headlights (you have no clue that for James, it’s truer than you think).

“It’s not - we’re not pitying you. It’s, uh, empathy,” Sirius rushes to cover them.

You roll your eyes. “Uh-huh,” you say, not believing him. You shake your head, tired of lying in this bed and being in pain and having the three of them sit next to you day after day after day. You decide you’re done here, your arm’s in a sling, your ankle’s almost 100% healed, it’s fine.

You throw the blanket aside, standing up, only to stumble. It’s not your ankle, it’s your head. Damn concussion.

“Woah, woah,” Remus says, both him and Sirius getting up to approach you. “You should sit back down.”

“I’m fine,” you say stubbornly, taking a couple more unbalanced steps only for Sirius to grasp at your arm.

“Come on, don’t make us tell Pomfrey on you, it’d really hurt my reputation,” Sirius says, smiling.

You snatch your arm away, anger flaring up. “Like I give a bloody hell about your reputation!” You exclaim.

“Hey, what’s the problem?” Sirius asks, putting his hands up.

“My problem? You guys are the ones who have a problem with me! You’re always asses to me, then you talk about me behind my back . . . I don’t even see why you care where I go or what I do. I’m a Slytherin, remember?” You say.

That quiets the Marauders. They’re not sure how to respond because, well, you’re right. Slytherins are easy to hate, so they hate them.

“Y/L/N, back in bed.”

Crap. It’s Pomfrey. You sigh and do what he says. The Marauders don’t say anything else.

//

After a couple more days, James is out of the hospital wing, managing to talk Pomfrey into releasing him. You’re still stuck there, as the concussion’s giving you trouble.

It’s lonely without their chatter. As much as they annoy you, you miss it. You miss them. Just a little bit. When they’re not hating on Slytherins, they’re . . . Nice. Fun.

It’s just your luck that they come around again, to visit you.

“Hey,” James says, Remus and Sirius behind you.

You huff. “Hi,” you say, making a tight line with your lips. What are they doing here? They don’t care.

“We wanted to see how you were doing and, uh, talk, if we can?” Remus says, politely smiling at you.

“If it’s more bullshit on pitying me—” you start.

“It’s not. We don’t like Slytherins, okay?” Sirius says, pulling up a chair and sitting down next to you. James and Remus follow.

You take a breath and stare, waiting for the explanation.

“A lot of them believe in all the Death Eater shit,” James says.

“But not all,” you point out.

James nods. “Not all. But we’re pranksters. We prank Slytherins because it’s easy. We also prank other houses but you’re right, we like to target Slytherins. There’s no reason for that other than that we can. It’s-it’s easy to not like them. To convince ourselves that they deserve it. For you, it was easy to . . . To not like you, either. Quidditch rivalry, right? But you have a point. We shouldn’t . . . We shouldn’t be so, ah, mean to all of them. The ones who aren’t into the Death Eater shit,” he explains.

You’re a bit surprised, a bit suspicious. Is this really the truth?

“Not so easy to convince yourself anymore, is it?” You ask.

“No, it’s not,” Sirius affirms.

“We brought cards,” Remus offers, taking a deck out of his pockets. “Figured you were pretty bored in here.”

“Prove it to me that you’re being honest, then I’ll think about playing cards with you,” you say, putting on a brave face. You have no clue that if they’ll actually do it or not.

But they agree to your terms. They start being real, not targeting random Slytherins. They stop being mean.

Eventually, you do agree to play cards with them. You’re almost out of the hospital wing, too. In fact, it’s your last night there, you’ve just beat them all in the game, when you decide to ask them why. What compelled them to come seek you out after James got out of the hospital wing, if not just feeling bad?

“Isn’t it obvious?” Sirius asks, grinning. “We’ve all fallen for you, love.”

That sparks the start of something new for the four of you.

[octuscle]

Frank Lancaster was an arsehole. Everyone knew that. And he knew it best. He loved to torment everyone and everything. His family was afraid of him, his colleagues hated him, even his dog whimpered when he heard the car in the driveway. But today you couldn't hear the car in the driveway. Because the road had to be resurfaced, Frank had to park on the next street corner.

The foreman was standing by the construction trailer taking a cigarette break. Frank snapped at him, asking if the lazy arsehole couldn't work. Instead of smoking, he should make sure he could drive back to his house. ‘Sir, I'm very sorry. Could you come into the trailer for a moment. I'll make a note of your address and make sure you don't have to walk tomorrow.’ Frank grinned. He knew that he radiated an aura of power and dominance. Everyone danced to his tune. Or so he thought.

Together with the construction worker in the trailer, he felt dizzy. The man was a colossus. 190 centimetres of hairy muscle. He smelled of pure masculinity. Frank became hard. For fuck's sake. He wasn't a faggot! But this man… Every bloke was a soft fag against him. ‘Kneel!’ grunted the construction worker. Frank obeyed without question. The rest happened as if by remote control. Frank sucked the crotch of the dirty hiviz trousers. He skilfully opened the zip with his teeth. He sucked the urine-yellow jockstrap. He craved the chance to suck the cheesy cock that reeked of musk and sweat. He couldn't wait to suck this cock, to swallow the drool of this muscle man.

Mitch made sure that Frank swallowed the first load. The second landed on his beard and shirt. And for dessert, Mitch spit in Frank's face. ‘So, you submissive gay pig, what did you want?’ Mitch grumbled at Frank. Whimpering, Frank began to lick Mitch's boots clean. Perhaps he could have escaped. But it was actually already too late. The cocktail of cum and snot was taking effect. The memories of a time as a powerful CFO with lots of money faded. How could he have made such a career without a school-leaving certificate? And seriously, he wasn't cut out for an office job!

The neighbours were all talking about who this Freddie was who was subletting from Mrs Lancaster. Although everyone knew that he sucked cock rather than pussy, he was obviously willing to provide all kinds of services. If he used it to supplement his meagre salary? Well, he was known and loved by many of his neighbours for his services. And he wasn't just skilful with his hands.

‘See you after work today, Freddie?’ someone called out from a passing Mercedes. ‘Sure thing, Mr C!’ Freddie replied and waved. Someone in the Mercedes got a boner of anticipation. Freddie was a jock and a stud. Everyone knew that. And he knew it best. He loved being of service to others. His landlady's family loved him, his colleagues could always rely on him, even Mrs Lancaster's dog stood wagging at the front door as soon as he caught a whiff of the fresh sweat from Freddie's chest.

Thanks to @rowdy317 for the inspiration. The last moments of Frank can be seen @xfastic2. Freddie's pic found @shirtlessworking

[mauvecherie-writes]

be mine this christmas: l.hamilton.

pairing: lewis hamilton x back oc!xenia richards

trope: grumpy billionaire x personal assistant au

ru’s 💌 : Please keep in mind that the Lewis in this story is not the IRL Lewis or the Lewis I typically write about. He’s a bit more of an asshole, he’s a bit more controlling. You’ll love him the same. This story is fast paced because it takes place in just about one night.

chapter: ONE

chapter warning: n/a

chapter w.c: 3.44K

𝐎𝐍𝐄:𝐗𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐀

Lewis Hamilton was an arsehole.

No, arsehole was not strong enough of a word to describe the depths of her hatred. She utterly loathed the man and there were not enough words in the a thesaurus that could describe the thoughts that plagued her mind. The thought of him on fire and she still wouldn’t throw water on him to save him. In fact, Xenia would throw the continuous stack of files that sat on her desk into the fire to stock the flames.

There was so much more that she could say but there was not enough space within her mind to keep thinking about that man.

Ugh, that man.

Xenia rolled her eyes at the phrase. Lewis Hamilton was the definition of being ‘the man’. To the modern man, he was the quintessential ‘alpha’ as they called them these days. A term that equally irked her.

An egotistical twat is what she felt was better suited for the type of man that Lewis Hamilton actually was. The type of man that made an obscene amount of money just by breathing and made it known that he had no qualms flaunting it. ’Who the fuck has a designer customised pen?!’

He was the type of man who walked with his head held high, shoulders square - demanding the attention through the sea of desks to the elevator that was constructed for his private use. The peasants were to use the smaller elevator further down the corridor.

Lewis Hamilton was considered a god to the board as his legacy in motorsport alone brought the investors, begging to give the company their money. Every man wanted to be him, willing to accept being his doormat if he allowed it. Every woman wanted to be in his bed if he spared them a glance. Equally pathetic.

Xenia wanted him to disappear. Then she would know peace.

She never understood how people could see the sun that seemed to be shining out of his arsehole. He had no redeeming qualities that she could think of and she’d been his personal assistant for three years.

He was a dominating whirlwind of force that blew everything that stood in his way and he would never look back to witness the havoc that he wreaked.

Xenia was not blind - she knew that he was an attractive man. It was in her face every day, confronted by it and that drove her hatred even deeper. He had her occupying the building that held her captive for sixty hours a week.

Yes, SIXTY!

In heels on top of it! Something about looking professional at all times that was written within the office’s code of conduct. Why she could not answer the emails at home (she was already doing that anyway) as she ran around the city of London doing errands off the clock was beyond her.

There were a lot of things that Hamilton did that would qualify enough as a form of harassment for a lawsuit.

But she was still here. Why?

Well, for one, her salary was amazing and helped her afford her obsession with fashion. It also helped that the VP of Sales, Rebecca Bailey was a sweetheart who loved asking her fashion tips. Xenia had cultivated a special relationship over the years with the older woman. They got along so well most likely due to the fact that she was one of the very few women in the building who did not want to cut off Xenia’s head because of her proximity to the boss.

Another reason why Xenia loved Rebecca was because of her encouragement for her to delve deeper into her fashion interest. Which was something Xenia was craving to do. She had gone so far as to create a website that she had intended to be her homage to fashion. Granted the only thing on the homepage was a white screen with the words ‘under construction’ flashing on the page. But it was a starting point.

“What are you so focused on?” The resident gossip, Lola Braun, stood at the edge of Xenia’s desk as she eyed the article that she had been working on. Xenia quickly shut her laptop screen down before Lola could read any further. She scrunched up her recently sculpted nose up when Xenia quietly pulled her screen close.

“It’s none of your business what I’m focused on actually.” Xenia replied . If she had to be honest with herself, she was not the biggest fan of Lola, matter of fact, she hated Lola at about the same level that she hated Lewis. Lola was the personal assistant of Rebecca which angered her even more due to how close they were forced to work with each other.

Lola loved herself in a way that was deplorable. Her high arched and pulled back eyebrows , hazel green eyes and a body every model aspired to have. With hair and flawless toffee-toned skin, magazines would say that you can get from rosemary water and witch hazel. However, because of this perceived perfection, Lola had made it her mission to force everyone around her to be miserable. She despised any food that contained more than 300 calories around her. God forbid, Xenia ate a lemon and poppyseed muffin with her caramel latte.

Everyone (mostly the women) wanted to look like Lola and they all seemed to hate the way Xenia looked. She was 5’9”, body full of curves, kinky coils that defied gravity with skin tone deep and rich as the juices of blackberries. Xenia loved the way that she looked. Lola could shove a chocolate chip cookie down her throat if she didn’t.

Xenia also hated the fact that she was a blubber mouth. You only ever told her anything when you wanted the entire office building to know. Xenia learned that little tidbit the hard way when she confided in her that she thought that the boss was a dick during her first month of employment. It was a very awkward staff general meeting when Lewis reprimanded ‘staff’ for inappropriate comments about higher administration.

Yes, Xenia hated Lola a great deal.

Lola cleared her throat, as if to remind her of her presence. Like Xenia could forget that she was standing there, not when her pungent fragrance was itching her nose.

“What do you want, Lola?”Xenia asked. She then dropped a stack of files onto her desk.

“Well, from the looks of it, it seems that you don’t have much work to do so here are the sales quarter files that Mr Hamilton asked for. Should keep you occupied until late. I can bet that you don’t even have an outfit for the Christmas party tonight.”

Xenia finally glared up at her. Meeting the woman’s snarky expression through her lashes.

“You’re right.” Xenia offered her a fake smile. “How about I start on these whilst you go and get those nails filled in. They look overdue.” Lola gasped as she pulled her emerald green manicured nails towards her chest before she moved to inspect them. Before Xenia could bask in the afterglow of Lola's stunned silence, a large and tasted hand dropped a note onto the stack of files in front of Xenia.

“Okay, this sparring round is over ladies.” Her eyes rolled before they landed on Miles. Miles Chamley-Watson was the Chief Marketing Officer of Hamilton Enterprises and also Lewis’s best friend. Only four years younger than the boss, Miles still knew him the longest and was there at the inception of the company - playing a massive role in its growth with his sharp eye on marketing the brand to a more generation.

Miles was also someone Xenia considered a friend and an ally. Their first meeting happened when he had walked in as she was getting a verbal lashing from the boss man. All she had done was pour oat milk into his coffee instead of almond. As the tears brimmed in her eyes, Miles was able to de-escalate the situation and since then, he had been a shoulder to lean on when the brunt force that was Lewis Hamilton was too much for her to bear.

“I just wanted to make sure that she got the files that were being asked for, Mr Chamley. We all know she seems to let her little fashion hobby get in the way of her actual job here.” Lola smirked as she tucked her bleached strands behind her ear with a smirk.

Xenia chewed the inside of her cheek to simmer the twitch of her palm to reach over and slap her. There were a lot of things to be said about Xenia and the disdain of her current job occupation but to try and imply that she was any less but good at her job was deeply insulting. Lola, pruny and loudly made it known that it should have been her in the position that Xenia was in. And if she could switch their places, she would. But Mr Hamilton had made it clear that he only wanted Xenia, even though they seemed to have each other.

Miles sighed as he awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. “I’m sure that Miss Richards is more than capable of her job and has everything under control. Thank you, Lola.”

Lola huffed as she brushed her bleached strands from her shoulder and scattered away from Xenia’s desk. A sigh of relief left her lungs.

“Thank you, Miles.”

“Don’t thank me yet. What was that I heard about you not having a dress for tonight?”

A noise that sounded like a disgruntled groan left her mouth. She knew what he was going to say as she conjured up her excuse.

“I’m not going.”

“Come on Nia! You always say that!” Miles exclaimed with a hint of annoyance. His animated expression almost caused a smile to break out on her face.

”Listen. I’m always here as it is and I don’t want to stay here any longer than I need to. The party is in this building where I already feel suffocated and I won’t even be comfortable enough to drink. My enemies are everywhere and a drunken Xenia would be like food for fodder to the people.” Her last statement caused Miles to chuckle.

“I would much rather spend my night at home, take a nice and long bath then watch both versions of Black Christmas.” Her preferred plans sounded boring but they were honest. Xenia would rather enjoy her solitude than be surrounded by people who did not like her.

The annual Christmas party was the one thing that Xenia never had to set up; however, it was still her who ordered the decorations, figured out the catering and then the entertainment. Xenia was the unofficial party planner - another title under her hat that she was not getting paid for.

She was exhausted beyond belief.

Besides, she had too much to figure out before they broke for Christmas - Xenia wouldn’t be missed at the party.

“You can’t not go Nia.”

“Miles -.”

“Of course, she’s going. Why wouldn’t my assistant and the planner of the party be there?”

The deep voice of Satan bellowed through the air and almost forced Xenia to flee for her life. She had not seen him all day and now as she turned in her chair, she came face to face with her boss.

Lewis Hamilton. A brooding, muscled machine covered in a tailored suit and a million dollar Richard Mille watch on his wrist. Her eyes trailed down the thickness of his tattooed neck, broad shoulders and back up to his sharp jawline covered by his beard. Then her eyes settled on his soft and full lips that were tinted a soft pink. She hated to admit it but she loved his hair. He kept it in either braids or twisted plaits tied in a low bun. This time, two braided strands hung on either side of his face with the rest tied back which seemed to bring a softness to him that he did not deserve.

He was too handsome and ugly souls like him should not be handsome.

“I’m pretty tired sir. With everything that you’re having me do, I’m pretty worn out. I think I’ll sit this one out. Maybe next year?” Xenia let the sarcasm drip into her words and revelled in the way that he rolled his eyes.

“Not this time, Miss Richards.” Lewis spoke as he placed his hands into his pockets. The side of his face twitched in a way that showed that her tone had bothered him. He looked at Miles for a brief moment before turning his attention back to Xenia.

“Have you completed the list Mr Chamley gave you?”

Xenia frowned in confusion and slight annoyance. “You mean the list that he just gave me two seconds ago?”

“Watch that tone with me Richards. Get it done and then figure out your outfit situation for tonight.” His eyes dropped down the length of her frame, the heat of his stare forced her back straighter. “I’m sure because of your little hobby, you’ll be able to figure out something in such short notice.’

Without another word, he indicated for Miles to follow him before he turned and disappeared back into his office. That was it, a demand that he expected to be followed. No please. No thank you.

Dickhead.

Miles offered her an apologetic smile before he followed behind Lewis towards the office. Then she looked down at the list that had been placed in front of her.

Lunch from Bubala: Tuna Nicoise on toasted focaccia with the soup of the day.

Coffee order from Blank Street.

Dry cleaning from Nova’s (Need the shirt for tonight.)

She stared at the list, seemingly remembering the words from her interview. How she was supposed to his right hand and right hand only. Now she was doing that and somehow also finding the time to pick up his fucking laundry. Xenia looked around her surroundings before her moving eyes settled on the falling snow through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

The slow and steadiness at which the snowflakes seemed to fall was a drastic contrast to the fast pace that her mind was running. Maybe if she was lucky, Santa’s reindeer’s would run her over with his dry cleaning getting trampled on.

Xenia was surrounded by the settling blankets of picture perfect snow as she walked down the Main Street in her FENDI vintage boots. Christmas lights decorated the buildings with wreaths hanging on each lamp post. Everything around her was perfect and yet, Xenia still felt like the Grinch but who’s Christmas was being stolen from her.

Everything about the festive holiday that should give her all the joy was not giving her the warm and fuzzy feeling that it used to. This had been the feeling that had been sentiment since the first year at Hamilton Enterprises. Lewis seemed to have sucked the life out of her. However, Xenia had to take a deep breath and remind herself that she won't be a personal assistant forever.

Her fashion content was rising in popularity and it was only a matter of time before the vitality would turn into constant income then she would be able to leave. For good.

She sighed to herself once more as she hauled the dry cleaning over her shoulder as she entered into Bubala. The low lights, exposed brick and the flush of the Christmas colours added to the things that she adored about the shop. The queue to the counter was atrocious but it didn’t bother Xenia at all. It only prolonged her time away from the office. The smell of freshly baked goods, warm soup and the sounds of cheery, festive music was far more appealing to her than the four corners of her small cubicle.

As she waited in line, she scrolled through her emails, grinning at a report from Rebecca. She had already sorted through the first predicted quarter of the merchandise branch. She was a stickler for deadlines, often completing the work before the imposed time. How Rebecca was able to find the time to do it all? Xenia would never know.

“That smile will always outshine the brightest star.” A soft voice cut through the chatter of the restaurant and nestled within her ears. Her shoulder relaxed as she peered at the owner of the voice.

Nathan Fieldman.

Modality manager of the radiology department at the Great Ormond Street Children’s Hospital. A Marvel enthusiast and the owner of the cutest golden daschund she’d ever seen.

Also, her ex-boyfriend.

Xenia offered him a platonic embrace, his Sauvage cologne causing her eye to water. She almost wanted to sneeze in repulsion. As they pulled apart, upon instinct, he reached out to touch her standing Afro. Yes, he was one of those men. But that wasn’t the reason that they had broken up. (even though in the long-run, it should have been a reason.)

No, they broke up because the leader of the Legion army of hell demanded so much of her time that it cut into the spending time that she had with Nathan. Their schedules did not align any more and she felt sorry for always leaving him hanging and cancelling plans last minute.

The guilt was heavy within her as she often left him to fend for himself. When she had suggested however, to quit her job and focus on being a fashion content creator, he thought that it wasn’t wise nor a sustainable career. That had been the last wedge in the relationship. So by the time that Xenia had asked for the break up, Nathan did not put up any type of fight. He was complacent in almost everything including the bedroom.

Now that she thought about it, there were a lot of things outside of her job that had resulted in the termination of their relationship.

“So what has you smiling like that Nini?” The cringey nickname made her want to vomit. Xenia did not miss that at all.

“Nothing in particular. I was just reading a report.” She kept her answer vague. Nathan’s eyes narrowed, pulling the rich brown skin at the corners of his eyes together.

“You still haven’t found your footing huh?”

“Not quite.” She answered with a smile that did not touch her eyes. She tried to ignore the rising insecurity within her at the tone of condescension in his words. He didn’t need to know that her lack of growth in the field of her passion was a soft spot for her and constantly had her worried that she would fail. The last person that she needed to confine in was her ex-boyfriend.

Clearing her throat as she shuffled forward in the queue. “So how is everything with you?”

Nathan’s eyes beamed, the skin of his cheeks spreading his five o’clock fuzz as he delved into the details of his past year in about the twenty minutes as they waited. She learned about all of the unique patients that he had come across and the department drama amongst his plans to expand into teaching university students. Along his retelling, he had mentioned that he had started dating again.

“So how’s everything with you? How are things for you these days?” Nathan finally asked Xenia as the both of them paid the cashier for their individual orders.

She shrugged her shoulders. What was there to say? Nothing had changed in the last year she had spoken to him. She was still stuck in the same job that she hated, doing things for a man she’d rather watch eat shit for pay as she struggled to produce any consistent content for her website.

“Nothing much. Just learning from the best around me, really.”

“That’s good to hear. Did you finally give up on the fashion stuff then?”

It took all of her strength to not tell him that it took an entire weekend in the Cotswolds to find the vintage Tory Burch blazer that she was wearing but the ping of her phone stopped her. As Xenia was about to offer an apology, Nathan placed a kiss on her cheek and picked his order from the counter.

“Duty calls, I know. It was nice seeing you, Nini. Take care.” A deep breath exhaled through her nose as she nodded. Xenia then grabbed her own bag from the counter as she looked down at her phone.

Arsehole: Coffee from MonMouth instead. Get one for yourself - I can’t have you sleeping before your duties are done. And sushi from Atelier for Mile.

Where were those fucking reindeers? She thought.

reading list: @queenshikongo3 @dhlfastestlap @saintslewis @serpenttines-library @saturnville @hopefulromantic1 @lettersofgold @cocobutterqwueen @melodichaeuxx-lacritquexx @sapphireheaven @olyvoyl @lewisroscoelove @lh44adore @hellomadamebutterfly @scorpiobleue @laneywrld @qveenmelanink @tremendousstarlighttragedy @bekindbecoolbeyou @greedyjudge2 @itsapurrfectstorm @createdbylivingclocks @omgsuperstarg @peyiswriting @miyuhpapayuh @blowmymbackout @purplelewlew @henneseyhoe @perfecttrashface @alianovnaromanovanatalia @leilaxaliel @hotfudgeslug @iamryanl @pickingupmymercedes @eleetalks @ambs-06 @annisassintchaska @boujiestpoet @nayaesworld @nat-lh-44 @mochachocolatteyaya @melaninpov @kindan3rdy951 @elyseesarchive @sl33p-deprived-princess @soiguessimtheshit @acidlv @trinitoldyouso @gwenda-fav @f1-football-fiend

[feelingbat-ty]

This is inspired by @aflamboyanceofflamingos post about Tim choosing to publicly hate Robin as Tim Drake, cause to love or hate someone is the best way to hide a secret identity.

I started thinking about Tim coming into contact with his teammates as a civilian and Tim using this as an opportunity to take out all the grievances he has for his team in a way, that 1) Won't cause tension and fights. And 2) let him get away with being a petty arsehole, cause it's not like superheros can just go and beat up random civilians.

And well... my hand slipped.

--- You Can't Spell Spite Without Timothy Jackson Drake ---

The amount of times YJ comes across Tim Drake in the wild would be concerning if Tim didn't stalk them as often as his busy schedule allows (which turns out to be quite often). The Beta tube in the Batcave and another secret Beta tube in the bowls of Wayne enterprise's Francisco building allows Tim easy and direct access whenever he so desires.

And well, Tim never did grow out of his stalking phase.

It would be comical - if it wasn't maddening - how often they don't realise he's there. Most of the time he's stalking trailing a member of the team he's not trying to hide his presence, it wouldn't make sense for him to, not as Tim Drake.

The team have a tally board that sits in the common room, it's at 85.

85.

His team's situational awareness is absolutely appalling. 85, they've noticed him only 85 of the hundreds of times he's followed them around?

He complains to Dick about it, a lot. He's hoping Dick will give him some tips on how to beat situational awareness into his teammates thick skulls. He was the leader of the Titans, so he has to have something!

Dick - like the asshole he secretly is - just laughs at him.

He asks Cassie about it once. Why they don't find it concerning that they encounter Tim Drake: famous for being the civilian who 'beat Robin in a fight' every other week?

"I mean, You're usually right about these sorts of things, Rob. If you don't think Drakes an issue, then we trust you."

Tim can't figure out whether to feel warm and giddy at the fact that they apparently trust him, or to be annoyed at the fact that they follow after him like sheep. Not even doing their own research and recon (Cassie probably did. Kon and Bart? Yeah, hell would have a better chance at freezing over).

The first time was a coincidence. Tim had needed some space (from Bruce. From his deadlines. From his own mind...) and ended up wondering the streets of San Francisco with no real destination in mind.

An impulse turn led him onto the boardwalk and from there right to Superboy.

It was a bright and sunny day in Fran and Kon was glowing. Literally, because of the sun and figuratively from pride after he stopped a would-be pick pocket-er from pick pocketing an elderly lady.

He shouldn't. He knows he shouldn't, not when the team know of Tim Drake, know his face and all about how he hates Robin and makes it his whole personality. Not when the only thing that stops them putting Tim Drake on Baby Super villain watch is Tims general blasé attitude about, well... himself.

But is it oh, so tempting.

Especially because the month before, Kon had accidentally smashed Tim's favourite coffee mug in a series of event's (involving a yoga ball, shearing scissors, laser vision and a will from God himself) so convoluted that Tim was convinced it had been orchestrated for a solid week.

Was it a cheap mug from Kmart? Yes, but it's the principle of the matter!

As Tim’s left shoe impacts the side of Superboys face, a sense of manic glee overtakes him. Tim takes special care to seer this memory of Superboy getting hit in the head with Tim's shoe and the stupid face he makes as the ratty converse collides with his cheek, into his brain.

It's not much, but it's justice all the same for his once beloved mug.

Tim... might just be a tad sleep-deprived.

Superboy startles and lets out a frantic “Shit!” Assuming he’s being attacked by a surprise enemy (the kind that isn’t just civilians throwing shoes) he looks around, taking stock of his surroundings and looking for any immediate threats before glancing down at the shoe and visibly doing a double take.

His face is blank as he stares - undoubtably confused - at the shoe. A second later he's lifting his gaze, following the direction the show came from and staring right at Tim.

Tim, who (like an idiot) is still, for some reason, positioned how he was when he threw the shoe - arm outstretched and leg back to brace himself.

There is absolutely no way he wasn't the one who threw the shoe. If the stance didn't give it away, then him having one shoe (that shoe being a near identical ratty rad converse) probably did.

“What?” Superboy asks. He looks befuddled. A little amused, but mostly just confused. He's got a small, polite smile on his face that just reeks of Clark Kent's influence. Kon is obviously trying to model himself off of Superman - specifically Superman's polite and approachable "Grandma pinching worthy" vibe and not his fashion choices, since he's still got the leather jacket and sunglasses.

Tim makes a mental note to tell Kon that he has a really expressive face. Tim is literally reading all his emotions in 4K. They should probably work on that, it could be a liability in the field.

Tim briefly considers playing dumb and acting like it wasn’t him that threw the shoe, before dismissing that idea, Kon can be clueless at times, but he’s not a complete idiot.

So instead, he says, “that was a very open-ended question.”

And well, it was.

At the look Superboy gives him, he elaborates, “What, when said in that context, could mean literally anything! Like, ‘what was the purpose of that?’ ‘What’s your name, so I can in-prison you’ ‘What shoe size was that?’ Seriously, dude, be more specific!”

Superboy’s befuddlement takes a sudden nosedive to incredulity. “Okay, fine. Why did you throw a shoe at me?”

“Cause you work with Robin.” He says simply. He'd say 'justice' but then he'd sound like batman and like, thanks but no thanks.

“Cause I- what? You physically assaulted me with a shoe because I work on the same team as Robin?”

Tim, personally, thinks assault is a strong word to use for this situation, but he’s glad that at least some of his lessons on the proper terms and vocabulary are paying off.

He nods, cause that is indeed what he just did, he crosses his arms across his chest, and stares Superboy down.

Superboy who, looks like he’s regretting everything that led him to this moment. Tim relishes in that for just a little too long to be healthy. Probably.

Tim doesn’t really care. He told Kon (as Robin) that he’d regret breaking Tim’s favourite mug (accident or not, he's still not over it.) yeah, this might not be how either of them envisioned it, but Tim thinks this might just be better than beating Kon up as Robin in their next team training session. What better way to get someone back than to publicly humiliate them in front of all their peers? Shame he can't do that anymore.

Eh, who is he kidding? He’s still going to do that anyway.

“You’re only gonna throw one?” Superboy has a look on his face that’s similar to the one Bruce gets when he’s decided to give up and play along with the crazy. The one where he'll smile and nod, slowly inching out of the room, as Duke and Damian (There has truly never been a more terrifying duo) explain to him in vivid detail how they're going to use psychological warfare to make a shitty teacher at their school resign.

“Yes.” Why’d he throw both his shoes? He’d have no shoes!

“… Right. Why did you throw this one?”

All these questions!

“I like that one the least,” he shrugs, and it's true, the converse on his right foot has a little bi flag that Steph sewed into it back when they were dating. A throw pillow was the closest thing in reach at the time, so he sewed a little pan flag on it for her (he later did one on the breast pocket of one of her denim jackets).

“You are so freakin’ weird, dude! You throw a shoe at me! Because I work with Robin!”

Uh, yeah, we've already established that.

“How did you even get it off that fast!”

To be Honest, Tim is also surprised at how fast he was able to get his shoe off. One second he’s looking at Superboy the next he’s lobbing a shoe at his thick head.

Instead of saying any of that, Tim channels his inner Janet Drake, sticking his nose into the air and scoffing like Kon is the literal gum stuck on the sole of his shoe.

Kon, - because he’s no longer Superboy, he’s too fired up to hold onto the mask - shakes his head. It’s mocking, when he says, “You must be really shitty at throwing a punch if you had to resort to throwing shoes.”

Tim shrugs, “Well, I woulda thrown a fist, but you’re not worth a fist.”

Kon is silent and doing an amazing impression of a blobfish.

Tim turns and struts away before Kon has the chance to come up with a rebuttal, or just decides to punch him in the face.

He’ll grab his shoe later, after Kon leaves.

The basted incinerated his shoe.

[crescenthistory]

hello there,

i’ve been a follower & a big admirer of your work for quite some time now — so i thought, perhaps i could leave a suggestion down here for when (if) you have the time and inspiration ?

here is what i had in mind,

female reader who is a freshly transferred student at hogwarts, and someone who happened to become very close to regulus. close enough for their mutual attraction to be clear and their relationship labeled as somewhat of a talking stage.

which is why it’s only natural when slytherin skittles, as regulus’ best mates, feel it is their mission to make sure reader is a decent person and someone who would not leave his heart broken. after all, it’s not an interrogation if they ‘just so happened to stumble over her in the common room’ while regulus is away. or maybe it is. still, they are looking out for him.

anyways, feel free to shape the scenario however you see fit or not write it all if it’s not what you’d be interested in. i hope your day is going great and i’m sending you all the love and hugs ! xoxo

hi there darling, thank you so much for your kind words and request<33 i went with the skittles hounding regulus prior to meeting up with reader, hope that's alright with you, mwah

Words: 1.3k

Warnings/tags: not proofread, fem!reader, slytherin skittles focus, banter, barty and dorcas bully regulus a little, you're not an active part in this but are talked about, regulus is in love and embarrassed over his friends, reader's background prior to hogwarts is not addressed, seer!pandora

"Is it truly so hard to believe that someone other than you lot would dare be friends with me?"

The dorm erupted in various statements of "yeah, pretty much", "duh" and even Evan's "if what you have with her is a friendship, then I don't think we're friends, Reg."

Even on his worst days, Regulus was beyond grateful for the ragtag found family he had been swept into during his time in Slytherin. Barty who essentially picked him up one day and claimed him as his own, Evan with whom he found solace in the quiet, Dorcas who became the best verbal sparring partner he could ask for and Pandora who understood him better than he had ever thought possible – these were his people through and through.

Unfortunately, his people were kind of arseholes.

"It's taken us years to crack through your," – Barty, from where he was perched across Evan's lap, waved in Regulus' general direction with disdain – "stoicism, and you tell me this bird has you asking her out within a month? We have to believe that shit is some twisted dark magic."

"You would know all about twisted dark magic, wouldn't you, B?" Dorcas volleyed through a laugh, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively at him.

"Fuck off, Dorc, I thought you were with me on this!"

Evan playfully napped at Barty's ear when his passionate outburst turned its heat from Regulus to Dorcas.

“I can play for two teams." Dorcas seemed offended at Barty’s assumption of her loyalty, while Pandora sat beside her with an impervious smile, unaffected by the back and forth. “And don’t fucking call me that, Crouch.” 

Evan had to catch Barty’s foot by the ankle when he tried to launch it towards Dorcas in retaliation.

Regulus dropped his head into his hands with a groan. With Barty and Evan lounging on Barty's bed and Dorcas and Pandora on the floor in between, Regulus was left on the edge of his own bed, feeling awfully sorry for himself for having caring – if meddling – friends.

"Can you guys please be normal tonight?" he asked into his hands. Without looking up, he held a finger into the air to quell the argument about to fall off of Barty's tongue. "Don't. By normal I mean don't scare her off. Don't go asking weird or inappropriate or threatening questions, okay?"

"I simply cannot promise that." Both Dorcas and Evan gave Barty a wack to the leg and arm for his comment.

“I resent Barty at the moment, but yeah no, that’s going to be a tough ask, Reggie,” Dorcas amended.

Regulus eventually lifted his head to stare in near-defeat at his friends. "Listen. I... I like her, okay? Like proper, more than I thought I could. I want her to keep feeling comfortable around me, this is all still very... new to her."

He didn’t have to say that this was new to him, too. 

Pandora shifted in that way that alerted everyone to the fact she was about to speak – only when she spoke did Barty ever actually shut up. She smiled softly. "You're in love." She stated it plainly, a fact.

Regulus felt as if he had been punched in the gut by her assertion. "I– What?" he stumbled, gaze flashing quickly to spot the mirth and mischief on all of his friends' faces. With a steadying breath, he pressed his lips together and his palms to his knees. "That is way too soon to say, Dora. But I'd like to think I might eventually be. If you lot don't fuck it up for me." That last sentence was directed towards the bed opposite his with a light glare.

Barty threw his head back with a gleeful, almost screeching laughter and fully ignoring most of what Regulus had said. "This is going to be so fun!"

"We're not going to fuck it up," Dorcas translated Barty's sentence, with the dignity to wear a somewhat rueful smile. "Though, I will say, if she cannot handle these dynamics of ours, I question how she will be able to sustain a relationship with you."

That exact fear had been brewing in Regulus' stomach all day, ever since you agreed this morning to join him with his friends to Hogsmeade tonight after spending almost every day together in the library for the past month. Being with you was the highlight of his days, a quiet sort of ease settled into his bones, and he ached to extend it past dinnertime. What you had was special to him, something he feared to lose, though he did not dare voice it. He had no idea how to answer Dorcas' musings, but thankfully he didn't have to.

"Oh, she will," Pandora assured, breezily, as if this was a cosmic law.

"You’s seen her?" Evan questioned, looking at his sister with a gaze only she could decipher. She made a so-and-so head movement, which seemed to be a perfectly understandable answer to Evan.

Regulus supposed it was to him, too.

"Really, Reg, we're not going to scare her off or traumatise her or whatever else you're accusing us of here," Barty grumbled, as if relenting. He crawled out of Evan's lap to come hustle Regulus out of his perfectly comfortable seated position, slapping the sides of his arms when he stood. "We might interrogate her a little bit – but, hey, that's just to know that she deserves our little prince! And we'll be totally nice and polite or whatever."

"Reassuring, Barty." Regulus gave him an unimpressed glare, but the corners of his lips tugged at his best friend's familiar tactics.

"Great, 'cause that's not my strong suit you know!" Barty called out as he whipped around, grabbing his coat and bag in a flurry. “Pulling out the big guns just for you, Reggie.”

"Never thought I'd hear him admit that," Dorcas mumbled to herself, drawing a giggle from Pandora.

The rest of the group seemed to get the signal that it was about time to move outside, having been chattering away for the past half an hour after Regulus insisted on them getting ready early, lest they be late. "Finally heading out?" Evan questioned gleefully, not one to want to wait for long.

"Yeah. Just, again, please. Be cool." Regulus stressed it one final time, regarding them all sternly.

Barty gasped. "He said please!"

"Then we simply have to," Dorcas agreed.

With a roaring laughter, they opened the door and filtered out as if they were one large entity. Regulus supposed in some ways they were, which made him feel terribly sorry for you and what he was about to put you through.

And he knew he was a selfish man when he thought it next, but his blood warmed nonetheless as he hoped you liked him just as much as he did you – which would mean enough to withstand his friends' undoubtedly incoming interrogation.

Lucky for him, by the entrance of the Great Hall, where you had agreed to meet, you were standing in your favourite outfit and wringing your hands, eager to not just withstand but dance in that very storm.

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Soft Spot

Pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish x Reader

Warnings:Hurt/Comfort, Reader Feeling Insecure, Work Stress, Anxiety, Soap Being the Ultimate Comfort Boyfriend, Lots of Physical Affection, Reassurance

Author’s Note: I’m tired and had a crappy day and needed comfort so… enjoy the bestest of boys

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The weight of the day clung to you like a second skin, suffocating and inescapable. It had been one of *those* days—the kind where nothing you did seemed to be right, where your coworkers’ passive-aggressive remarks cut just deep enough to sting. Every whispered comment, every disapproving glance, every sigh of exasperation had chipped away at you until all that was left was an exhausted, deflated version of yourself.

By the time you stepped through the front door, your shoulders felt too heavy to hold up, and your throat ached from swallowing down all the emotions you’d tried to suppress. You barely had the energy to toe off your shoes when you heard him.

“Lass…”

His voice was soft, but it reached you like a lifeline. Soap was already pushing off the couch, eyes scanning you with that deep, intuitive concern only he seemed to have. He always knew—always saw you even when you tried to shrink yourself away.

The moment you met his gaze, something inside you cracked.

You barely had time to set your things down before Soap was in front of you, hands gentle as they cupped your face. His thumbs brushed over your cheeks, his warmth seeping into your skin like a balm against the chill of the day.

“What happened?” His voice was barely above a whisper, but there was a sharpness to it—protective, ready to fight the world if it meant keeping you safe.

You shook your head, biting your lip. “Nothing. It’s—”

“Try again, love.” He wasn’t letting you hide, wasn’t letting you brush it off like you always did.

Your lips wobbled as you sucked in a shaky breath. “Work was awful,” you admitted, voice thick with the weight of it all. “They wouldn’t stop today. Every little thing I did was wrong, and they just kept—” You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “I felt like an idiot. Like I couldn’t do anything right.”

Soap let out a quiet curse under his breath before pulling you into his arms, wrapping you up in the warmth of him like he could shield you from the outside world. “I swear, if I ever meet these arseholes, it’s on sight,” he muttered into your hair, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “You tell me their names, and I’ll make sure they regret makin’ you feel this way.”

A shaky laugh bubbled up in your throat despite the tears burning your eyes. “You can’t just go fighting my coworkers, Johnny.”

“Try me,” he huffed, tightening his arms around you. “They deserve a boot to the head if they think they can treat my girl like that.”

Your fingers curled into his shirt, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. “I just… I tried so hard today, and it still wasn’t enough.”

Soap pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression softening into something heartbreakingly tender. He reached up, brushing a stray tear off your cheek before cradling your face between his rough, calloused hands.

“You listen to me, and you listen good,” he said, voice firm but gentle. “You are more than enough. You are smart, capable, and kind—too kind for people who don’t deserve you.” His thumbs stroked your skin in slow, comforting circles. “You give so much of yourself every day, love. It’s not your fault that some people are too blind to see how brilliant you are.”

Your breath hitched, and this time, when the tears slipped free, you didn’t try to stop them. Soap just held you, letting you take the time you needed to let it out.

After a moment, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, then another to your temple, lingering like he could kiss away all the hurt. “C’mon, let’s get you comfy,” he murmured, pulling you toward the couch. “We’re gettin’ you settled in, and I’m spendin’ the rest of the night remindin’ you why you’re the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You let out a watery laugh as he tugged you down onto the couch with him, effortlessly maneuvering you into his lap so you were curled up against his chest. His hands never stopped moving—tracing soft patterns into your back, rubbing soothing circles along your arms, holding you close like you were something precious.

“You’re too good to me,” you murmured, voice muffled against his shirt.

Soap scoffed, tightening his arms around you. “Not possible. You deserve all this and more, love.” He tilted your chin up, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. “Now, do you want a movie? Or do you wanna hear me list every reason why you’re the best thing since sliced bread?”

You smiled, exhaustion slowly giving way to warmth. “The second one.”

He grinned. “Good choice, ‘cause I’ve got a long list, and we’re not stoppin’ ‘til you believe it.”

And for the first time all day, you finally felt like you could breathe again.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[postmoe]

Yandere: Squid Games Satoru Gojo

I'm trying to get a fic done by valentines day but i'm worried i won't have it in time :(

just some bedtime thoughts. I have a lot more but i am e x h a u s t e d. might do other characters and games, or more 'Toru!

murder, killing, groping, red light green light

.

For so long now, Satoru has been harassing you. He's sabotaged your work, your friendships, your incomes, all so you'd be forced to fall into him and accept his kindness. It almost works, too, you almost find yourself begging for him to make it all stop, to help you.

Then, you're given an opportunity of a lifetime. You're invited to a game, a shit load of money up for grabs. They usually offer people down on their luck to give you a fighting chance. It's perfect. You need the money, he doesn't so he wouldn't be invited.

You should know your stalker better by now.

Being one of the richest families in the world, Satoru obviously knows about these games. He couldn't care less, it's just an event for billionaires to flaunt their wealth and make fun of the poor.

Then, your name comes up on the listing. Backgrounds, numbers, names and pictures appear for those who want to gamble.

Oh, his poor darling! He's going to have the spy's life he had tail you ruined for not reporting this to him.

Only to see the spy is also part of the games.

It's all too easy to get in. Almost everyone here wants Satoru gone, his business a threat. When he says he wants to be part of the games, they're shocked, confused, but no one objects.

Throw your life away? Go for it.

Satoru Gojo doesn't care about his life. He only cares about being next to you. If this is where you two meet your end so be it. Dead or alive, you'll be in his arms~

...

When you get an opportunity to escape your stalker, to get a shit load of money that you can take home and help your sick family with, all for playing some games, how can you say no?

Satoru won't leave you alone, but, they say no one will be able to follow you here, only participants in the game will allowed to go to the venue. It's crazy, you wouldn't normally step out of your comfort zone, but here you are!

Being drugged and essentially kidnapped is not what you thought would happen.

You wake up on a bunk bed, groggy, in different attire with hundreds of other people in the room. Hands feel over yourself to gauge that everything is in place.

Looking down, you see a number on your chest, "456".

The people around you are also numbered, confused, and heading to the centre of the room.

You're one of the few that stay on your bed, legs crossed, waiting for an explanation.

People in pink suits with shapes on their masks and guns, literal weaponry enter from the door. Contestants demand answers, pink people remain calm, and by the end of it, a large, clear piggy bank descends from the ceiling with a fun, little tune.

You jump off your bed in awe, is that thing really going to be full by the end of the games?

That kind of money seems impossible.

There's a tap on your shoulder, your head whipping around to see who wants your attention.

Satoru, fucking, Gojo. You're stalker. Who just so happens to be number 001, because he's just that perfect.

"Yo!" He greets, as if this was expected. He even got his fucking, circular, black glasses in.

Your eyebrows furrow and you hiss at him, "What are you doing here?! You're not supposed to be allowed in."

He taps at his number proudly, "I'm a player, see? They couldn't keep me away even if they wanted to."

Your fists clench in anger and frustration, "You don't even need the money, arsehole. Quit."

"I'm not here for the money," his hands come to your face, fingers starting to brush through the fringe of your hair, "I'm here for you-"

"Don't touch me!" Some people are looking your way, you don't care, maybe the staff will do something, "You already ruined my life. Just let me do this."

He laughs at you, hands in his pockets as he leans back on his heels, "Oh, honeypie, you have no idea what you're getting yourself into. If only you took your place by my side when you had the chance~"

They announce the first game is about to commence, you just huff and hit your shoulder against his arm as you stomp passed him.

.

Red Light Green Light. How nostalgic, a game that always made your stomach curl as you thought of creatures like weeping angels.

Satoru was a few people away, stretching his limbs as he grins and winks at you. You don't acknowledge him, keeping your gaze straight ahead.

The first few rounds are successful, it isn't until a quarter in that someone missteps.

Gunshots ring out, blood splatters, and the ground goes silent.

...

Before the screaming and running take place. You were isolated enough that no one hit you, only a few getting shot before your eyes, most being picked off behind you.

You couldn't believe what was happening.

When the doll turns its head around again, you stay still.

Satoru stands in front of you, unfazed by all the terror. He keeps a casual pose as he says, "There's a timer up there," your eyes see it, behind the doll, "If you don't make it over the line by the end, you'll die too."

Green light, he takes your hand and you start off walking. Tears now trickle down your cheeks, voice soft in a whimper, "Are they really dead?"

Red light. You both stay silent and still.

Green light, he makes you walk a bit faster, "Yeah, they are. It seems they're not playing around here."

Red light. You're standing beside a body, the man groaning, begging to be helped.

Green light, Satoru ignores him and you both run. Just before red light, he spins you around and holds you close to him, chest pressed against chest. You see the piles of corpses against the doors you came through, eyes widening. He speaks into your hair, "I'll protect you, though. We can get through this together."

You turn and jog away when it's safe, "You're way too calm about all this."

Red light, he has you in his arms again, face buried in your neck. His mouth is open, tongue licking and slobbering on your skin while you can do nothing about it.

The clock is ticking down, and as you're getting closer and closer to the line, he's slowing you down and hanging off of you, "I don't care about those people. Why do you? They're strangers after."

"People were just killed, Satoru! We could be next."

He holds you still, a few metres away from the line. The clock is ticking down, multiple rounds go through but he uses the moment to grope you, squeeze your flesh, kiss and bite your neck, "Nah, I won't let that happen. Just stick with me and you'll be fine."

One minute left, one minute and you either die or survive. You remember you're not just here to get away from him, you're here for the money that could help your family. To restart your lives.

"I don't mind, though. I'd be happy to die with you in my arms, too. Some people say I'm picky but when it comes to you, I'll do anything."

30 seconds, the light goes green, he's not moving. You have to stop your jaw from trembling so hard, "F-Fine. Fine! Please, let me go so we can get across!"

Red light. There's no way. This psychopath just killed you.

Green light. He laughs, picking you up and sprinting with long strides, making it over with one second to spare.

You fall to your knees when he sets you down. The stragglers are being picked off. He bends over to steal your line of sight, "I'm so happy! You really know how to drive the suspense."

He's laughing his head off, your mourning these people's lives and your freedom.

[pseudowho]

Hiromi Higuruma Relationship HCs

(help me find the Higuruma artist in the banner, for crediting and thanks/permission!)

For our other favourite tuckered-out hardworking man of JJK...

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

- First of all, this man knows he's intense. Whether he's tired of life, or fighting for someone's life, he worries he's just going to cause a partner stress, so he generally avoids relationships. -Not that he doesn't want a relationship, he does; but he knows he wants someone smart, someone who can see the dark comedy of life, and someone who can argue. - Because let's face it - Hiromi Higuruma will argue with anyone about anything He needs someone to share his burning passion; it doesn't have to be about the same thing. - He feels like his standards are unrealistically high, and he won't make these demands of someone, he needs it to happen organically.

✨ and then Hiromi Higuruma finds you ✨

- You're in front of him in the line at the bar, having a fight with the guy in front of you, who was rude to the girl on the tills - And you just roast this guy - Hiromi's having the time of his life, he only wanted a beer but now he's getting a whole show - This guy crawls off, having been used to mop the floor, and you just shake it off, leaning over the bar to apologise to the girl on the tills, and order your drink - Higuruma leans past you; "I'll get hers" - You look at him, and he holds his hands up placatingly; "With no expectation," he says, "nice work with that arsehole. Have one on me." - So obviously, you talk all night - The bar staff come over in the small hours and hoik you out, because you're still talking; Higuruma is smitten- you're witty, dry, bright and immediately happy to talk about bigger things, and he feels so alive - You go out, and it's freezing, and Hiromi feels awkward and guilty for keeping you out so late - Gives you his jacket to keep you warm while he gets you home safely - Sad to leave you at your door, doesn't think to ask you for your number, because he just doesn't see someone seeing him that way until--

- "All that, and you don't even ask me for my number?"

- He stutters - No Higuruma left, brain gone walkies - You tap your number into his phone, doing the drop-call in case Higuruma doesn't

✨ You fall first, but Higuruma falls harder

- To save himself from disappointment, Higuruma insists to himself through so many coffee dates and dinners, trips to museums and galleries, and long walks in the park, that you're just friends - He's so used to crushing disappointment at work, he can't take it from you too - Until one day as you're raging against the machine to him, the love hits him like a bus - You're just waiting for the train to arrive together - And he leans in and kisses you, so softly but so convicted - The train whooshes into the station, rushing you both with warm air, but you're so lost in each other, one of his hands on your waist now to bring you closer while yours tangles in his hair to pull his lips harder to yours, because - Finally - You thought he'd never make a move

✨ After this, you're inseparable; as far as Higuruma is concerned, the hardest part (working out if you're in love) is done. He's absolutely decided you're the one, so that's settled, the man knows his own damn mind

- And he treats you like a man who knows what he wants - He's totally committed, but not showy - This man absolutely has your back, through thick and thin - Will fight your fights for you, but knows he doesn't have to - You read together, a lot. He massages your feet on his lap while you counsel him through the difficulties of another tricky case. You take long baths, working through at least one bottle of wine together, and his foot creeps past you to turn the hot tap on again because he's not ready to get out yet. - Higuruma takes it as a personal insult when you're sad, or upset, or have had a bad day, and curses the cruel world you live in for upsetting you...while throwing blankets over you, making you tea, making sure the house is tidy - Making you happy is his pride and duty - But if you do argue, it absolutely must be resolved. This man will not tolerate silent treatments or going to bed unhappy with each other, anything that can be talked through will be talked through - Absolutely loves quietly ragging on strangers with you, this man gets life from the absurd comedy of people-watching bad or stupid people - Always the first to put the kettle on if you have tea to spill - His bad days are bad, and sometimes his anger at the world seems so great, he must surely be angry at you too - But you stay patient, reassuring, a lighthouse in his darkness and God does he adore you for it - Once this man has decided to commit to you, there is no changing his mind, you've got to ride this one your whole life now

✨ NSFW ✨

- Fairly tall, slim, average guy build. The kind of soft abs of a guy who works like a racehorse - Secretly packing - His big dick energy in Court translates across - His breakdown in his 30s makes him pretty unashamed to tell you what he wants and give you what you want in the bedroom - Views it as an absolute personal failing if he doesn't make you cum at least twice - I mean come on, there's enough injustice in the world without bad sex - Loves it when you ride him after a long day at work, but he'll get mean if he thinks you're slacking - "*sigh* I know you fuck as well as you fight, so is that what you want? A fight?" - Full of praise when you bounce that pussy up and down his cock, stroking your hips and clit, determined you should share your pleasure - Also, sneak into his office at the courts, I dare you - Mother Justice looking down on you with her scales as you take his beautiful cock into your mouth while Higuruma moans without shame; or, the Newton's Cradle on his desk clattering as Higuruma bends you over, absolutely railing you with a wild look in his eyes, holding his black hair out of his eyes with one hand while he squeezes your arse with another, secretly hoping his colleagues are drinking in your squeaks and whimpers outside the door

(they are and they're so pleased) (Higuruma has looked stressed out lately) (maybe a good fuck will cheer him up)

- When he has had a very bad day prepare to be outrageously overstimulated by him, his lips and tongue and that nose working on your clit over and over while you cry and reach out for purchase on anything while you cum over and over, tears dripping back into your hair - "Can't do it? Nonsense. Hold onto the headboard. I won't be done for a while."

Overall, 10/10, husband material if you can weather those storms.

[ayeforscotland]

Do you think uk farmers are overreacting about inheritence tax? I genuinely don't know enough about it to confidently give my opinion, but on the surface it seems like it would affect farm OWNERS right, who are usually rich people passing their fortune on to their rich kids? But idk maybe I'm biased, growing up in Wales there was always a very 'YFC exclusive club of nepotism babies who already have business connections by the time they hit high school' vibe when it came to farmer's kids. My worst HS teacher was a farm owner, and she literally hosted boris j on her farm in Wales when he was PM, to my utter disgust. I guess I'm having a hard time seeing past my personal bias so I'd love to hear other opinions

As the saying goes, “You never meet a poor farmer.”

I’m not against it, but I think farmers have also had a really shit deal due to Brexit and there’s probably not been any support for them in the aftermath, so imagine that a lot of them feel like they’re getting both barrels (even if a good handful voted for Brexit)

Who I have no sympathy for is arseholes like Jeremy Clarkson and James Dyson. Dyson in particular has infamously used farmland as a tax dodge for years.

[m-jelly]

Hi, Jelly ❤️❤️❤️

What about the reader and Levi and the sweet comfort of home? Levi is walking home from work and, hearing a squeak, finds a small stray black kitten. He can't leave the hungry little one behind. He takes it home with him to the reader, hoping that she will like this adorable little ball of fur. The reader happily agrees and adores the new fur family member and comes up with a name for him 😊

Biscuit

Levi x fem reader

Sheriff Levi, small town AU, fluff, romance, being a couple, black kitten

Levi brings a kitten home after a shift at work.

It'd been a long shift for Levi. It was the holiday season, snow was thick and the holiday cheer was in the air. People were getting silly with the drinking, and many tourists were pushing things too far. He'd done a night shift and a full day one right after. He was cranky and desperately needed to be wrapped up in your arms.

He trudged through the snow and made his way from the station to home. The whole time he'd been working his long shift he'd been calling you and texting you often. He loved seeing you on video calls and in pictures, you were adorable beyond words.

Levi was planning on proposing to you on his birthday. The two of you celebrated his birthday instead of Christmas but agreed that when you had kids, you would change things up a little. For now, though, you had many fun birthdays with Levi.

He heard a little noise and stopped in his path. He strained his ears and moved closer to see a blanket over a box. He crouched down and dragged the blanket off to see a little black kitten inside. "Tch, fucking monsters leaving you alone little fella." He scooped up the cat and cradled it in his gloved hands. "Let's help." He opened his aviator coat a little with the fluffy lining and placed the kitten at the top of his scarf and just below his chin. "There. Now let's get you home."

The journey home was a lot nicer than Levi was expecting. He couldn't help but smile at the little black kitten meowing at him now and then. He petted its head a little and walked right up to the front door of his sweet townhome with you. He cleaned his boots off, unlocked the door and purred when he was hit with the divine scent that was you and your perfect cooking.

He hummed in delight. "Smells so good in here."

You ran out of the kitchen with an apron on. "Levi!" You squealed in delight. "Welcome home! I baked a big meat pie for us and I even made dessert."

He chuckled. "Thank you. I missed you."

You walked closer. "I missed you too."

He lifted the kitten out of his scarf. "Could you hold this little one?"

You gasped at seeing the black kitten. "Oh, you are so cute!" You took the kitten and cuddled it. "Hello." You kissed its head as Levi took his winter things off. "Where did you find him?"

"Some arsehole abandoned him. I found him in a box with a blanket over him."

You whined a bit. "Poor baby." You carried him to the kitchen. "Let me get you something to drink and eat. I should have some fish spare..." You grabbed a little bowl and filled it with water. You knelt down and placed the kitten next to the water. "Here you go. I'll get you your fish."

Levi walked closer and watched the kitten happily drink. "I'm glad he drank right away."

"Me too. We should take him to Mike so he can check him over."

Levi nodded. "He's the best vet."

You walked over to another spot and placed the fish. "Sorry, cats don't like eating and drinking in the same spot. Hopefully he's okay." You smiled when the kitten stumbled over to you. "Aww, he's so cute."

Levi smiled as the cat started eating the fish. "He seems like he's doing perfect. So, do you want to keep him?"

Your eyes lit up. "Really!? We can keep him!? I'd love to!"

He chuckled. "Good, I was hoping you'd want to. We need to name him though."

You patted your cheeks as you thought. "Mm..." You stood up and walked over to Levi. "I have a name, but you'll probably think it's silly."

He pulled you against him and kissed you. "I won't. I love how cute and sweet your mind is."

You smiled sweetly. "Okay, how about Biscuit?"

He massaged his fingers in your hair. "Biscuit is perfect." He looked down at the kitten as it let out a tiny burp. "He's cute."

"He's a sweet little bean. We'll make a bed of blankets for him."

"Perfect." He hugged you tightly. "We'll go to the shop when the snow is not too bad and get him all the things he needs."

@ladycheesington @levisbrat25 @nyxiieluna @li-anne @galactict3a @youre-ackermine @thebobaprincess @2moth-anon2 @cypidity @nbinairyn @bts-spnlvr12 @darkstarlight82 @emilyyyy-08 @levistealeaf @pelicanpizza @hideandgopeep @notgoodforlife @demonic-bird @searriously @anti-cupid @abiatackerman

[thatoneautisticshark]

Hear me out:

Simon is shy, like really shy because he thinks he's scaring everyone and is just too much yk. That's why he doesn't talk. (Ghost is just grumpy and killing everybody because that's how it is.)

Except for his team. We all know Price is like a dad to him, Kyle is like ... kind of a little brother. But Jonny?! Our sweet Jonny boy is the only one he dares to laugh with and the first time he does laugh at some fucked up joke Jonny made, this boy falls head over heels in love with Simon.

Can you write something like that? Just some pure fluff, maybe with some dirty thoughts if you feel like it.

Ta da!

Soap, frankly, did not trust Gaz’s word. For many reasons, even though Gaz was his new best mate, he liked to mess with Soap.

He had done quite a few things in the three months that Soap had been here. Most notably, tried to tell him that Ghost was just shy. That fucking Ghost, the 6’4 giant, was simply shy.

Soap did not fucking buy it. The man never ever spoke if not mission necessary. Even on missions he barely spoke. If you touched him you got punched, and he was always glaring.

Not to mention the great big fucking skull on his face. If he was shy, why would he wear something to attract attention so much? Also he was one of the UK's most dangerous soldiers, he was a killing machine.

Soap had personally seen him gut a man in one movement.

So yeahhh. Gaz was being a little shit, as far as soap was concerned.

At the very least he wasn't always walking away the second Soap walked into a room anymore. He had been doing that for the first month, and the scot knew Ghost didn't like people. But it had still kind of hurt, because at least he was fine being in the same room as Gaz and Price.

Granted he was still getting glared at more than anyone else, but progress was progress. He was going to make that man- Maybe not a friend, he didn't even think Ghost did those- but have ghost at least tolerate him decently.

Soap was sure he'd make it someday, just not today. Today they were stuck with some pompus arsehole talking about how they needed to respect elders or some shit.

When the man finally left, Soap sighed, not even realising Ghost was next to him. “Bloody ‘Ell. The stick is so far up his arse it's poking out his esophagus!”

He only realised Ghost, the sneaky fucker, was there when he heard the snort, quickly turning to laughter.

Soap whipped around with complete confusion, staring at Ghost with wide eyes, and a mouth hanging open.He stared as the man laughed.

No, not even a laugh, that was a giggle, it was soft, high, and full of mirth. A gloved hand coming to cover the mouth of his mask as he giggled.

And oh fuck… maybe he was shy… and also hot, but Soap could unpack that later.

Following that day, Soap had a lot more success befriending Ghost. He actually trusted Gaz's word about Ghost now.

And sure… Ghost still wasn't talking much, but he was less… reclusive. Ghost would sometimes even seek out the scot. Just sitting in his presence and it was adorable.

[treason-and-plot]

“Of course you can rely on me,” says Roy, her words causing the lump in his stomach to turn into a cold, heavy stone. “I’ll always be there for you. I love you, for Christ’s sake. You’re the most important person in my life. And I’m really sorry if I made you doubt that last night-”

“There was no ‘if’, Roy,” says Anya. “You absolutely gave me a lot of doubts. And they’re still there.”

Jesus, thinks Roy, why the fuck am I the bad guy? He takes another deep swig of his beer while he considers his position. But the rational part of his brain seems not to be working properly today. It’s been compromised by genuine fear that he could lose Anya if he doesn’t quickly get a handle on the situation. He also realises that he wasn’t lying when he told her she was the most important person in his life. And he understands for the first time what people mean when they say that they don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Baby, I’m sorry. No ifs. I’m sorry for making you feel that way. I’m a selfish, insensitive arsehole. And I’m going to do my best to try and explain why I was distant last night,” he says. “I’m not defending my behaviour, I’m just trying to provide you with some context, okay?”

“Okay,” she says quietly.

“Well, first off, I was angry and upset even before you told me about your Dad because Sonia had told me she wasn’t going to let us see the kids on Friday night,” he says. “So, yeah. There was that. And okay, I know now that it wasn’t that much of a huge deal compared to what Michael did, but it still really affected me.”

Anya says nothing, her eyes scanning his face as he talks.

“And I felt like I couldn’t share my feelings with you because you were so distraught, and I guess that kind of made me resentful and caused me to withdraw,” he continues, warming to his story. “It was childish of me, and pathetic, and I have no excuses for not putting your needs before mine. You’re right. I let you down. And I really hope that…that you can forgive me. And believe me when I say that I’ll do everything I can to try and make it up to you.”

“Thank you,” she says in the same quiet voice.

“Are we… good, then?” he says.

“Why did you question whether he was cheating?” she says.

“What?”

“You asked if going to a prostitute was cheating. Your exact words were: “Is it technically cheating, though?” Why did you say that? How could you say that? Are you saying that you think that it’s okay for married men to visit prostitutes, Roy? I’m just really confused. And concerned that we have different viewpoints about what constitutes cheating. I mean, do you honestly think it would be morally okay for you to visit a prostitute? I really need to know!”

[changenameno]

The Thief (One-Shot)

(Complete)

Summary: You’ve always been quite the troublemaker. And pickpocketing was your favourite pastime. However you hadn’t noticed the bearded man watching you, until it was too late. Whatever will he do with you?

 

Paring: Walter Marshall x Fem. Reader

Warnings: MDNI, 18+, reader is a thief, being caught, cursing, degrading words, abuse of authority, but reader is enthusiastic about it, enthusiastic consent given, rough sex, p in v

Word count: 2.9K

 

A/N: That scenario has been stuck in my head for some time, so I thought I’d put it into writing. As always any mistakes are my own. Reblogs and comments are much appreciated! Thank you and enjoy!❤️✨

 

 !Neither Walter Marshall nor Nomis are my creation!

🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻 🐻🐻🐻

 

Your fingers felt like they would fall off any second now. It was freezing and still, you had purposefully neglected to wear gloves. Why?

Simple, you were lighter fingered when your hands weren’t encased in any sort of fabric. Though right now you wondered if it had been a mistake, since the feeling in your hands had been gone for about an hour.

 

 

You had underestimated the cold front the weather guy had talked about, especially because it was only October.

 

 

Standing to side of the crowd, you watched possible targets go about their day, buying things on the farmers market. Completely unaware of your eagle eyes, keeping track of, where they put their wallets.

 

 

You knew, it was a bit risky pickpocketing right here, because the police had doubled their efforts, since an awful lot of civilians had reported their stolen money or missing wallets in the past few month. So to placid them, they had promised to update the security in the area.

 

 

Though you hadn’t seen said ‘updated security’, you were aware of the possibility of undercover cops. But that did next to nothing to dissuade you from your weekly shopping spree. Normally you didn’t keep watch that long, but you had hoped maybe the cop would show themselves. Hence the delay.

 

Though they didn’t reveal themselves.

 

 

And you didn’t want to wait much longer to relive someone, of the awful burden of carrying so much money around, because your fingers would truly fall off soon. That’s why your eyes were set on your final target.

 

 

A middle aged woman, whose attire looked so expensive and out of place, you were convinced she had some money to spare.

 

 

Before reconsidering and risk being exposed to the cold any longer, you made your move. Diving into the crowd, carefully trailing the woman with the red handbag, in which you knew her matching red wallet was uncaringly stuffed into, after her last purchase.

 

 

It was nearly too easy, as she stopped again, leaning forward to inspect the goods more closely, making her bag move backwards and an even simpler target for you. She didn’t even notice, how close you’d gotten, let alone when your hand had slipped into her bag, swiftly removing her wallet. As quickly as you could you opened it and removed the money, stuffing it into your coat’s pocket, before putting her wallet back into the handbag.

 

 

To prevent making anyone suspicious, you too leaned over the goods for a few seconds, as if you were inspecting them as well. Next you politely smiled at the vendor and then moved away, slithering through the mass of people. Escaping. Or so you thought.

 

 

You hadn’t even reached the spot from where you had kept watch, when someone rather rudely crashed into you from behind, grabbing your arm. Exasperated at their behaviour you tried to twist around, though it was in vain, with the iron clad grip they had on you, so you just struggled, cursing under your breath, “What the fuck…let me go! This instant!”

 

 

Whoever was behind you, only tightened their grip further, chuckling lowly, “Oh I don’t think so, hon.”

 

 

Still struggling in the hold, you slightly panicked because the man really didn’t let go at all, hissing you threatened him, “Let go you arsehole, or I’ll scream! Then you have to explain yourself to the fucking police!!”

 

 

He didn’t have any difficulty keeping his hold on you, despite you trying to wrestle yourself free. Suddenly he was even closer, sturdy body pressed against yours, as his warm breath tickled your ear, “Aww is that an invitation? Because as a matter of fact, I am the police.”

 

 

You ceased your fighting instantly. Shit. Now you really panicked. What would he do? He most certainly had caught you redhandedly. Your body couldn’t decide if it was overheating or ice cold, switching between the two sensations as if your panicked state wasn’t enough to deal with already.

 

 

“Mmmh, not so feisty anymore, are we now, you little thief?”

 

 

Crap his deep voice and mocking manner, made heated waves roll through your body, apparently it had settled on confused arousal, you cursed quietly.

 

 

“What was that? Cursing at a police officer is just as a serious offense as stealing, you know.”

 

 

You didn’t know what to do, you just went slack in his hold, submitting to the muscled man behind you.

 

 

“That’s what I thought,” he taunted you further.

 

 

At last he set into motion, taking you with him, gliding through the crowd and further to a police car parked in an alley. Only once he’d pushed you into the backseat, slamming the door shut, reality hit you again.

 

 

You had been caught. Now sitting in a police car, probably soon on the way to the nearest precinct. You didn’t even know what would happen next. Could they throw you in prison for this? Would there be a hearing? Damn it, you never had to think about the consequences before…

 

 

The front door opened and he entered, distracting you for a second, as your eyes roved over his form. Great, not only did he have an alluring voice, he also had to be extremely attractive. His clear blue eyes met yours, grinning in triumph, “You have any idea, how much trouble you’ve caused us?”

 

 

You didn’t know what made you so bold, as you cheekily replied, “I’m terribly sorry officer, but I just can’t help myself. Always been a trouble maker.”

 

 

He buckled his seat belt, turning to the front again, shaking his head, mumbling, “Bet you are.”

 

 

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As you finally arrived at the precinct, it was dark outside. Apparently he hadn’t driven to the nearest one. He opened the back door of the car once more. Immediately steel grip on you, pinning your arms uncomfortably behind your back, as he manoeuvred you to the door leading into the police station.

 

 

It was eerily quiet inside. You didn’t see anyone, as you turned your head left and right.

 

 

Then another officer came into view.

 

 

“Ah hey there, Marshall! Finally, was just about to leave.”

 

“Bennet, you know you can’t leave, if no one’s here, right?”, Marshall answered, clearly annoyed by that Bennet guy.

 

 

“Yeah, yeah I know. Sooo, whose that?”, Bennet nodded to you.

 

 

“None of your business. Just go home.”

 

 

Bennet quickly shuffled out of the way, as Marshall and you passed him. You two went around a corner, away from the desks through a never ending corridor. Glaringly white light beaming down on you, making your eyes burn after the prolonged darkness in the car.

 

 

The station was bigger than you thought it’d be, as you turned another corner. Though here he finally stopped, in front of a small cell. You heard the jiggling of the keys, then he unlocked the door, letting go of you and pushing you inside as he entered as well.

 

 

You turned around, suppressing a shiver when he crossed his arms, towering over you.

 

 

“Come here.”

 

 

You ignored his command, shaking your head.

 

 

He sighed, approaching you,” Hon, this is standard procedure. I’ve got to pet you down, make sure you’ve got nothing dangerous on you.”

 

 

You froze, when your back hit the wall. You weren’t afraid. Actually quite the opposite, you were exited at the prospect of this gorgeous man petting you down. Letting his big hands glide up and down your body.

But you were determined to not let, him, know that. And you were convinced if he came any closer he’d know.

 

 

But you were trapped. He came to a stop in front of you. Concerned he’d furrowed his dark brows, “May I?”

 

 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

 

 

You’d let him do anything, if he looked at you like that. Not trusting your voice you nodded.

 

 

He squatted down, warm hands settling on your calves, slowly moving up. Your eyes widened when you saw the burning desire you felt, mirrored in his ocean ones.

 

 

Not able to conceal your excitement, you automatically widened you stance, as his hands moved beyond your knees. Thumbs stroking over your inner thighs teasingly, making you pant loudly.

 

 

His amusement was crystal clear with the way he smirked up at you, “Already getting exited, you little thief?”

 

 

You whimpered pathetically as his right hand was now dangerously close to your pulsing centre. Closing your eyes in anticipation, your breath hitched in surprise, when he’d suddenly stood up. Bearded face in front of yours, making your eyes fly open again.

 

 

He cupped your chin, tilting your head back a little, whispering, “Are you sure, you want this?”

 

 

“Yes,” you breathed back.

 

 

“I need you to be absolutely sure you want this just as much as I want this.” Blue eyes serious and flitting between yours.

 

 

You were touched by his gentleness, and quite relieved he made sure, you were on board with this. To wipe any doubts from his mind, you pressed your lips against his. Starting to kiss him fiercely.

 

 

He was a bit taken aback by your initiative, but only for a second, before he moved against your soft lips. His pink tongue begging for entrance, which you immediately granted. Deepening the kiss. When you pulled away, both of you panted, taking in the much needed oxygen.

 

 

He’d leaned his forehand against yours, growling softly when your swift fingers started to unbuckle his belt. Not able to hold back, you let them slide into his boxers, gasping when you felt how big he was. You couldn’t even close your hand around his shaft, though you began pumping him anyway, making his hips buck forward.

 

 

“Fu-uck, you’re really good with your hands aren’t you, hon?”

 

 

“What can I say, if I see something I like, I need to have it, Mr. Marshall.”

 

 

All the while your hand had moved back and forth on his hard rod, freeing him, as you’d pushed his pants and boxers down to his meaty thighs. It made him grunt loudly. His hands curling around your hips, then advancing toward the fly of your jeans, pulling your sipper down.

 

 

“Let’s see how wet you are for me, honey.”

 

 

And sure enough two long fingers dipped into your panties, feeling around your dripping walls, until he found your wet centre and plunged into your pussy.

 

 

Moaning wantonly you nearly let go of his cock, when his perfect fingers curled and pressed into your sweet spot.

 

“Argh, yeah right there.”

 

 

“Thought so, you’re clenching around me like crazy. Can’t wait to feel your tight, little snatch around my cock.”

 

 

You tried to reciprocate, moving your hand up and down, but it was impossible with the way his fingers sped up, carefully scissoring you open.

 

 

But he didn’t seem to care, enjoying how loud he could make you moan for him. As he pulled his fingers out, you mewled, unhappy at the sudden emptiness.

 

 

He cooed,” Aww darling don’t worry you’ll feel full again in a second.”

 

 

With that he pulled down your jeans and panties, only than noticing that he couldn’t remove them completely, because of your boots. Huffing annoyed, he didn’t even wait to pull off the boots. Instead he hauled you onto the small bed in the corner, lifting your legs and pushing your ankles down beside your head.

 

 

The new position had exposed you so entirely that you whimpered in embarrassment. He didn’t care though, burning gaze fixed on our soaking wet pussy, unconsciously liking over his lips, at the mouth-watering sight of you spread out, below him.

 

 

He quickly reached for his painfully throbbing cock, wanting nothing more than to bury it in your tight cavern. He rubbed the head between your sopping folds, collecting your juices to make the entrance smoother.

 

 

“You ready?”

 

 

Your nod was all he needed, as he began pushing against your hole. Slowly spreading you around his fat cockhead, before pushing further and further inside. Your breathing was shallow, as the monstrosity entered you.

 

 

“So biiig…”

 

 

He had the audacity to laugh, “Well hon, you said you needed to have the things you liked. And I’m simply giving them to you, aren’t I?”

 

 

Just then he finally bottomed out, making you whimper and him moan lowly.

His large firm hands rested on your calves, making sure they and you would stay in the position he’d put you in. Panting he smiled down at you, “So pretty for me. Have to start moving, your cunt is to fucking tight.”

 

 

Blazing blue eyes focused on your slit engulfing his cock, as he agonizingly slow moved back. He grunted when he pushed his hips forward, forcing his entire length back inside. Stretching your cunt, filling your body thoroughly once more.

 

 

“Quicker. Please M-Mr. Marshall, need more…”

 

 

He groaned, “Such a needy thing. But I expected nothing less off a little thief.”

 

 

You wanted to curse at him, but all that left you was another mewl, as he continued his slow, slow pace.

 

 

“Maybe if you beg again, honey. But this time, address me as Walter. After all I’m not your boss.”

 

 

Fully sheathed inside you, it was extremely hard to string together any sentence, but you tired your best, as you needed him to pick up his pace.

 

 

“Pl-please Walter… quicker, harder. Fuck me as hard as you can…please.”

 

 

“What a dangerous thing to say, honey. But your wish is my command,” he winked at you.

 

 

Walter finally pulled back, delivering a hard and heavy thrust, making you cry out, at the shocking wave of pleasure wracking your body.

 

 

Your fingers dug into the mattress, holding on for dear life, as he began hammering away. Rutting into you so violently, he smacked against your clit with ever thrust. Pulling a blinding, toe-curling orgasm from you.

 

 

He’d stopped moving for a bit, grinding his hips into yours, prolonging your orgasm. Walter made a low guttural sound, before picking up his pace once more.

 

 

Yelping as he ploughed away at your weeping pussy, he kept your legs pressed against your chest.

 

 

“Not nearly done with you yet, honey,” he panted.

 

 

One moan after the other was pulled from your lungs as your poor cunt didn’t have any time to recover and was just thrown into immediate pleasure again, as his massive cock made its way in and out of your body.

 

 

“Hnnm…pl-please. Wa-alter,” you squeaked.

 

 

 

Walter growled and picked up the pace even more. He pulled out completely, before driving home with every single thrust.

 

 

“Cl-close. I’m so close, honey.”

 

 

He kept slamming into your body, as you egged him on, “Yeah… please fill me up, Walter!!”

 

 

That’s what tipped him over the edge, taking you with him as your second orgasm was pulled from your exhausted body, feeling his seed entering you. Cock pulsing inside you, as a last deep moan left his lips.

 

 

Then he stilled, locking eyes with you, “Fuck… that was amazing, hon.”

 

 

Blinking up at him, you smiled, sighing when he slipped out, warm dripples of his and your residue running down. Walter let go of your legs. Wanting to protest as he pulled your panties and jeans back up, even though you were still dripping his cum.

 

 

He hushed you, “Ah, ah, ah. A little punishment is due don’t you think? Keeping my seed inside till you’re home is the least you could do, when I let you off with a warning, isn’t it, you little thief?”

 

 

You nodded, smirking at his decision, while he buckled his belt.

Then he added,” Though you obviously have to give me the money.”

 

 

Damn it, you had hoped he’d forgotten about that. But his outstretched hand said otherwise, so you pulled the money from your coat pocked and handed it over disgruntledly.

 

 

“That’s a good girl. Thank you,” he teased as he put it into his back pocket.

 

 

He turned around, opening the cell and letting you out, leading you back through the corridor you had come from with his hand touching your lower back.

 

 

When you arrived at the front room of the precinct it was completely deserted. He surprised you with the searing kiss he bestowed upon your lips.

When Walter pulled back, his blue eyes seemed to sparkle, “I really enjoyed that. All of it. Maybe next time, you’ll be here, it’s not because you committed a crime, yeah?”

 

 

“Can’t make any promises, but I’m sure our paths will cross again.”

 

 

Then you slipped out the door, vanishing into the night, but not without releasing a gleeful laugh as your fist closed around the money in victory.

 

Unbeknownst to Walter, you had stolen it right back during the kiss.

 

 

The minute you were gone he had noticed the missing money, roaring, “Fuck! You little minx! Get back here!!” Running out the door himself.

 

 

Walter could have sworn he heard you giggle in the distance, as he set out to chase after you.

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