#gonna have to write this now
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thedarknesseater · 26 days ago
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Thinking about the satosugu fic where they get high together for the first time, and thinking about a suguru who smokes (smoker!suguru is very precious to me) and thinking about satosugu spending every evening together in either one's room (mostly suguru's because satoru is a hyperactive cutie who cannot stay alone in his own room for a second longer than necessary, so he spends most of his free time in suguru's). This is all hidden inventory arc though.
It's summer and they spend the lazy evenings eating junk food, and just talking. Satoru has never had a listener who also interacts with him, chiming in with his own opinions and interests and he becomes a chatter box. Sometimes they spend the entire night staying up and talking about nothing in particular, while the sweet summer breeze cools them through the window.
The window is open because suguru is smoking, sitting on the ledge and satoru's on the floor looking up at his friend and yapping while the crickets outside chirp away merrily at the clear sky and the twinkling stars. Suguru offers his lit cigarette to satoru who's absolutely confident in his capabilities of taking a proper drag and not tearing up, or coughing at all. He's immediately proven wrong though. Suguru teaches him how to smoke that summer.
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kamaluhkhan · 1 month ago
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IS IT CASUAL NOW?
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pairing: vi x fem!reader word count: 14.6k summary: you and vi are both tired of complicated relationships so try the whole friends-with-benefits thing....and maybe forget the whole point of your arrangement in the first place. warning: lesbian situationships (there is so much angst and yearning), brief mention of (internalized) homophobia and struggles with addiction....but mostly cheesy domestic fluff and smut [oral (vi receiving), fingering (both receiving), thigh riding, slight bondage play, switch!vi has my heart] (18+) ! a/n: merry (belated oops) xmas girls and gays <33 i've probably spent way too much time on this but it's my BABY....kinda based on leighton and alicia's plotline in s1 of sex lives of college girls and ofc casual by chappell roan (there are many other chappell references throughout too hehe). also yes i made a mini playlist that consists of the songs that i think reflect this fic's sun, moon, and rising signs....pls enjoy and happy holidays !!!
♪: "angel baby" by troye sivan (sun); "pretty girl" by hayley kiyoko (moon); "casual" by chappell roan (rising)
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“not even one week into the new academic year, violet rose atlas, captain of the varsity soccer team, has been suspended from gameplay due to recent unsportsman-like behavior, sentenced to 100 hours of community service, and banned from the local lesbian bar.” 
mel removes her eyes from the screen to raise an eyebrow at you. you just shrug and take a sip of your coffee. you glance over at the clock on the wall. 
11:09am. 
“to top it all off, she’s late,” you declare, trying your best to hide the anticipation simmering in your stomach.
“what’s your deal, anyways? you totally flirt with her whenever she’s at the bar. not even we get that good of service,” gert points out. they’re searching through a stack of cd’s and cassette tapes for something to play. 
“that was before.” 
you walk over to sit next to gert, taking it upon yourself to choose the music. you settle on jagged little pill; alanis morrissette’s lush voice is a welcomed addition to your conversation.
“our funding is at risk,” you explain. “it’s like the dean assigned her to us because she knew it would end terribly and the board would have an excuse to finally cut us loose.” 
“if they need an excuse, they’ll find one,” gert grumbles.
you shrug. “i just think violet is bad news, which is something i’d prefer we avoid..”
“the article does say that she punched maddie nolan in the face during an exhibition game against the piltover knights.”
“see? bad news. literally.”
“well, i think we lucked out,” sky gushes, though her focus remains on finishing her current project. she’s crocheting so fast that you only catch glimpses of her sparkly pink fingernails. you’re sure she’ll be done with this blanket before violet shows up. if she even bothers to show up. “the yellowjackets might’ve lost their captain, but we get to spend quality time with the hottest butch on campus.”
“whatever,” you sigh, though you don’t disagree with that description. you check the clock again — 11:11am — and settle against the worn couch. “since we have the time — mel, why don’t you read our horoscopes? i’m itching to see what the universe has in store for us today.” 
───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────
vi spent the better part of last night crying and getting wasted in her bathtub with cheap dye burning into her scalp. 
she just couldn’t stand the memory of caitlyn kiramman’s perfectly manicured nails running through her formerly pink locks as they kissed, tugging on vi’s hair to bring her closer —
enough. fucking pull yourself together. 
cait’s moved on, that much is clear, with someone more like her. someone whose last name is on buildings all around the university of piltover’s campus.
so far, no amount of bar fights or red cards or late nights in some random girl’s bed seem to mend the heart that caitlyn shattered to pieces, but vi doesn’t give up easy.
soon enough, she’ll be back on the field, leading the yellowjackets to victory at nationals; she’ll finish all her classes, graduate with honors and have a great plan for an even greater future; all while having amazing, mind-blowing sex that won’t lead to serious heartbreak.
relationships are overrated, anyways. 
the first step in this plan: spending 100 hours with a bunch of angry, bra-burning lesbians.
maybe vi will fit right in.
so, vi walks into her community service assignment with a wicked migraine and hands that look like lady macbeth plotted to murder an oil spill, but with her usual confident swagger nonetheless, as conversation echoes down the hallway.
“according to your rising, there will be a much needed spark in your romantic life. my guess is a fire sign is gonna sweep you off your feet.”
another voice chimes in, a gentle rumble. “could that be your sweet jules?” 
“i’ve never asked about her chart,” an achingly familiar voice replies. it brings back memories of dizzying lights and strong whiskey coursing through her blood, but something else, too. a sky full of stars and too-sweet alcohol on her tongue. “paula was a fire sign, though, and that blew up in my face.”
“paula was a walking red flag.”
“yeah, well, apparently red’s my favorite color.”
“maybe that was just the heartbreak you needed to bring passion back into your life. do you feel that with jules?”
“i don’t know — maybe? we haven’t had sex yet.” 
“passion isn’t just about sex, you know —”
“gert, i love you, but i cannot handle a sex therapy session right now.”
someone else giggles, bright and bubbly. “hm, i wonder what sign our pink-haired hottie is.” 
vi clears her throat to announce her arrival, leaning against the doorway.
everyone turns to look at her then, with varying degrees of shock, and vi feels like she’s just walked into an after midnight roommate vent session.
she isn’t sure what she expected the space to look like, but zaun university’s women’s centre is well-lived in, defined by a sort of organized chaos. each wall is covered in posters and collages, multicolored flags and fairy lights; there’s a shelf in the corner with assorted trinkets and books piled high, a table next to it with baskets of condoms, pads, and tampons and informational pamphlets, and a door in the opposite corner, slightly ajar. a vintage boombox placed on the coffee table plays 90s alt rock, circled by mismatched seating with patterned blankets and brightly colored pillows strewn about.
someone with dark lipstick and an eyebrow piercing is drawing on their converse; a dark brunette wearing glasses is draping a blanket over the arm of a couch; another person is scrolling on their laptop, a gold necklace glittering on their collarbones. 
vi’s attention is stuck on you, though, the origin of the aforementioned familiar voice: the very hot bartender from sappho’s, where vi happened to be kicked out of not even 72 hours prior. 
you’re wearing a vintage wonder woman t-shirt tucked into faded blue jeans with a carabiner clipped to a belt loop. the sleeves of your shirt are rolled up, displaying your array of tattoos — vi’s already decided that her favorites are joan of arc holding her sword, a pomegranate that’s been cracked open, and lyrics from bikini kill’s ‘rebel girl’ (which admittedly, vi had to look up when she first saw). it’s everything vi’s booze-soaked brain had apparently memorized after many nights of staring at you across the bar counter, licking up whatever honeyed flirtations you’d spill from your lips. vi always noticed your hands, too: the many rings you’ve stacked on your fingers, the lavender sprig sprouting from your middle finger and venus symbol etched onto your wrist, the nails that are always clipped short and painted black. 
one of those nails is tapping anxiously on your coffee mug, which has a picture of hayley kiyoko as lesbian jesus.
“pink-haired hottie, reporting for duty. though, i might need a new nickname.” vi grins; you roll your eyes. “i’m an aries, by the way.”
“good to know.” the brunette winks not-so-subtly in your direction before walking towards vi and extending a hand, gold bangles clinking together at the motion. “i’m sky, she/her. we had electromagnetic theory together last spring. it’s lovely to officially meet you.”
vi makes a big show of leaning down and kissing sky’s hand.
“nice to meet you, too, sweetheart.”
“such a gentleman,” sky giggles and leads vi to the patchwork couch. she curls up like a cat, and vi follows suit — the couch is cloud soft, and vi tries not to sink into the cushions. “i’m our supplies and communications coordinator.” she turns away from vi to look around the room. “okay, that’s my intro. who’s next?”
the person with an eyebrow piercing nods at vi, a sort of effortless greeting. “gert, they/them.” they snap the sharpie shut after writing ‘the future is intersectional’ on the tip of their toe. ��i curate and design our newsletter, the black rose. i’m also in a band —”
“the sirens of zaun. yeah, i recognize you. you’ve played a few gigs at sappho’s.” 
vi looks at you pointedly, and you take this as your cue to disappear behind the door, which appears to lead into some sort of office.
gert seems pleased, though. “then you might also recognize our lead singer….”
the person with the gold necklace, who vi does, in fact, vaguely recognize but can’t quite name, closes their laptop and waves at vi. “i’m mel. pronouns: she/her. i mostly deal with the finances around here. and, from what i understand, you’re already well acquainted with our fearless leader —”
mel is cut off by the sound of her phone alarm. 
“shit — it’s already 11:30. our set at campus radio starts soon.” mel gestures at gert. gert picks up the bright red guitar case behind them and secures it around their shoulder as mel packs up her leather satchel. 
“damn, i gotta get to class, too. the space-time continuum waits for no one.” sky gets up and gathers her things, too, stuffing yarn into a fruit-printed tote bag. “it was nice meeting you though.” she pats vi’s head affectionately before throwing out a loud: “see ya later, boss!”
mel and gert offer similar farewells, and you shout goodbye from the other room before the three of them are out the door. vi expects you to reappear a few moments later; when you don’t, she ventures into the office.
it’s smaller, but just as decorated as the lounge space. there’s a desk that seems to be more storage than actual use, littered with piles of books and old copies of the black rose. you’re sitting on a fluffy rainbow carpet that looks like every member of sesame street stitched together, writing something in a sticker-covered notebook. 
“so, violet —”
“vi’s fine,” she tells you. she decides to sit on the floor next to you rather than the zebra striped chaise lounge.
you nod, rip a page out of your notebook, and hand it to vi. there’s something a bit too intimate about knowing what your handwriting looks like before even knowing your name. 
“this is a run down of everything you’ll need to know, but real quick: we do feminist film fridays and trivia tuesdays on alternating weeks; our radical reads book club meets once a month, along with our slam poetry group, and we have a bunch of other events in between — workshops, art builds, discussion groups, and so on. sky keeps everything in the centre stocked, and occasionally the rest of us will pitch in when organizing a charity drive. our newsletter publishes the third wednesday of every month — gert puts it together, but we print in pairs since it could be a lot of work for one person. we have team meetings once a week to share updates, make sure we’re all on the same page, stuff like that. any questions?” 
“wow, okay. that’s a lot.”
you smile. “i’m sure you’ll be able to keep up, varsity.” 
“so….where do i fit in?” 
“that depends on you, really,” you tap your glitter gel pen on your notebook, thinking. “like, i’m assuming you’re not well versed in feminist literature.”
vi puffs out her chest. “based on what assumptions? i’m not a dumb jock.”
“yeah, i know you’ve made the dean list ever since your freshman year.” 
vi raises an eyebrow. “keeping tabs on me, wonder woman?” she teases. 
you laugh. “don’t flatter yourself. sky’s the one who mentioned it to me. so, unless you mean your very large, unpaid tab at sappho’s...”
“the bar i was kicked out of, you mean.”
“well, yeah, because you —” you take a deep breath. “not the point. anyways, we don’t have a complete schedule for book club, so you can maybe take the lead on one of our meetings. do you have a favorite author?” 
vi smiles at you sheepishly. “ah…..you got me there.”
“thought so,” you smirk and vi covers her blush. “if you’re curious, this bridge called my back is a good place to start. oh, and audre lorde is a classic and a personal favorite…..” you pause when you catch vi staring at you. she wants you to keep talking, to appreciate the way your eyes light up so enthusiastically, but you blink away, and a veil of professionalism falls back onto you. “sorry. anyways, we’re having trivia tomorrow — would you be able to help us out with that?
vi nods. “sure.”
“sweet.” you check your phone. “i’ve got a coffee date, so i should get going.”
“wait — you never told me your name, wonder woman.”
“well, it’s not diana prince,” you quip before finally introducing yourself. 
“nice to finally put a name to the face.” vi winks at you, standing up. she extends a hand to guide you up. your hand is cold against her skin, your metal rings even colder.
“i’ll see you around, varsity.” before you’re out the door, you turn back around. “oh, and vi?”
“yeah?”
“don’t be late.”
───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────
you had stepped away for a quick smoke break — a habit you knew you had to kick — but you’re so fucking drained and it’s only wednesday. 
you were up all night bickering with your girlfriend. it started with her admitting that she really doesn’t want to meet your friends, which transitioned into her asking you to not talk to anyone about her or your relationship, which prompted you to make a (maybe slightly insensitive) comment about how she’s welcome to stay in the closet but has no right to push you back in. 
needless to say, you did not get any sleep.
you’re about to walk outside, and finally get a moment of peace, when your phone rings. it’s your sibling, and the fact that they’re calling instead of texting tells you that this conversation is about to be (A) exhausting, (B) infuriating, or (C) both.
the correct answer is C.
it’s the same story over and over again: your dad drinks too much, your mom is absent. it hadn’t been this bad when you were growing up, but you suppose you’d been around to ease the damage, or at least step in and take care of your sibling as needed. 
“just — take a deep breath. you can come stay with me for the weekend, okay? it’ll be good for you to get away from the chaos for a bit….we’ll go apple picking if the weather’s nice, maybe start working on your halloween costume — whatever you wanna do.”
“you know, i’m not five anymore,” they mumble, stifling a small laugh along with some tears. “but…okay. that sounds nice.”
you smile to yourself, shoulder pressing against the door. “it’s a plan then. we’ll sort out the details later. and, don’t worry about mom and dad — i’ll take care of it. love you.” 
you hang up and exhale as you finally push the door open, happy to finally get one moment to breathe.
except, just as you’re greeted by a crisp breeze on this beautiful late september evening, you’re also greeted by the sight of vi pressing someone against the brick wall, their legs wrapped around her waist as she kisses their neck.
something ignites in your abdomen, familiar after many nights of seeing vi at the bar, charming her way into another woman’s bed. except, it’s definitely not jealousy, this time.
(okay, maybe it is; but only a bit.)
they spring apart upon hearing the door slam closed. you recognize who vi’s with — maya, a sophomore who’s frequently attended women’s centre events since last year. she’s always been friendly with the team, but never this friendly.
“oh my gosh, i am so sorry!”
“you don’t have to apologize,” you tell her sincerely. her cheeks are flushed, and she’s busy smoothing down her skirt, clearly trying to distance herself from vi, who’s leaning against the wall nonchalantly. “i just need to talk to violet, so do you mind giving us a sec?”
you wait until maya disappears inside to cross your arms and glare at vi.
“so, it’s violet now, huh?” she teases, wiping red lipstick off her smirk.
“you were supposed to be helping facilitate this workshop,” you note. 
“well, it is a queer sex ed workshop.” vi rolls her eyes. “i was giving maya a hands-on experience.”
you grit your teeth together. “and you just had to do that now? like you just had to go down on that third year during trivia last week?”
“well, see, i don’t have a ton of free time, and since i’m not allowed at the local lesbian bar….” she trails off, looking at you pointedly. “i’ve had to resort to multi-tasking.”
“multi-tasking.” you let an exhausted, bitter laugh slip from your lips. “you’ve showed up late to every single event in the past few weeks, and once you’re there, you’re either on your laptop, getting drunk, or hooking up with someone. tell me, violet, as captain of the yellowjackets — if someone on your team was acting like this, what would you do?”
vi narrows her eyes at you, like she can’t believe what you’re asking, and admits, “i’d call them out, tell them to do better.”
“right. and if they kept giving you empty promise after empty promise? you’d have to do something more drastic, even if you didn’t want to, yeah?”
no response.
shaking your head, you take out a cigarette. there’s only silence when you flick the lighter open and light it between your lips. you inhale deeply, letting the smoke enter your lungs, exhale slowly, and decide: “i’m gonna ask the dean to reassign you.”
“fine by me,” vi scoffs, but you swear that something close to disappointment flashes across her face. “clearly, this isn’t working out.”
“clearly.” you take another drag of your cigarette, and as vi walks back inside, you can’t help but try to get under her skin. you’ve had a bad week, between family drama and turbulence in your relationship with jules, and you’re just sick of people not giving a shit. “the year’s already started, so i doubt there’s something available. which means you’ll remain on academic probation until spring.”
and, okay — you do get some twisted satisfaction in how that makes vi stop in her tracks. you’re leaning against the wall, and she strides over to stand in front of you, her jaw and fists clenched.
“i’ll miss the whole tournament.”
you shrug, and blow smoke in her face. “i’ve given you plenty of chances.”
“but the team needs me —”
“you should have thought of that before you fucked up, varsity,” you snap. vi’s eyes widen; you’re usually more level-headed. “you’re cocky, irresponsible  — ”
“i lost my scholarship,” vi blurts out, prompting you to pause, the cigarette millimeters from your lips. 
you blink at her, blood still roaring in your ears.
“i…don’t know why that’s relevant.”
vi just sighs, so deeply that you feel it in your bones. you haven’t seen this side of her before — no flirtatious smile, no overconfident posture. instead, she slips to the ground, knees pressed to her chest. feeling a bit guilty for pushing her buttons, you slide down next to her. you offer her the cigarette, but she shakes her head.
“i…i’m going through a shitty breakup. i’ve been lashing out, and i lost my scholarship. i haven’t asked my parents for money, because the last thing i want is for them to worry about me. so, i started picking up these odd jobs to make ends meet, and the hours are a bit crazy so between school and practice and — fuck, there’s also shit going on with my sister that i won’t even get into now, but it’s a lot — and i also need to do this because i let my team down and i need to be there for them, whatever it takes, and i’m just so fucking —”
“exhausted, yeah.” 
you can see more clearly now — the slump in her shoulders, the shadows underneath her eyes; you see her more clearly. you realize that you might have more in common with violet rose atlas than you initially thought.
“so the laptop —”
“finishing assignments.”
“the drinking?”
vi juts her chin out at your smouldering cigarette. “we all have our vices.”
“and the sex?”
her lips curl into a sheepish grin, and she shrugs. “we all need to relieve stress.”
you clear your throat, blinking away from her gaze and trying to ignore how you can feel warmth radiating from her body, so close to yours. “right.”
vi runs her hand through her tar-black hair. that should have been your first hint — nothing says lesbian breakup more than terribly dyed hair and questionable decisions. 
“look, i know i can’t do everything, but i have to, and i’m still trying to figure out how.”
“well….as far as excuses go, it’s not the worst,” you admit. “thanks for telling me. i know that couldn’t have been easy.” you take a deep breath and get to your feet. “i stand by what i said earlier, though — this isn’t working out. you just can’t tell us that you’ll be helpful and not follow through. it means a lot, to a lot of people, that there’s a space like this on campus. mel, gert, sky— they all work so hard to make that happen, and that’s something i need to protect. i’m sorry.”
“wait.” vi grabs your wrist before you can leave. “i’m sorry. really, i am. i promise to do better.”
“you’ve made that promise before,” you point out. “why should i believe this time will be different?”
“because…you’re right. i’ve been too caught up in myself, in what i need, in what my team needs. i can see that you really care about your team, though, and i should have respected that. they’re — you’re — amazing, everything that you do to make people feel safe and heard and loved. i’m sorry for taking that for granted.”
wow. okay. 
you did not expect that. you’re hoping that vi can’t feel your pulse quicken at her words, but you’re glad that she’s holding on to you, keeping you steady.
“yeah, well…flattery’s not gonna get you far.” you clear your throat. “but, you’re obviously going through a lot right now, and it can drive you crazy, feeling like you’re the one who —”
“has to keep everything together,” vi finishes, sliding to the ground once more. you follow. “seems like i’m cracking under pressure, this time. fucking everything up.”
“you’ve got a reckless streak.”
“must be the aries in me,” she laughs, softly. “apparently it’s my Ieast attractive quality. along with my stubbornness and selfishness.”
“well, i don’t think that’s the whole picture,” you assure her. vi looks at you incredulously. “i won’t lie and say that your actions aren’t….thoughtless sometimes. you’re more self-centred than selfish—”
“hey!” 
“but you obviously feel some sense of responsibility, for your team, your family, for what you think is right. hell — the reason my boss asked me to kick you out is because you started a bar fight with that frat boy who was insisting he had the right dick to set lesbians straight.”
vi scoffs. “asshole.”
“i was about to throw him out, but you beat me to the punch. literally.” you nudge your shoulder against vi’s, and she chuckles. “and, yeah, you’re stubborn, which can be annoying, but it also means that you’d never give up, that you’re willing to keep trying despite the odds, so….” 
“so….?”
vi’s looking at you with the widest, softest eyes. fuck, you never expected her to be this gentle, so much so that it you want to melt to her every need. 
“i’m hoping third time’s the charm, varsity.”
vi smiles, the most sincere one she’s probably ever given you, and the scar on her lip stretches; for all your talk about responsibility, there’s a part of you who’d risk pushing your already tenuous relationship with your girlfriend to its breaking point just so you could kiss vi, guilt-free, just once. maybe you have a bit of a reckless streak, too.
“thanks, wonder woman. you won’t regret it.”
yeah. you kind of already do.
───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────
vi would never admit it, but one reason she fought to keep her community service assignment here is because she wanted to keep seeing you. 
she likes getting under your skin, seeing those pretty eyes roll whenever she strides in late for a meeting, that kissable jaw clench any time you catch her tangled up with someone else. 
it almost makes up for all those nights at sappho’s you’d spent flirting back and forth, some sort of unspoken agreement between you to never go further.
sometimes, it’s just nice to have a crush in your back pocket, to know that they’ll always be there to admire and admire you back while others come and go.
the more time you spend together, though, the more vi realizes that you’re not just a fictional character in her head, in a fantasy she pictures before bed — no, you’re tangible.
vi watches as you bring special tea for gert when their period cramps are particularly painful; she listens to you console mel after another fight with her mother and offer advice to sky when she was hoping to ask out her lab partner. vi notices how you prefer your coffee with a dash of cinnamon; and she learns that you had your first kiss with a girl in your freshman year journalism class, and that your first tattoo was done by the same person. a stick-and-poke star on your ankle.
she can hear your laugh, feel the cool metal of your rings brush against her skin accidentally when you’re squeezing past her in a crowded room, smell your perfume when you hug her goodbye. you have stories and quirks and expectations and opinions that vi subconsciously files away as she gets to know you better.
you’re not just a crush, anymore. 
you’re a friend. 
vi likes having you as a friend. really — she does!
you’re a friend who makes vi’s heart jump at the sight of your name on her phone. a friend who smirks when vi blushes after you tell her she has the prettiest cheekbones you’ve ever seen. a friend who mentions this vibrator that gave you one of the best orgasms you’ve ever had, so vi orders the same one and maybe still pictures you before bed, imagining that you’re using it at the same time. except someone else might be next to you.
yeah, vi’s pretty sure you’re dating someone, but that’s something she hasn’t gathered enough information on. 
not that it matters. she wouldn’t be interested in anything serious, anyways, after the mindfuck that was her relationship with caitlyn, and the damage she’s still having to heal from.
though, if that hadn’t happened, vi would have never gotten into a fight with maddie nolan, the second striker for the piltover knights, who taunted her during an exhibition game about how caitlyn is so much happier now that she isn’t disgracing herself with a filthy zaunite. vi would have never been banned from the first half of the tournament and chewed out by coach sevika for fucking up the yellowjackets’ chance at nationals. 
vi would have never been put on academic probation and assigned to 100 hours of community service, either.
she certainly wouldn’t have been here, now, in the women’s centre office close to midnight on a tuesday, folding the most recent issue of the black rose when you walk in.
“oh. hey, v.” you drop down on the zebra-striped couch, your tote bag falling to the ground. “i thought sky was gonna be here tonight.”
vi shakes her head, removing one earbud and letting it dangle from the cord. “she’s got this huge chem report due tomorrow, had to meet up with viktor to get it done.”
“right…” you sigh and lie back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. a few moments pass, and there’s only your steady breathing. “what are you listening to?”
your eyes are closed when vi settles in next to you. it’s a relatively tight fit, but it doesn’t seem like either of you particularly care. vi gently places an earbud in your ear.
you snort, opening your eyes. “you could have just said the cranberries.”
“i’m surprised you recognize them,” vi quips. “it’s not your usual angry girl music.”
“well, sometimes people surprise you. this is actually one of my favorite songs,” you explain. “it’s in one of my favorite movies, too.”
“you’ve got mail?”
you furrow your brows. “when harry met sally.”
vi shakes her head. “no, ‘dreams’ is definitely in you’ve got mail. but, i agree that when harry met sally is a better movie.”
“you’ve watched nora ephron movies and enjoyed them?”
“well, sometimes people surprise you,” vi teases. “i can appreciate a good love story as much as the next person.”
you let out a short, airy laugh. you tilt your head and you’re so close to vi that you’re practically exchanging the same breath. your eyes land on her lips for a millisecond, and vi starts to lean in before you sit up abruptly. 
“i could use some alcohol.” you climb over vi and go to the desk, pull out a half empty bottle of fruit-flavored soju from a drawer. you grab two mugs — the hayley kiyoko one, and another with frida kahlo. you stop short of pouring, looking to vi. she nods. 
soon enough, you’ve got your legs strewn along vi’s lap, sipping lychee infused alcohol. 
“can i ask you something?”
“anything,” vi answers, squeezing your calf.
“why’d you and caitlyn break up?” the question hangs in the air for a second before you add: “if you don’t wanna talk about it though, i understand.” 
shit. it’s definitely not vi’s favorite topic of conversation, but….
“i think she thought that i was one of the good ones, that regardless of the way i grew up or the blood that coursed through my veins, i would be her perfect little charity case. people would be like: future president kiramman definitely cares about the poor — just look at the broke angry lesbian she’s turned into her docile wife!” 
you suck in a sharp breath. “fuck that.” 
“yeah,” vi laughs sadly. “the worst part is that she wanted me to be vulnerable with her, so i was, because i thought the more i opened up, the more she’d love me, but, in the end….i was too messy. i was too much.” 
vi hates the lump that starts to build in her throat, the tears that threaten to spill. she cannot cry in front of you —
you grab her hand. your skin is cool against hers, and it eases her quickening heartbeat.
“you’re not too much, v.” your voice soothes her like honey, trickling down her throat. “it sucks, though, when they ask you to rip your heart out of your chest and get mad at you for bleeding out in front of them.”
“shit, i never thought of it so…viscerally, but that’s exactly what it feels like.”
“well you’re not a creative writing major,” you quip. “i know it still hurts — trust me, i know — but your heart was never hers if she treated you that badly. you deserve more.” 
is it the alcohol messing with her brain, or does it look like you want to kiss her?
fuck. 
vi clears her throat. “why’re you asking?”
you pull your hand away, take a sip of your drink. “jules broke up with me a few days ago.”
you’re single now. good to know. 
“what happened?”
“i caught her kissing someone at a bar. a boy.” you roll your eyes. “maybe she just wasn’t ready, which is fine, but when we had it out, she told me that what we had isn’t what romance is supposed to feel or look like, which sucked. especially after being so….vulnerable with her.”
“you offered her that bleeding heart of yours, didn’t you?” 
you click your tongue, pouring some more soju into each mug. “course i did, v. and it didn’t mean anything in the end. because relationships suck.”
“i’ll drink to that.” 
you cheers, keeping eye contact. 
“and you know what?” you take a big, long gulp. “i know that relationships aren’t just about sex, but i’ve been having to get myself off for months now and sometimes, i just want someone else to —”
“take care of you?”
vi sips her drink, watching you mull over her words.
“not sure if i’d put it like that,” you decide. “i just miss that excitement. when another person wants to discover what makes you feel good, and wanting to learn how to make them feel good, too. i miss having that connection with someone.” 
“i’m guessing you didn’t have that with jules, then.” 
“ha! no. and paula…the girl i dated before….let’s just say, she didn’t give a shit whether i felt good, in any sense.” you shift in your seat; vi senses there’s a story there, but she doesn’t push. “how about future president kiramman — she take care of you?”
vi can’t help but laugh. “nah. i mostly took care of her. she sure liked it when i got down on my knees for her.”
you hum. 
“lucky her.” 
you wink at vi, and she chokes on her drink. 
i would gladly do it for you, if that’s something you want.
“is that a genuine offer? because, if you’re joking —”
shit. did vi say that out loud? 
vi’s heart is beating out of her chest, but she sits up straighter to regain some level of composure. she nods. 
no use in turning back now.
“i’m serious, wonder woman.”
you stare at her. “i really can’t have another relationship that’s just gonna crash and burn.”
“that’s not what i’m offering. i care about our - our friendship. i care about you.”
you swallow. “i care about you, too.”
“right, and when our friends need help with something….”
“we help them,” you finish. “so, you’re really just talking about casual sex. right now, on this couch?”
“yes,” vi answers. maybe a bit too quickly. “if that’s what you want, too.”
“that’s what i want,” you reply. maybe a bit too quickly, too. “but none of this one sided bullshit: you do me, i do you.”
vi takes your mug, puts it next to hers on the floor, and repositions your bodies so that she’s hovering above you, hips set between yours.
“sounds perfect to me.” 
you finally, finally kiss and it feels oddly…familiar. you taste like lychees and nicotine and cherries, burnt sweetness, and your skin is so fucking soft.
“wait.” you tug on vi’s hair and she has to bite back a moan at how fucked out you already look underneath her, all wide-eyed and desperate. “just so we’re 100% clear: just sex.”
vi nods once. “no strings attached.”
“it’ll be casual.” 
“we’re not doing the whole relationship thing.”
“promise?”
vi sticks out her pinky, grinning at you sheepishly. you roll your eyes ever so slightly, but still wrap your pinky around hers.
“promise.” 
so, you take care of each other. no strings attached.
because that’s what friends are for, right? 
───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────
v ⚽
are u busy rn? got out of my lab early and im bored 
wndr wmn ☆
yeah, im at work
v ⚽️
leave early. im BORED and HORNY
wndr wmn ☆
ofc you are 
v ⚽️
pls u love it 
u know #6 isn’t just my jersey number ;))
i’m implying that i will give u 6 consecutive orgasms
wndr wmn ☆
yeah i got that 
v ⚽️
so….
wndr wmn ☆
….
leaving now
───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────
“you sure about this, v?” 
vi hums, looking up at you through hooded eyes. “isn’t it every girl’s dream to get tied up by the lasso of truth, wonder woman?”
you’re straddling her, still wearing your red and gold bodysuit underneath blue shorts that you’ve decorated with silver stars. your makeshift lasso of truth — really, just some gold rope — sparkles, tying vi’s wrists together to the headboard.
the theme of the women’s centre halloween celebration is always the same — dress up at your favorite female icon — but you’d never seen someone look as good as vi does. she dressed as trinity from the matrix, all tight, black leather and vinyl, showcasing her defined muscles as the gods intended.
now, she’s left in a sleeveless cropped top and black boyshorts, with her pants and jacket thrown somewhere on your apartment floor. 
you have a feeling she really liked your costume, too, because she practically begged you to take control tonight. 
“if it gets too much, our safeword will be —”
“sappho.” the slight whine of impatience in her voice sends a jolt right to your core.
“perfect.”
you kiss her lips, her jaw, her neck, your lipstick leaving angry red marks. you lodge your bare thigh in between vi’s legs, biting your bottom lip when you feel her already warm and wet, when you hear her whimper as you apply more pressure to where she needs you most. you reach into your nightstand for your vibrator and switch it on, teasing vi’s nipples through her shirt. 
vi moans, deep and loud. not even thirty seconds, and she’s already pulling at the restraints, the headboard creaking. 
“are you gonna be a good girl for me, violet?” you coo, inching the vibrator lower and lower, feeling her shake underneath you. “because we’ve got all night, and you better not break my bed.”
───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────
“hey, so — i found these in between one of the couch cushions, thought maybe they might be yours.”
you can only spare a glance at the item mel is holding up — you’re grading freshman papers, focused on this one student’s thesis about gender fluidity in shakespeare’s twelfth night.
“oh, those are vi’s.”
“hm. and just how is it that you know what her underwear looks like?”
you stop writing mid-sentence and look up at mel who’s giving you a pointed look. 
you and vi had been the ones to clean up after feminist film friday last week, and one thing led to another….
in your defense: vi had been wearing these low cut jeans that showed off her v-line, and you could tell she didn’t have her usual sports bra on because you could see the outlines of her nipple rings through her tight, white tank top. it took everything in you to wait until people cleared out during the credits of the watermelon woman to pin her down and have her whimpering for you.
“i just…guessed.”
“right.” mel rolls her eyes. “so, you and violet are….what? fucking? dating?”
you clear your throat and take a sip of lukewarm coffee. 
“we’re keeping it casual,” is all you say.
“are you sure that’s a good idea?”
you just shrug.
“just — be careful,” mel, always the diplomatic one, eases. she walks towards you, sits on the edge of the desk, and hands you the pair of black briefs. “i know we all teased you about it before, but i don’t want to see you get hurt. i’ve seen you get your heart broken one too many times.”
“it’s fine, mel,” you assure her, grabbing the piece of fabric and shoving it at the bottom of your bag. you’re visiting their owner after this, anyways. “vi and i are just friends helping each other out.”
mel raises an eyebrow. “well, you and i have been friends for years and we’ve never gotten that close.”
“that’s different.”
“how so?”
“i appreciate your concern,” you say, avoiding the question. “but it’s fine. nice, actually.” 
“it’s your life,” mel sighs. “maybe don’t fuck on our couches anymore, though.” 
your cheeks heat up. you turn your attention back to the essay in front of you.
“noted.”
───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────
vi starts showing up at your place after soccer. 
she’s allowed back on the field during games now, so she appears with a winning grin, a grass-stained uniform and fresh bruises on her knees. one time, she had the remnants of a bloody nose after a header gone wrong, and you could taste copper when she pressed her lips against yours before she hopped in the shower.
you keep her go-to body wash stocked — bergamot and cedarwood scented old spice — but she always walks out of the bathroom smelling like your mango-vanilla shower gel. sometimes even your coconut shampoo. she slips on one of your oversized graphic tees, drapes a light purple towel around her shoulders to avoid staining your shirt with her cheaply dyed black hair, fading back to pink with each wash. she walks over to the fridge in her soft gray sweatpants rolled at the ankles and cracks open one of the spiced-pear red bulls as you pull ingredients out for dinner. usually something quick and simple, since it’s always a long week and neither of you have capacity for anything more.
vi chops garlic and tells you about her game; you boil water for pasta and tell her about the latest drama between students in your literature class. 
you pretend you have all the time in the world.
because you both know that vi’s got the strap packed in her gym bag, that soon one thing will lead to another and she’ll be fucking you with it until you’re both sweaty and spent and exhausted in the best way possible. 
you’ve established this routine together, agreed upon several unspoken rules: no pillow talk once it’s over; no actually falling asleep in the other’s bed; no crossing that thin sapphic line between friendship and romance. 
no breaking that promise.
───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────
wndr wmn
wanna come over? i’m watching bend it like beckham
v ⚽️
MY FAVORITE!!
i would love 2
but lucky fell asleep on me 
we just finished devouring an xl pepperoni pizza 
wndr wmn
remind me again why your one-eyed golden retriever likes pizza so much?
v ⚽️
come on it’s cute
[v ⚽️ sent an attachment]
wndr wmn
yeah, you’re cute
v ⚽️
<3 
come over here instead?
wndr wmn
omw
───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────
vi whines, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.
“come on — hurry up.”
“you practically begged for this, v,” you chide. 
“yeah, but you’re taking too long and your hands are fucking freezing.”
“it’s the irony deficiency, babe,” you quip. “now, are you gonna be a good girl and let me finish?”
“fine,” vi grumbles. she does stop squirming, though. you hum, pleased.
you certainly didn’t miss the way her breath hitches at the nickname. vi’s right hand, freshly polished, tightens on your thigh.
you’re not sure why she called you at 1:27am for your help with this, or why she couldn’t just do it herself, but you’re sitting on her lap, painting her nails the color of pomegranate juice, a color she had chosen from the options you brought.
sure, you were about to turn in for an early night, but the moment you heard her voice through the phone, you rushed over to her place wearing nothing but your pajamas — plaid boxer shorts and a spiderman shirt that vi wore last time she was at yours, and you haven’t washed since.
you stretch time out as much as you can, meticulous in every stroke, but painting her nails doesn’t take much longer. you start to move off her lap — it’s probably time for you to leave — but vi grabs your hips, a playful smirk on her lips.
oh, right. that’s the type of relationship — friendship — you and vi agreed upon.
shit. you’re pretty sure that you’re wearing your days of the week underwear. is it a turn-off that you’ve got on a saturday pair on a thursday?
it doesn’t really matter, anyways.
instead of initiating a kiss, vi takes the bottle of polish from you, swaps it for black, and gestures for your hand. you blink at her, until you realize what she’s asking.
“oh! you don’t have to —”
“you do me, i do you.” vi grins at you. “i thought that was our arrangement.” 
you laugh, feeling warmth radiate from your chest.
it’s kind of….adorable, the furrow of her brow, the way she curses under her breath when a drop of nail polish falls onto your skin. she’s surprisingly gentle, too, one of her hands holding yours for support while the other paints. 
while she focuses on getting the polish onto your nails in even layers, you busy yourself by counting vi’s freckles. 
violet rose atlas has a constellation of freckles sparkling across her cheeks. you hope there’s enough time in the world for you to memorize every single one.
───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────
v ⚽️
do u need more nicotine gum? 
im at cvs rn
wndr wmn
yeah that’d be great!!
v ⚽️
ok 
i’ll get u the cinnamon one
that’s the one u like right?
wndr wmn
yep!!!
v ⚽️
okay cool
im also gonna get u some of those iron supplements
wndr wmn
my hero 🙏🏽
thank you sm
v ⚽️
ofc
───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────
“that red head was trying to get your number.”
“are you jealous, v?”
vi scoffs, sipping her cherry coke. “of course not. i’m just observant.”
you’d convinced your manager to let vi back into sappho’s. it’s nice, really, to see her back here again. 
nice, but different. 
gone are the days of staring at her from across the room, where she would be charming someone else, and only flirting with you when she came over to get another whiskey for herself and vodka something for her date. instead, she jokes around with mel, sky, and gert if they’re around, and sometimes brings her teammates in as well to play a game of pool. she usually has one drink, and then switches to something non-alcoholic. sometimes, vi doesn’t even come in for a drink; she just stops by to say hi before a team dinner or a study session.
(it’s fine — never once have you gotten an overpriced coffee from the cafe she started working at mid-october, and you probably stop by once a week between errands. that’s your excuse, anyways.)
so. things are different, but nice. 
you lean across the sticky counter. “you want me to get down on my knees for you right now to prove which girl here i’d like to go home with?”
“baby….” vi shifts on the bar stool. it’s hard to tell under the dim multicolored lights, but you’re pretty sure she’s blushing, too. 
“i think we both know you’d draw a bit too much attention to yourself. especially when i use my tongue to —”
“my car’s outside.” 
you smirk. “my break’s in 15.”
you used to spend your breaks in the alley outside sappho’s burning through a cigarette. now you find yourself knee-deep in the passenger seat, eating vi out like she’s the last thing you’ll ever taste. 
“f-fuck,” vi groans. 
“feels good, yeah?” you tease her clit with her tongue, sliding two fingers into her easily. you work fast, determined to let her finish before you run out of time.
“so fucking good. i’m gonna —”
she clenches around your fingers; you lap her up eagerly, let her writhe against your face until she’s had enough. 
you sit back on your knees once her hips still, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. you crane your neck to check the time on the dashboard, when you notice something in the footwell.
“vi! i thought i lost this.”
vi grins at you sheepishly, chest still heaving as you hold up the complete works of audre lorde, a tattered book with a well-worn spine and dog-eared pages. 
“sorry. i meant to put it back on your nightstand once i was finished.”
you open to where she’s placed a makeshift bookmark — the ticket from an underground sirens of zaun show you’d both gone to. you’ve had this copy since freshman year, the scribble of your handwriting in the margins of practically on every page.
“it’s okay,” you tell her. “you like it so far?”
“yeah.” she grabs the book from you gently, thumbing through the pages. you wonder if vi registers the curves of her own smile, tender and bashful. “honestly, i’m not usually a fan of poetry, but it’s really cool how lorde writes about desire between women in such a tangible way, you know? i really liked this one verse in ‘recreation:’ ‘touching you, i catch midnight as moon fires set in my throat.’ it’s just so - so beautiful, the idea of something so domestic and mundane being almost magical, because that’s what it’s really like when —”
you don’t even realize that you’re staring until vi looks up at you and freezes.
“sorry,” she clears her throat, closing the book and setting it aside. “did i say something wrong?”
you assure vi that she did nothing wrong. 
you exit her car, the taste of her lingering on your tongue, the feeling of her keeping your body warm on this cold november night.
───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────
wndr wmn
hey
are you in town during break?
v⚽️
having dinner at my dads’ on friday but otherwise im here
why? u gonna miss me?? 
wndr wmn
lol
im having ppl over for friendsgiving on sunday
if you wanna join
v ⚽️
hell yeah
can i bring anything?
wndr wmn
just your pretty face
i’ll take care of the rest
turkey, cranberry, sauce, stuffing, sweet potatoes, pumpkin pie…
etc. etc.
v ⚽️
damn!!!!
full course meal
wndr wmn
yep
im basically wife material
v⚽️
pls we’re so over gender norms
but yeah
you are
───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────
vi has never been the type to wait by the phone for a girl to text, or to show up at her place after not hearing from her in a while, worried that she might have done something wrong. 
yet here she is, standing outside your door.
it’s cool, though. completely platonic behavior.
she knocks. 
there’s no answer. 
she knocks again.
nothing.
vi waits another second, leaning her shoulder against the door.
“it’s me, wonder woman,” she tries. 
hope flutters in her chest as she hears you shuffle, unchain the lock. vi stumbles as you throw the door open, but she recovers quickly to find you: smudged black eyeliner enhancing the shadows underneath your eyes, hair in disarray, clothes disheveled. 
“i’m not really in the mood for sex.”
vi can’t help but laugh, even though your comment feels like a punch to the face.
“wow. figured you would think more of me by now than just some horny teenage boy.”
“look, vi —”
vi? 
since when do you call her that?
“i’m sorry i missed the meeting today. i texted mel —”
damn, so your phone does work. 
you’ve just been ignoring her calls and texts.
“but i’m just… it’s not a good time, okay? i’ll see you around.”
ah. 
the classic generic excuse and non-committal statement combo.
you start to close the door on her before she even has a chance to get a word in.
the hits just keep coming. 
thankfully, vi’s always been a good fighter.
“wait.” vi places her palm firmly on the door before you can fully shut her out. “i’m just here to check on you.” 
your face remains unchanged.
“okay, well, you’ve checked on me.” 
“yeah, i’ve checked on you. you look like shit.”
you glare at her. “well i’m sorry i didn’t have the time to get all prettied up for you. i know that you like me better that way.”
“that’s not what i  —”  vi inhales sharply. she’s a fighter, but she doesn’t want to fight you. “mel dropped the news — about admin officially cutting our funding. i knew how that would affect you, so….” vi lifts the bag of takeout. “i brought some thai food for us to share. a pomegranate, too, because i know you like seasonal fruit. it’s been a while and honestly, i just….i just wanted to spend time with you.”
you exhale, your eyes softening. 
there. 
a hesitant smile, an invitation to come inside.
there are clothes all over your floor and dishes piled high in the sink. your desk is littered with empty boxes of cereal and cans of an energy drink that normally you’d never touch. the blanket that sky had crocheted for you — lavender and pink checkered — is unfolded on your couch, your laptop half-closed on the coffee table in front next to two stacks of printed essays — ones marked with purple pen, the others untouched. in contrast, your bed is still perfectly made. 
you take the blanket and wrap it around your shoulders, sitting at the kitchen table and curling into yourself. vi busies herself in cracking open the pomegranate, putting the seeds into the last clean bowl in your cupboard. the palms of her arm wraps are now stained a reddish-purple, but she doesn’t care.
vi manages to find two pairs of clean chopsticks for the thai food, and the two of you eat in silence. 
“so….” vi starts, watching you stab a piece of chicken before popping it into your mouth. “you wanna talk about it, or….?”
“what’s there to talk about?”
“well, for starters, maybe tell me what’s been getting you into full hibernation mode? we haven’t seen each other in, like, a week.”
“six days,” you correct, chewing a mouthful of noodles. “last tuesday, we played pool during my closing shift at sappho’s. i lost. you made me down two shots of tequila because you’re a menace and you know i hate it.” 
“yeah, but i drove you home and tucked you into bed with water and advil for later, so i’m also a gentleman. so, just tell me what’s been going on. we’ll figure it out, yeah?”
“it’s fine,” you grumble.
“clearly, it’s not. just tell me what you need.”
“what i need is to not be distracted,” you huff, avoiding eye contact. “i certainly don’t need you —”
“taking care of you, i know.” vi grabs your hand from across the table. she feels you stiffen on instinct, and then ease into the heat of her skin. “trust me, i wouldn’t be here if i didn’t want to be. so — humor me.”
vi squeezes your hand, hoping to reassure you. 
you sigh. “i’ve just — i’ve been spiralling trying to figure out how the centre can keep going with, like, half our required budget, trying to see if we can get some external donors and i still need to finalize the venue and equipment rentals for our last open mic….and….and my sibling called again to tell me that things haven’t been great at home, so i want to go down there this weekend to sort everything out, but my car hasn’t been starting….plus i’m behind on grading, and i told my supervisor i’d have a complete draft ready by thursday and i’m not even halfway done, and that’s the same day we’re having that art build for the climate rally on friday, and i’ve been having the worst cramps since this afternoon, and all i wanna do is pass out and sink into my duvet, but i need to keep going —”
vi squeezes your hand again, this time more firmly. “you need to slow down.” 
“i can’t.” you huff. “i have to keep everything from falling apart, and if i don’t….”
vi shifts to the chair next to yours, still holding your hand. 
“but you can’t do it all if you’re too exhausted to take care of yourself. from the looks of it, you’ve been living off of frosted flakes, red bull, and zero sleep.” 
you shrug. “if that’s what it takes.”
“if that’s what it takes, then maybe it’s not worth it.”
“don’t say that,” you tell her. “it’s all worth it. i just wish it wasn’t so…heavy.”
vi nods, because she really, truly understands. she gives you the advice she can see you giving her in another context.
“you ever think that maybe it wouldn’t feel as heavy if you…i don’t know…weren’t too stubborn to ask for help.”
“there are things that are my responsibility, violet,” you tell her, slipping your hand away. you reach for the bowl of pomegranate seeds, meticulously picking up one at a time with your chopsticks and crushing it in between your molars. “i can’t just pass those off to someone else.” 
“fine. but what about other things? like the women’s centre stuff — we’re a team, right? so we’ll figure it out together, divide the labor so you’re not doing everything. and, maybe ask your supervisor for an extension, too? and, well, i don’t really need my car this weekend, so you’re welcome to borrow it.”
you pause, narrowing your eyes at her. 
“you said…. ‘we.’”
“well, yeah. i’m part of the team, aren’t i?”
“but you’ll be finished with your hours in a week. there’s no reason for you to stay.”
“of course there is,” vi whispers, studying your face as it morphs from suspicious to something else, something gentler. 
her heart is pounding as she waits for you to say something, so vi starts to dig into the pomegranate seeds, the juice surprisingly more sweet than sour. some dribbles out from the corner of her lips, and you reach over to wipe it away with your thumb.
“i’d love for you to stay,” you hum, smiling, and vi feels her chest glow with a brightness it seems only you can bring out. “turns out you give pretty good advice.”
“so…you’ll consider it.”
you shrug again. “maybe. i am very tempted to take you up on the car thing.”
“all yours, if you want it.”
“are you sure?”
“it’s fine, wonder woman. i’ll just carpool to practice — it’s better for the environment, anyways. can’t show up to the climate rally as a hypocrite, can i?” she jokes, and you roll your eyes playfully. “and, i’ll try to fix your car while you’re away.”
“wow. you are a gentleman.”
“gentleman? baby, i’m husband material.”
you actually laugh.
“i thought we were over gender norms,” you quip. “but yeah. you are.” 
vi’s cheeks heat up at your statement. you most definitely notice her blushing because you break out into a toothy grin
“i missed you, v,” you admit. “any other words of wisdom?”
despite your tender smile, you look exhausted. vi just wants to hold you through it all, tell you it’s gonna be okay. instead, she settles for placing a gentle hand on your cheek, running her thumb over the deep shadow underneath your eye. 
“get some rest, pretty girl.”
a few hours later, you wake up alone. 
you have a vague memory of warm arms wrapped around you, a heart beating steadier than yours. your sheets smell like old spice, your apartment smells like fresh laundry. you get out of bed and notice that there are no more dishes in your sink, no more cans or containers on any surface. all the clothes you’d been meaning to wash are now carefully folded on your couch. 
there’s a bright pink sticky note on your nightstand next to the keys to vi’s car.
you talk in your sleep. something about stargazing? maybe we can go when you get back. 
drive safe. text me if you need anything.
xxx
- v
───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────
zaun yellowjackets vs. piltover knights. 
two minutes left in overtime. 
one goal standing in the way of their trophy. one goal to end piltover’s monopoly over the title of national champions. 
caitlyn probably told her knights to be extra aggressive — win by any means necessary — so it’s been a long game of dirty plays and intentional fouls.
vi always puts her heart into every single game, but this time —
this time, it’s personal. 
zaun’s defense works to regain possession and prevent piltover’s attack. ashe manages to intercept a pass between two knights, and is quick in dribbling the ball until mid-field. she sends it over to vi with a swift kick. vi’s quick on her feet, catching piltover’s defense by surprise, sprinting closer and closer to the goal. she makes it to the penalty box.
this could be the winning point. 
vi has it, too. she’s so fucking close, about to fake out the goalie and kick into that hard-to-defend sweet spot — until a sharp, pointy elbow collides with her ribs so abruptly, it knocks the wind out of her lungs. she stumbles forward over the ball, knees skidding onto the grass. whoever it is also steps on vi’s cleat for good measure. 
“fuck!” she looks up to see who it is.
of course. it’s maddie fucking nolan, who doesn’t spare so much as a glance as the ref doles out a red card. she nods at caitlyn as she walks off the field, no doubt following her captain’s orders.
her teammates help vi to her feet, and the ref makes sure everyone is in position for the penalty kick.
this could be the winning point. vi just has to ignore caitlyn’s icy stare from a few feet away, and the heart threatening to beat out of her chest. 
vi takes a deep breath. 
she looks to the stands. among the crowd of screaming fans, zaunites and pilties alike, is vi’s family. they’re cheering.
you’re there too, sitting next to them. 
everyone is staring at vi, waiting for the whistle, waiting for her to make the shot, but the only person she stares back at is you.
you’ve got this, v, you had whispered to her the night before. she couldn’t sleep, so she called you. vi wishes she was back there, now — tangled in flannel sheets, lucky snoring at the foot of the bed, gazing up at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to her ceiling until she finally fell asleep in your arms.
but, vi’s on the field. 
and this is the winning point. 
the whistle blows. 
she makes the shot.
───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────
“i told you i wasn’t a jinx!” powder sticks her tongue out at mylo.
she’s all sweat and dirt and adrenaline, but, fuck, if vi isn’t so, incredibly happy and proud of her team, of everything they’ve been through, everything they’ve accomplished.
it almost doesn’t feel real.
just like it doesn’t feel real, seeing you talk animatedly with her sister’s boyfriend, laughing along with her siblings, smiling as you watch her dads hug and praise her.
when it’s your turn to do the same, you practically leap into vi’s arms, gushing about how amazing she was, how proud you are of her. 
“this looks good on you,” vi hums, as you pull away from another hug. her fingers play with the bottom of the jersey, and she bites the inside of her cheek to ground herself in the moment. you, with her family. you, in her jersey. “thinking of joining the yellowjackets?”
“i think i’ll leave the soccer to you,” you tell her. “you were amazing out there. guess i should be calling you wonder woman from now on, huh?”
“wonder woman! that’s where i remember you from!” vander suddenly exclaims, stepping closer to the pair of you. silco turns around, too. “you once tried to get into the last drop with a fake id, didn’t you? under the name diana prince?”
“shit,” you laugh nervously, eyes flickering between vander and the ground as if you’re once again a teenager caught in the act. “i….probably did.”
“i kicked you out, told you to go home to themyscira.”
“yeah…i….i remember that.” you nod slowly, furrowing your brows. “except, i didn’t want to go home that night, so i lingered outside,” you continue. you turn to vi, and your face softens. “which was when you —”
“brought two glasses of cherry coke and rum,” vi finishes; she sees flashes of that night as you gaze into her eyes. “we climbed onto the roof and —”
that was her first kiss. vi never even realized until now, but —
you were her first kiss.
“i can’t believe i forgot that.”
“weird, how memory works,” you agree, tilting your head curiously, looking at vi with a newfound interest, like a ghost from your past.
“well, isn’t this a story we’ll be sharing on your wedding day!” vander chuckles, ruffling vi’s hair. 
“don’t pressure them, darling,” silco chides, but the smirk growing on his face gives him away. he’s loving this drama. “they’re barely 23 — i doubt they’ve discussed marriage.” 
“oh, we’re not —”
“yeah, we’re just —”
“friends,” you say at the same time, careful to avoid eye contact.
vi feels like she might burst into flames at the knowing look vander and silco share.
“well, violet, would your friend like to join us for a celebratory dinner?” silco asks.
so that’s how you’re sitting between powder and claggor, listening to them talk your ear off about the young innovator’s competition. vi’s sitting across from you, next to ekko, who occasionally pipes in. 
you’re here, sharing the tradition of a post-game meal with vi’s family at the local pizza parlour. 
caitlyn never even wanted to meet vi’s family.
a few pizzas are ordered for the table, and you eat and laugh and sip your soda along with everyone else. you make a flower out of your paper napkin and hand it to isha, who’s on the other side of powder, and she gives you a toothy grin in return. you answer all the standard questions about your job and major and plans for the future.
“after graduation, i’m probably gonna take a break, get some work experience,” you explain. “maybe save up some money for law school a few years down the road.”
“you wanna be a lawyer, huh? you sure you wanna be friends with a felon, then?” powder asks, blowing bubbles into her soda through her straw. 
vi coughs, choking on a mushroom. 
“powder!” 
“what! she never told you?”
you shake your head, glancing over at vi who suddenly finds it hard to look you in the eye. your foot has been pressed against hers underneath the table all night; you pull it away now. she takes a big gulp of water; vi looks over at vander and silco for help, but they seem to be caught up in their own conversation.
“oh, damn! ” mylo adds, leaning over. “it’s a great story!” 
“guys, maybe don’t —”
“but it’s a great story!” mylo insists. “shows what a badass you are!”
“she didn’t do anything serious, like murder or anything,” powder clarifies. “it was really just her pissing off some enforcers —”
“rightfully so,” ekko adds. 
claggor nods. “we were just kids. they were harassing us for some bullshit, disruption of property or whatever, so vi steps in and things get heated —”
“it takes three of enforcers to get her handcuffed, but she manages to get a few nasty hits in before they send her off to stillwater —”
“she spends three days there —”
“i thought it was two —”
“no, it was three —”
“needless to say, this isn’t the first time vi has been sentenced to community service, but it seems she’s really enjoying it this time, thanks to you,” powder finishes, winking at you. 
“well that’s….quite the story,” you finally say, voice steady. 
“oh! let’s tell her about the time she stole from some enforcers that were hoarding food —”
as powder continues the story, and you listen intently, it’s hard to read your expression.
are you ashamed of being friends with her? disgusted by her family, her past? regretful that you ever let her touch you, let her into your life? 
vi’s stomach turns when your eyes collide; she’s been down this road before, and vi’s scared that she knows exactly what you’re thinking.
she pushes her chair back and disappears to the bathroom before she has to watch you walk away.
───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────
there’s a knock on the door.
“someone’s in here,” vi says. she grips the edge of the counter so hard, her knuckles turn white. 
deep breaths. 
this isn’t the same as before.
this isn’t caitlyn, who threw vi out like a piece of trash when something better came along. 
then again, you never knew this much about vi’s past. you’re well within your right to —
there’s another knock.
“v? it’s me….i have to get going, but i wanted to check on you before i leave.”
“okay,” vi clips. she looks up at herself in the mirror; she had splashed her face with cold water to calm herself down. a drop falls from her chin. “bye.”
“are you sure you’re okay?”
“i’m fine. see you around.”
you sigh, and vi hears you settle against the doorframe. 
“violet, let me in,” you press. “please?” 
“i’m fine. you can leave.”
“okay, well, i’m not leaving until i see that gorgeous face of yours one more time,” you whisper. “i got all dolled up just for you, and all i wanna do is give you a proper goodbye….” 
well, when you put it like that….
vi grabs some paper towel to dry her face and fixes her hair before opening the door for you. you smile knowingly, enter and lock the door behind you. 
you lean against the door as vi leans against the counter, the marble digging into her lower back.
“okay, i’ll start because, frankly, i don’t have time to waste,” you state after a few moments of silence. “nothing i’ve learned about you tonight has changed how i see you. it’s just confirmed some things.”
“right. like how impulsive and violent and reckless i’ve always been,” she lists glumly, unable to look you in the eye.
“maybe you are all those things,” you pause. “but, i don’t fucking care. i mean, i do, because it’s part of you and i like who you are. i like you.”
your words do wonders to ease the tension throughout vi’s body, and she feels like she can actually take a breath.
vi’s eyes lock onto yours.
“you do?”
“i like who you are, every part of it,” you tell her. “well, i don’t like that you’ve had to fight your way through an unbelievably fucked up system ever since you were a kid, but the bottom line is that you’re the strongest, most compassionate person i know.”
vi blinks at you.
“funny, i was just thinking the same thing about you the other day.”
neither of you say anything for a minute or so, letting the sentiment linger in the small space between you. once more, you’re the one to break the ice.
“well, you know what they say about great minds….” you step closer to vi. you take her chin between your thumb and your index finger. "can you guess what i’m thinking now?" 
vi shakes her head, throat suddenly very dry.
“i’m thinking that i’ve wanted to kiss you all night.”
“what’s stopped you?”
you grin. “i didn’t want to make a fuss in front of your family, but now that we’re alone….”
vi doesn't say anything, but instead closes the gap between your lips.
you kiss her, harsh and messy, tongue and teeth, swallowing her moans as your fingers snake down the waistband of her pants. you pull vi’s bottom lip with your teeth before moving to her neck, nipping along the outline of her tattoo. you bite down harder on her skin, right at her pulse point. 
"what’s that you said earlier —” a low groan tumbles from vi’s lips when you start to suck just above her collarbones. another when your tongue soothes over the sting. “about a proper goodbye…?” she tugs your hair so that you’re looking right at her. 
it’s quite the sight — your lips swollen, chest heaving, eyes curious and lustful.
“anything you want,” you whisper, all breathless. 
vi hums. she slips a hand underneath the frayed hem of your denim skirt, and you gasp as her nails scrape against your inner thigh.
she likes that you’re here. here for her.
"get on your knees for me, sweetheart.”
she pulls down her pants along with her briefs, as you kneel before her without hesitation.
you drape one of her legs over your shoulder, giving your tongue better access to her cunt. vi grips your hair tighter, bringing you in closer, and you moan, sending vibrations up her body.
"fuck," vi hisses. you add a finger, while your tongue works her clit. 
you bring her to the edge, stay with her even as her thighs clench around your skull. she expects you to get back on your feet right away, but you stay, adding another finger and sucking her clit. she moans your name.
you pull away slightly. "one more, pretty girl," you promise. your chin glistens with vi’s release; you lick your lips as you gaze up at her through thick eyelashes. "can you do that for me?" she nods furiously, and you get back to work.
after letting her ride your tongue and fingers through another orgasm, you kiss her ankle before releasing her leg. vi pulls you up to your feet, sucks the taste of herself off your tongue.
you pull away slightly, heart racing against vi’s chest. 
vi swipes her thumb over the smudged lipstick below your lip. she studies you, admires you, like you’re a fucking work of art that belongs in a gallery, like you didn’t just fucked her through two consecutive orgasms in the bathroom at a pizza parlour while wham's "last christmas" plays through shitty speakers.
"take these off." vi tugs at your tights. you do as instructed, slipping off your underwear as well. she pulls you towards her, and lodges a leg in between yours. your bare cunt brushes against her thigh, back and forth as she guides your hips. "i can't believe you got all dressed up…. wearing my jersey, and this pretty little skirt even though it’s so cold outside. all for me?"
vi flexes her thigh muscles, pushing you down faster and harder. you whimper.
"all – all for you.”
vi feels her pussy clench, with the desperation in your voice, the stickiness of your heat against her skin, the smell of the two of you intertwining. your orgasm crashes into you, and vi holds you through it. 
you kiss her ever so sweetly before removing yourself from her grasp, smoothing down your skirt and looking around for your underwear.
"where are my...." 
you look over as vi tucks your fuschia thong into the inner pocket of her jacket.
"i'm guessing you'll buy me replacements for christmas."
vi flashes you a shit eating grin before putting on her own underwear. she then pulls up her pants, not wiping your release from her thigh. she likes the idea of walking around with you seeped into her skin. 
when vi looks over at you, you’re as fully dressed as you can be and busy checking something on your phone. she only sees a flash of your lock screen, but it’s her. a photo of her and lucky playing at the park; there’s snow, so it had to have been a few days ago. 
that doesn’t mean anything, right? people use photos of their friends for their wallpaper all the time.
“i really have to go,” you sigh. you pull a tube of lipstick from your pocket and step closer to the mirror. “hey — do you think we could switch shirts? not sure i should wear this to my next dinner.”
vi nods and you remove her jersey, revealing a matching fuschia bralette. she wonders what’s got you all coordinated — who else you’ve clearly dressed up for. 
“so, you’ve got a hot date?” vi tries to act casual as she takes off her jacket, pulls off her shirt, and waits for you to answer. you take your time, fixing yourself in the mirror.
“something like that,” you finally say with a shy smile.
later, when isha’s asleep on powder’s lap in the backseat, vi thinks about how your date might have gone, if you’re taking them home to the same bed vi has fucked you in throughout these past few months.
where do you get off, fucking vi in the bathroom during dinner while her parents are at the table, only to leave for another date, wearing vi’s shirt, too?
“hey, can i ask you something?” ekko asks from beside her, cutting off the angry monologue in her head.
vi reaches over to turn down the music.
“sure, little man. what’s up?”
“what’s the deal between you and wonder woman?”
vi clears her throat, gripping the steering wheel. “what makes you think there’s a deal?”
“oh, please, we all noticed that hickey on your neck after she visited you in the bathroom.” 
the car crawls to a stop as the light turns red, and vi adjusts the collar of her shirt.
“we’re just friends.”
“well, powder and i were just friends for ages,” ekko points out.
vi doesn’t notice that the light’s turned green until someone behind her honks. she steps on the gas, but the idiot behind her still cuts in front of her.
“asshole,” she grumbles, throwing them a middle finger for good measure. vi glances to her right at ekko, who’s scribbling something in his sketchbook despite only the streetlamps outside providing light. “so, what made you….realize that you wanted something more?”
ekko closes his book, smiling to himself. 
“honestly? it was kinda a million little things, but what it really comes down to is that she’s the only person i could spend every second of my life with, and i’d still want more time. and, in my experience….it’s better to tell someone how you feel sooner rather than later.”
“or, some people prefer to wait a few weeks,” powder mumbles, stirring awake. “nice try, mister, but no interfering. i’m not losing 20 bucks.”
“wait — you’ve bet on my love life?”
ekko smirks. “so it is love.”
vi shrugs, pretends that she doesn’t immediately picture you in your kitchen, making her banana pancakes at 2am when she hears the word love. 
“it doesn’t matter.”
because, it really doesn’t matter. 
you’re out with someone else right now. 
it’s over before it really had a chance to begin.
───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────
cupcake 
Hey, Vi
Just wanted to say good game today
You played brilliantly
Violet
k
cupcake
No need for the attitude
I was just trying to be nice
Violet
my apologies!!!
thank you SO much for recognizing my talent captain kiramman
i feel like i’m actually worth something now!!!
cupcake
Bitterness isn’t a good colour on you, darling
Violet
im NOT your darling
cupcake
I’m aware
I saw you earlier with that girl
Are you together? 
Violet
idk
are you still with maddie?
cupcake
Actually, we broke up
I was hoping you and I could chat
Violet
what’s in it for me?
cupcake
The chance to reconnect with an old friend
───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────
you can excuse vi no longer attending the weekly team meeting. she finished her 100 hours around thanksgiving, so technically she didn’t need to be there anymore.
maybe you could excuse her ignoring your calls, or leaving your texts on read. it’s finals season, and she did mention picking up a few extra shifts to save up for christmas presents. 
but you simply can’t excuse vi walking into sappho’s with caitlyn fucking kiramman, ordering drinks from you like you’re absolute strangers.
“what the fuck, vi?” you seethe. 
vi glances at her date. caitlyn’s waiting for her back at a table, the glow of her phone screen illuminating her pretty face.
“what, should i have ordered something else? not every girl likes cherry coke and rum.” 
you glare at her from across the counter, but start preparing their drinks nonetheless. 
“why are you with her?” you throw some ice in a glass, the cubes clinking aggressively against the crystal. “are you back together?”
vi has the audacity to roll her eyes at you. “why’d you care?”
you catch yourself before saying something you’ll regret, something about liking her more than you definitely should considering the agreement the two of you had made. 
clearly, vi doesn’t feel the same way; it’s not worth spilling your guts to her at your place of work. 
“because we’re friends.”
“yeah, right,” vi scoffs. “you’re jealous, which you have no right to be because you’re seeing someone, too.”
you accidentally pour a double shot of vodka. you don’t really care, and mix the drink anyways.
“what the fuck are you talking about?” 
“i’m talking about the date you went on the night of my championship game.”
“what date?” you slam the glasses in front of vi, so hard that you’re lucky they didn’t break.
“oh, don’t play dumb.” vi spits your name like it’s poison. “this whole thing started because you said you didn’t want a relationship, when really you just didn’t want a relationship with me. you used me until someone better came along. you lied to me.”
her eyes are glazed over, her voice shaking ever so slightly. you’re not sure if you’re more hurt or angry by what she’s saying, but it cuts deep; you continue as though you aren’t bleeding out in front of her.
“i don’t want a relationship with anyone and certainly not with you —”
“excuse me! are we able to order something?” someone with bright green hair and a septum piercing waves their hand in front of your face.
“yeah, just give us a second —”
“look, you and your girlfriend can fight on your own time.”
“she’s not my girlfriend!” you and vi snap simultaneously. 
you glare at each other.
vi grabs the glasses from the counter, and walks away.
───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────
it took many brainstorming sessions, many boring conversations with potential donors, and many, many tears, but you managed to secure enough funding to keep the women’s centre going for the foreseeable future.  
it was a team effort, of course, so you just want everyone to enjoy this open mic night, the last event of the semester — even though you are weighed down by the absence of a certain someone.
the gallery space on campus that you rented out is both cozy and electric, decorated with fairy lights on the walls, with pillows and blankets on the floor for people to sit and watch performances. there’s a table with drinks and snacks, a corner for people to make art if they’re inspired. 
you’re rearranging the food, watching gert perform an original song when mel slides in next to you, wearing a gorgeous white dress with gold accents. 
“do you mind running to the office? we’re out of paint.”
“really? people don’t usually use the paint.”
“well, it seems to be quite popular tonight.”
“it’s fine. we still have lots of other stuff. they can just collage or something.”
mel shakes her head. “i really think you should go get more paint.”
“maybe ask sky? i should stay here —”
“you could use a break, too,” mel cuts you off, placing a hand on your shoulder. “you’ve been nonstop all day; the rest of us can hold down the fort for a little while.”
you concede, mostly because she’s right and you don’t have the energy to argue. 
when you get to the office, you’re surprised to find the lights on. even more surprised that someone’s already there, sitting on the zebra-striped couch.
“vi?”
she jumps slightly when you say her name.
“mel texted me,” she rushes out like she’s been caught red-handed. “said she needed help with something she’d been planning.” 
you frown, until you realize why mel must have sent you here, specifically. 
you haven’t seen vi since that night at sappho’s; you’d been quite a mess after your shift, ranting to mel on the phone about how she’d been right and you should have been more careful, how you don’t know what you did that ruined whatever you and vi had, and you really don’t know what you can do to fix it.
you’re both too stubborn to reach out to the other, so it seems like mel decided to take matters into her own hands. 
“yeah, i doubt she’s coming,” you tell vi. 
“okay,” vi says, but she doesn’t move. “i, uh, i was hoping i’d run into you, though.”
“yeah?” you raise an eyebrow at vi, crossing your arms. “needed another vodka martini for your piltover princess.”
“she’s not — we’re not together.”
“oh,” you exhale. the animosity you were holding towards her evaporates, but doesn’t completely disappear. you watch her, watching you stand by the doorway. 
there are so many things you want to tell her, but you don’t even know where to start. you know that you’ve hurt her. she hurt you, too.
but, also:
you miss the cloudy blue-gray of her eyes, the scar on her upper lip. 
you miss her.
“do you wanna come sit?”
after being so far away from vi, for what feels like forever, you don’t hesitate to take her up on the offer. your knees brush together as you settle next to her on the couch, a jolt of electricity passing through your body at the contact.
“so, i admit that —”
“vi, you were right —”
both of you stop your sentences short, chuckling nervously. you each urge the other to continue, and only get caught in a similar mess:
“i fucked up,” vi blurts out.
“i lied to you,” you confess at the same time.
an awkward, unfamiliar silence hangs above you; you’re not sure what to do next. 
vi takes the leap. she tells you that mel explained everything: that you had to attend a dinner with alumni and potential donors on the same night of her championship game, but you kept it from vi since it was already a big moment for her; that you haven’t been on a real date with anyone else since september. vi apologizes for jumping to conclusions and falling back into caitlyn’s arms, shutting you out when she should have just talked to you.
you’re the girl who was her first kiss, she says. the girl who lingered in a vague memory, appeared in the fiction of her daydreams, and then suddenly became too real. 
“i like you. i really fucking like you. and if it has to be as a friend, that’s fine because i don’t want to lose you.” vi takes a shattered breath, blinking back tears. she fiddles with the ring on her index finger, anxiously bouncing her knee. you place your hand there to steady her, and she exhales. “i guess i’m just not sure….when you said you liked me that night at the restaurant….is that what you lied about?” 
vi’s practically doe-eyed, waiting for you to respond. 
you shake your head. 
“i lied when i said that i didn’t want a relationship with you,” you admit, and the hint of a smile dances across her lips. “i had this major crush on you, you know? every time you came into sappho’s….i couldn’t help it. and then you showed up here and we became friends, and then we started….well, you know the rest.”
“duh. i was there,” vi jokes, easing into her usual, playful self.  
“i can’t do the whole casual thing,” you continue, rubbing circles into her knee with your thumb. “i know we made a promise, but i just can’t, not with you. it’s like…in every other relationship i’ve been in, i was trying to run out the clock. with you, though, with us, i feel like there’s never enough time —”
vi grabs your neck and crashes her mouth onto yours before you can finish your sentence. 
you’ve kissed each other many times, in many different places, in many different ways, but never like this: like you’re both willing to break one promise if it means forging a new one.
“will you be my girlfriend, violet rose atlas?” you whisper as you pull away, lips brushing against hers.  
you start to count the freckles on her cheeks as she beams at you, pulls you into her lap.
“i thought you’d never ask.”
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bluerosefox · 2 months ago
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Little Grayson and his Talon Knights
Got a new idea cooking in my head.
Another DPxDC idea.
A reborn into DCverse Toddler!Danny but also Dad!Dick and Talons.
Danny is reborn into the DCverse (either he's a clone of Dick, a created test tube baby, OR a kid Dick unknowingly had during his amnesia year) and wakes up in the Court of Owls who finally have their Gray Son and will turn him into the greatest Talon ever.
Thing is, Danny still has his ghost powers (King Danny? Idk leaving it open, either that or just able to control clean ectoplasm) and knows whatever fruitloops have him, this will not be fun. So, when none of the Owls are watching him, he uses his abilities to influence a few Talons and they all book it out of the place.
Danny later finds himself walking the dirty Gotham streets with a few Talons, one holding his hand while the others hide in the shadows in case they need to protect the baby Talon they all care for.
Of course, the sighting of a Talon holding a toddler's hand catches the camera's and Oracles attention very very fast.
One of the Batboys is sent out, not Dick he's on a space mission right now, and whoever it is, is shocked to see a toddler that has a LOT of similarities to Dick.
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starkspi · 6 months ago
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From "Managerial Liberties" on AO3 by @miribalis (where they collect fallen angels like shiny Pokémon at the hotel), it makes me really happy (and has my heart).
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xxplastic-cubexx · 1 month ago
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personal happiness or what the fuck ever
bonus:
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#xmen#xmen comics#cherik#charles xavier#erik lehnsherr#professor x#magneto#jeans here too but ssh#snap sketches#i havent posted anything in what feels like forever and i GUESS i have to remind people i do draw sometimes. whatever.#aka in my brain i have at LEAST a five-page doujin where this gets incredibly nsft but i dont have TIME for that these days do i#so for now we get just. these scribbles. ill be able to make something exemplary again someday i swear <- optimistic#i think im going to close my comms off for the rest of december once i get through the batch i have now#which ... doesnt sound hard since the amount i have will probably take me to the end of december anyway 💀#i just need everyone to believe me i have better visions for yaoifying issue 309 .... the opportunity is right there...#like wdym the dream sequence is gon end on a panel of erik's eyes as he reinforces the idea charles needs happiness like scott and jean's..#call up your ex. right now charles.#what got me peeved about this issue is i have no idea what color eriks outfit could be vjaeLVKEJARK its like.#is he wearing a lab coat over a suit .... i think thats the intention ... or maybe it is a trench coat....#idk shit for me to figure out if i ever get the time to explore this thing again#LIKE UGH IM SCREAMING i have Such Visions that i dont have time to execute and theyre killing me#maybe ill just write them down idfk <- trying to write fanfiction ends even worse for me than trying to draw#anyways. im gonna drive myself mad good night everyone#i have to go to a christmas party tomorrow night. later tonight. whatever.#BYE
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starmocha · 13 days ago
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I have no friends that play lads and after the trailer with Caleb my mind is in ruins and all i can think is arranged marriage between Colonel Caleb and his general's daughter. Ughh the tension and the dramaaaaa.
Thats it, thats all i had to say, thank you for coming to my ted talk (i really needed to yap about that to someone) 😂😂😂😂😂
🥹 Anon~ come back. Let's chat some more. I'll entertain all of your Caleb brainrots 🫶 You should also know that I saw this message this afternoon while I was out shopping.......the high-pitched gasp I had let out in public, because why is this right up my alley 😭😭😭 Ok I originally thought out like the whole situation in bullet points, but writing this one scene gotten out of control, because why did I get so into it, so I guess...consider this a snippet of sorts (it's kind of messy, but I was rushing)? 🫣 (or should I polish this up and repost it as an actual fic? I'm really digging this premise, if I'm honest 🤔)
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You didn't have a say.
You didn't agree to this marriage. The General—your father, you remind yourself, often feeling emotionally estranged from the man who has never once raised you, viewing you as secondary to his military career—has arranged for you to wed his colonel.
Colonel Caleb. He is young, ambitious, and with a bright future ahead of him. He will rise through the ranks quickly, many believe. No one is surprised that the young man is betrothed to the general's daughter. It seems only right that such an esteemed union should happen, bringing two honorable families together.
You didn't have a say.
The General—your father, you correct yourself again, your nerves getting the best of you—is walking you down the aisle, his arm looped around yours—tightly. The organ is playing the Wedding March. Why does it sound like a dirge?
All eyes are on you, the blushing bride in her beautiful pristine white, lacy long-sleeved demure wedding gown. You didn’t choose this. You didn’t want to wear this dress. You didn’t want to wear this style. This isn’t you.
You didn't have a say.
The guests are all part of the military. You don't know these people. They're the General's—Father's—acquaintances. His peers, his colleagues. Subordinates and superiors. They are all acquaintances of his. Who are these strangers?
"Don't mess this up," he whispers under his breath as you approach your waiting groom, dressed in his most formal uniform for this nuptial. This is his only fatherly advice as he gives his one daughter's hand away—to a man she doesn't even know.
You don't have a say.
The ceremony proceeds without a hitch. You didn't look at your groom, or rather, you barely registered the man in front of you. You had moved through the motion, did everything you were supposed to, just like in the pre-rehersal ceremony, but you weren't there. It was like your mind had slipped away, and your body was just moving along on autopilot.
"You may kiss the bride," the priest declares.
Your mind returns, and you still when he kisses you. There is cheering and applause. You aren't happy. Is he happy?
You close your eyes, just letting this happen. It will be over soon. Just let it happen.
You don't have a say.
His arm loops through yours, leading you back down the aisle. There is more cheering and applause, and as you leave the church, the sun shines brightly on your marriage, and flower petals are tossed in the air, raining down over you and your groom.
There is so much joy and congratulations. Why then does it feel like the end of the world?
You don't respond, your face unwittingly tucking away into his arm as he leads you away for the wedding reception.
You don't even remember the reception. Did it even happen? Did you eat? Danced? Were there speeches or well-wishes? What did the wedding cake taste like?
You don't remember.
It was mid-afternoon when you had left the church, but now suddenly nightfall came without warning. How did that happen?
You exit a car, your hand in his.
This is a hotel. Right. A hotel.
It's your wedding night. A marriage is consummated on the wedding night. That is how it typically goes.
You have to consummate your marriage. You have to...sleep with your newly-wedded husband. Your husband. Caleb.
You didn't want to consummate this marriage. You didn't even want to get married. But you couldn't say no. You couldn't say no to any of this, and now, you know you also couldn't say no to him.
You don't have a say.
His hand is so much bigger than yours, you notice, as he holds yours, silently guiding you to your honeymoon suite.
Every step, every action, brings you closer to that moment. You barely register anything, not even hearing the beep when Caleb swipes the key card on the digital lock of the suite.
You're led into an extravagant suite. There is a vase of red roses and champagne chilling in an ice bucket, all courtesy of the hotel.
Still, you don't feel like you are in the moment, being completely lost in your head. You have to sleep with him. You didn’t want to marry him. You don't want to be married. You don't want to sleep with him. You don't want him.
You don't have a say.
He pours you a glass of champagne. You drink it, hoping it will calm your nerves. It doesn't. You feel like you are slipping, thoughts running haywire.
"You look very beautiful," he says, his hand brushing away the loose strands of hair that framed your face. His hand cups your face, his lips on yours before you even realize what is happening.
He sets the glasses to the side, taking you to bed. You sit on the edge next to him, his lips on yours again. You're not responding. He stills, but just for a moment. Did he notice? He continues, his lips along your neck, his hand reaching behind you for the zipper of your wedding dress.
You feel a chill.
He undresses you, lays you on the bed, completely exposed to him. You're not registering anything, breathing shuddering as he looms over you, slowly undressing himself now.
This is happening. You can't say no. Just go with it. It will all be over soon. Just do your duties. Just drift away, and it will all end soon.
He leans down and kisses you again, and you don't respond. His hands explores you, and you close your eyes, trying to think of anything but this moment. You don't even realize that you are tensing until he stops.
"You're...crying?"
You gasp, eyes opening in shock when he brushes your tears away. He looks hurt. Why?
He kisses your forehead. "We don't have to do this," he reassures you.
You don't understand. This is expected. You can't say no. You couldn't say no to any of this. You can't say no to him either.
"We...don't?" You find your voice, as small and scared as it was.
There is so much sadness in his eyes. Why?
He smiles. There is no joy. He smiles and shakes his head.
"But...I...have...to....we have to..."
He is confused. "Says who?"
Is he really expecting an actual response? You feel lost and confused.
"Every...everyone," you answer him.
He huffs and shakes his head again. "We don't have to," he says again. "I won't force myself on you if you're uncomfortable."
"But...we are married—"
"We are married," he says firmly, "You are my wife, and I am your husband. What happens—or doesn't happen—behind closed doors is our business. Not anyone else's."
But people will talk. Time will pass, and people will start wondering why you aren't pregnant yet. That is how it goes, right? First comes marriage and then comes the baby carriage, or however the fuck it's supposed to go. You have to go through with this, the whole nine yards, or people will talk.
The military is full of secrets, but rumors will still snake their way throughout until it reaches your father. If he knows, he will blame you for embarrassing him in front of his colleagues. For being a worthless daughter who couldn't do this one thing right.
You have no say in this. You can rebel all you want, but he will always make you cower in the end and bend to his will, just like how this marriage has happened.
"We have to," you tell Caleb, surprising him, "I'm...I'm okay with this."
You gasp when he pulls you up and into his arms, your face pressed to his chest. His hand is big, you think again, feeling it stroking the back of your head, but you also realize it is so gentle. He is so much bigger than you, can easily overpower and overwhelm you, but he doesn't.
He is so, so gentle with you. Why?
You don't even realize you had started crying, your body trembling against his, until he asks, "Are you scared of me?"
And you pause, breathing still shaky.
He continues to rub the back of your head. He sighs suddenly, and he whispers into your hair, "You don't have to be scared of me. I won't hurt you. I won't force you to do anything you don't want to."
"It’s...not you," you say eventually, still unsure if you were being completely truthful with him. "It’s..."
You falter, unsure of where your fears truly lie. Him? The Gener—Father? Or...everything?
He shushes you again. "Don't worry about anyone else. Just trust me."
You look up hesitantly, your tears blurring your vision. He brushes away those tears.
You're looking at him. Truly looking at him for the first time.
His eyes are violet, you realize suddenly. They are so pretty.
"I'll protect you," he promises, "I'll keep you safe, so please....please don't be scared of me."
704 notes · View notes
sceletaflores · 7 months ago
Text
where there’s sparks, there’s fire!
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pairing: patrick zweig x fem!reader
summary: you can’t tell if patrick hates you as much as you hate him. every time you see him he’s constantly talking to you, touching you, trailing behind you. but he’s only doing all that to piss you off. you think back to tashi telling you it’s obvious that he wants to fuck you. you don’t see it. patrick wants to fuck everyone, you’re not special.
—or: patrick zweig is a slut. you can't stand him.
word count: 4.6k
contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all!), public sex (doing it in a coat closet lmao), more hate sex, swearing, fighting as foreplay, light choking, light hair pulling, degradation, even more hints of mean!reader cause i really do live for that shit, tashi and reader are cute besties always, porn with a little plot, no use of y/n.
author’s note: i originally wanted to post a tashi fic next but i realized i don't have any like actual full on plot filled patrick works lmao i felt bad neglecting him and my patrick girlies so yeah. once again had literally so much fun writing this, like i hardcore love this niche!!! i ride so hard for it!!! the tashi fic i'm working on also falls into this category lols and yes this is fourth of july themed and it's late shut up i cannot write fast for the life of me...anyway! to the anons who requested something like this, hope you love it! okay bye mwah xoxo.
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Patrick Zweig is a huge slut.
Everyone knows that. He doesn't even go to Stanford but he's still somehow managed to sleep with a third of the girls on campus, maybe even more than a few guys too if the rumors going around are true.
You hate him. Hate isn't even a strong enough word. You loathe him. You despise him. You detest him. Pick any other fancy synonym, the point still stands. You just really fucking hate him.
It blows your mind that someone as sweet and angelic as Art would be best friends with someone like him. Someone who's so obnoxious, so arrogant, so crass. Art’s the guy that goes out of his way to protect you from the gross frat bros at parties, only to bring his very own as a plus one.
Sigma Nu throws a rager every year on the fourth, extending invites to those who are still in Stanford for the summer. The women’s tennis team is always invited, and Tashi always ends up convincing you to go. Well, she’s less convincing than she is more forcing you, but it’s basically the same thing to her anyway. She did your makeup and wrestled you into a Hollister dress, vowing to get you laid as she straightened your hair.
Tashi’s almost more invested in your sex life than you are, constantly hand-picking guys on campus for your consideration. She actually offered up Patrick once when you told her you wouldn’t fuck any of the guys on campus at all. The two of you were practicing, she suggested it as casual as ever while returning your serve. You were so shocked you stopped in your tracks, letting the ball fly right past you. She assured you she wouldn’t mind if you did, that what the two of them had was quote “Nothing serious, he’s just a really good fuck.” and that you should “Totally do it. He definitely wants to fuck you, I can tell.” 
You just brushed her off, ignored the way she smirked knowingly at you over the net. Your cheeks burned as you served again, you wrote it off as annoyance. As if you would ever let Patrick Zweig fuck you.
You lost Tashi when she took off to the bathroom, texting you that she’d be a while thanks to a long line outside the door. You were leaning against a wall nursing a half-empty cup of jungle juice when he came up to you. You can’t remember his name, you think it starts with a B. Something like Brandon? Or maybe Brian? One or the other.
He’s Sigma Nu’s secretary, you sit three seats down from him in your economics lecture. Tashi says he has a crush on you, and he’s nice for a frat guy but he’s definitely not your type. He’s been droning on about his upcoming trip to his family's summer house in Cabo for almost ten minutes. You try your best to seem interested, humming and nodding every couple seconds. You’re in the middle of tuning him out when a loud, familiar voice calls out your name. 
“There you are!” Patrick Zweig shouts from a few feet away, ugly American flag patterned flip flops smacking against the ground as he makes his way over to you. He’s wearing a bright red button down and white cargo shorts you scrunch your nose up at. He’s tanner than the last time you saw him, legs long and even more toned. “I’ve been looking everywhere for that pretty face.” He coos sweetly, his hand that isn't holding a bottle of Bud Light comes up to pinch your cheek.
You scoff, smacking his hand off your face. “You found me, so you can go bother someone else now,” you say, rubbing your cheek lightly. “Bye.” You press, waving your hand dismissively when he makes no move to walk away.
Patrick grins, unfazed by your reaction, he steps in even closer. “Yeah, I missed you too,” he says breezily, his breath smells like cheap beer and camel blues. He’s just as tall as you remember. He has tacky blue shutter shades resting on the top of his head. His eyes rake over your body shamelessly, lingering on the low dip of your neckline. “Cute dress.” 
You ignore him, rolling your eyes before turning your attention back towards Brandon/Brian. He’s silent now, eyes flicking between you and Patrick skeptically. “Are you like, together, or something?” 
You laugh loudly, quickly shaking your head ‘No’. Patrick beats you to speaking though, “God no, man.” he says through a laugh, dark curls bouncing as he shakes his head. “I came over here to warn you.” He continues, voice and expression going overly serious like he’s not talking out of his ass.
Brandon/Brian’s brows furrow, clearly confused. “Warn me?” he asks, head tilting to the left slightly. His puka shell necklace makes a small clicking sound as he moves. 
Patrick nods his head gravely, clapping his free hand down on Brandon/Brian's shoulder a little too roughly to be considered friendly, shaking him back and forth like a rag doll. “Yeah, best of luck trying to get inside that snatch, man.” he says earnestly, jerking his head in your direction. “Cause’ she’s really fucking picky–”
You whip your head in his direction to cut him off, grimacing in disgust. “You would say snatch, you sick fuck.” you snap, red solo cup crunching quietly in your hand. Patrick just laughs, dropping his hand from Brandon/Brian’s shoulder. Anger stews inside you the longer he looks at you with that stupid shit-eating smirk on his face. 
You can’t tell if Patrick hates you as much as you hate him. Every time you see him he’s constantly talking to you, touching you, trailing behind you. But he’s only doing all that to piss you off. You think back to Tashi telling you it’s obvious that he wants to fuck you. You don’t see it.
Patrick wants to fuck everyone, you’re not special. Sure, he may feel the constant need to be a horn-dog when he’s around you. That doesn’t mean anything. Patrick’s just gross, constantly making crude comments or lame innuendos. What Tashi fails to see is him making sex jokes around you is just another way he can piss you off. It’s not an open invitation into those god-awful shorts. 
Patrick takes a small step back, big hands raising in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Put the claws away,” You try to ignore the way him saying your name in that goddamn infuriating condescending tone makes your cheeks start heating up. Patrick leans his shoulder on the wall next to you, looking down at you with a small grin on his face. “I actually wanted to congratulate you on cracking the top twenty.” He takes a long sip of his beer, head lolling to the side lazily as he swallows. “Lucky number 14.”
You’re not too proud to admit that Patrick is kind of hot, especially in this lighting. He’s objectively a hot guy, and he knows it. All tall and firm looking even in his horrendous outfit. But he’s kind of cute too, in an ass-holey way. His hair's a mess of soft-looking black curls and his ears stick out from his head sort of endearingly. He’s close enough that you can see he’s got a little brown in his eyes, and long lashes. There’s a handful of freckles sprinkled over the bridge of his nose. 
His big, strong nose that looks like it could work wonders between your legs. Or at least that’s what you’ve heard from Jen in your chem lab. Maybe this jungle juice is stronger than you thought.
Patrick's smirk widens, wolfish and dirty like he can see what you’re thinking. “That’s pretty impressive.” he continues, his tone a mix of genuine admiration and teasing. "Especially for someone who's always so...busy." He lets the last word hang in the air, a clear innuendo that makes your blood boil all over again.
"Busy training," you snap back, not willing to let him get under your skin any more than he already has. "Some of us have actual work ethic, Patrick. We put in the hours on the court instead of fucking anything that breathes, you know? So we don’t look like idiots that get their ass handed to them on tour by nobody scrubs."
You can feel the heat start to simmer in your stomach, anger and frustration bubbling beneath the surface as Patrick's presence continues to grate on your nerves. The tension between you is thick, amplified by the chaotic energy of the party swirling around you. You see Brandon/Brian take a long, awkward sip of his beer as he steps away, turning on his heel to quickly disappear into the sea of bodies crowding the living room. You roll your eyes internally, pussy.
Patrick grins, not deterred in the slightest. “You’ve been keeping up with my matches?” His voice is low and pleased sounding, shiny green eyes slowly getting swallowed by the black of his pupils. 
You pause, owlishly blinking up at him in silence. You’ve been caught. Shit.
You can feel the immediate warmth of embarrassment burning hot on your cheeks as you cast your gaze to the floor. “Only when I need to cheer myself up, a losing streak that high is actually laughable.” You mutter to the floor, lightly swirling your drink in your cup. 
Patrick laughs loudly, throwing his head back in amusement. “Still thinking about me though.” he says matter-of-factly, a lazy grin taking over his face.
His audacity sends another wave of anger and embarrassment through you, your grip tightens around your cup. "Only because you make such a spectacle of yourself," you retort sharply. "It's hard not to notice when you're crashing and burning so publicly."
Patrick's grin doesn't falter. If anything, it widens. "I'll take what I can get from you," he says, his tone a blend of amusement and something else that you can't place. "But seriously, congratulations. You deserve it."
His unexpected sincerity throws you off, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. It's rare to see Patrick in a light that isn’t coated in sarcasm or sleaze. You catch a glimpse of something genuine in his expression, something that almost resembles respect, and it confuses you.
It confuses you, and it makes something warm start to burn in your stomach. You can’t afford to feel any warm, fuzzy feelings around a guy like Patrick, not if you don’t want to get majorly fucked over the second he gets bored of you. 
You don’t know how to react so you do what makes sense, you lash out.
“God, will you just fuck off and leave me alone Patrick,” you say, tone over-dramatic and long-suffering as you tip your head up to the ceiling in annoyance. “I’m trying to have fun.” A lie. The party kind of sucked compared to last years. You were planning on talking Tashi into leaving when she came back, but he didn’t need to know that.
Patrick’s cool exterior finally cracks, letting out a quiet huff of disbelief as a frown starts tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Jesus Christ, what the hell is your fucking problem? I’m being sincere.” The playful light in his eyes is gone, replaced by something darker.
You let out a loud laugh, shaking your head in amusement. “Maybe I’d believe that if you weren’t such an ass. I know you too well, Patrick.” You say, tone mean and condescending. You know he’s right, on some level, but that doesn’t stop you. 
Patrick is silent for a beat, eyes boring into yours with an intensity that makes you want to start squirming. He lets out a quiet, bitter laugh, bringing his beer up to his lips to take a long sip. You watch the way his throat moves as he swallows, the way his lips look wrapped around the neck of the bottle. You feel a familiar heat start to pool between your legs, thighs clenching involuntarily as your mind envisions something else his slick, pink lips would look good wrapped around. 
He drops the bottle to his side, finally breaking the silence. “You know, now I do believe you.” he says casually, swiping his tongue over his lips lazily. “You must really not be getting any dick acting like this much of an uptight bitch.”
You reel back in shock, his words hitting you like a punch in the gut. The wave of fury that sweeps through you is almost tangible, your vision narrowing to a tunnel that begins and ends with Patrick’s infuriatingly smug face. “What did you just say?” you ask completely taken aback, voice low and rough. Your hand twitches at your side with the need to throw your drink in his face, anger and embarrassment lapping white hot flames in your stomach. 
Patrick just scoffs, heated gaze not breaking from your own. “You heard me.” He says, jaw set stubbornly. “You need like, emergency dick, or something to chill the fuck out for once.” 
You feel your heart rate spike, your free hand clenching into a tight wrist by your side. “You’re a fucking pig.” your voice shakes with anger, you feel sweaty and hot all over. The heat swirling between your legs is persistent.
Patrick laughs, a loud and infuriating sound. “Come on, we both know you’re fucking begging for someone to give you what you need.” He says like it’s obvious, you clench your fist a little tighter. He takes a step closer, voice dropping down to a whisper meant just for you. “I can help you with that. I can fuck all that bratty shit right out of yo–”
You’re reacting before you can stop yourself, hand flying up to slap him hard across the face. The loud crack pierces through the room, loud enough that a few eyes turn in your direction. Patrick's head snaps to the side, the shades resting on the top of his head fly off. 
Your heart stops, hands shaking with the realization of what you just did. You expect Patrick to flip out, start shouting and threatening to sue you or whatever else it is that rich people do. Time seems to slow down as he turns his head, and when he looks back at you, there's no trace of anger in his eyes. Instead, they're dark with something else entirely— something that makes your stomach flip.
He licks his lips, a slow, deliberate motion, and then he laughs, a low, throaty sound that sends shivers down your spine. A clear hand print grows steadily, red and angry on his cheek. "Fuck." he breathes, his hazy eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat. 
You’re stuck staring at each other for what feels like hours, the music and chatter from the party reduced down to a low hum as you’re caught under Patrick’s heavy gaze.
He drops his beer bottle on the floor carelessly, hand shooting out to grab your wrist tightly and drag you away from the living room. Your cup falls from your grip, splashing down onto the hardwood in a red sticky mess. You fall into step behind him, letting him guide you into the hallway outside the living room before he lurches to a stop in front of a closed door, ripping it open and shoving you inside. Patrick follows quickly, closing the door behind him and bathing the coat closet in darkness. 
It’s a tiny closet, you’re pressed up against too many coats fighting for space on the tiny rack, kicking loose shoes around as you try to find your footing. “Patrick, I–” You start, but you're cut off by a strong hand gripping your forearm and whipping you around. Your back hits the door with a dull thud, you don’t have any time to react before his lips are on yours.
The kiss is the opposite of gentle, Patrick’s lips are almost violent as they move with yours. Your hands tangle in his soft hair, kissing back just as roughly. He hisses into your mouth as you twist the strands in your grip meanly, pressing you into the door harder. His tongue forces its way past your parted lips, claiming your mouth fiercely. He tastes like beer, his fingertips are rough and calloused on your skin, pulling you closer as if he wants to meld into you.
“If you don’t want this, say the word and I’ll stop right now.” He says against your lips, breathless and rumbly. His hands squeeze your hips reassuringly, his own version of sincerity softening the moment.
Yeah fucking right.
“Zweig,” you say slowly, yanking his hair roughly. “If you don’t shut up and fuck me in the next ten seconds, I’ll kill you.”
Patrick grins wildly, surging forward to connect your lips again. Your hands find the buttons of his shirt as the two of you kiss, working them open one by one until you get too frustrated and rip the two half-open sides apart. Buttons clatter onto the floor of the closet, Patrick groans into your mouth, breaking the kiss with a huff. “I liked that shirt, dick. You owe me twenty bucks.”
You’re not listening, eyes trained on the bare skin of his chest as everything seems to slow down for a second. Of course, you’ve seen Patrick shirtless before, when he’s on the court and it’s above ninety or when he’s taking up space in Art’s dorm. This feels different, a completely new situation where it’s actually okay for you to stare at the expanse of his torso. 
You can’t help reaching out to touch him again— running your greedy hands down his chest, his abs, the sharp ‘v’ cut of his hips that makes its way into the waistband of his shorts. Your manicured nails scratch through the dark hair of his happy trail, you can see the muscles in his stomach jump.
“Fuck,” you whisper breathlessly and immediately regret it. He was already insufferable— all you fucking needed was for him to know how you felt right now. How the sight of his barely undressed body is making your pussy soak through your panties.
Patrick doesn’t even gloat, just uses his tight grip on your hips to flip you so you’re pressing onto the door harshly. He impatiently yanks the skirt of your dress up, wasting no time in hooking a finger on the lace of your panties and moving the fabric to the side for easier access.
You hear him pop the button of his shorts open, his zipper following close behind. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.” He says, sliding the thick tip of his cock through your slick lips, brushing himself against your entrance teasingly. “I’m gonna make you think twice about bitching me out ever again.” He seals his promise by grabbing your hair and yanking, causing a surprised whine to fall from your lips. His voice is so patronizing, but you aren’t getting mad like you should be. You’re just getting wetter, getting desperate with the need for him to get inside you right fucking now.
You grit your teeth in frustration, exhaling sharply through your nose. “I hate you.” You hiss, grinding back against his hard cock. You gasp raggedly as he starts to sink himself inside you, not stopping until his hips are flush against your ass. “Shit!” Your hands grip the door so hard you’re scared one of your nails will break. The stretch of him burns in the best way possible. You’d never say it out loud, not wanting to inflate his ego anymore than you probably already have, but he’s definitely the biggest cock you’ve taken. Almost porn-star big.
“I know.” He replies easily, hiking your thigh up with his hand as his hips start to pound mercilessly into the meat of your ass, not even giving you time to get used to the thick stretch of him. The loud smack of skin on skin fills the tiny closet easily, you hope to God the amount of clothes shoved in here somehow muffles the sound. The rough denim of his shorts scratches against your raw skin, adding to the sting of his hips.
Patrick was pounding into you in a way that makes you feel every inch of him. His cock felt impossibly big, filling you up like he was carving a place for himself inside of you. The sting in your pussy at the stretch of him is mind-numbing, you think you’d collapse from how hard your thighs were shaking if he wasn’t practically holding you up.
His big hand grips the sensitive skin of your inner thigh hard enough that it’ll probably be bruised by tomorrow. You distantly hope he’s high up enough that your tennis skirt will cover it, because if not it’ll be a hard thing to talk your way out of.
You throw your head back, a strained moan erupting from your lips. Your nails scratch at the paint on the door's edges, raking small lines down the wall. The loud squelch of your pussy’s overflowing wetness every time he sinks back inside you would be embarrassing if you had the mental capacity to care.
“Fuck yeah, keep making those slutty sounds, baby. Want the whole fucking party to hear how good I’m making you feel on this cock,” he mutters, hiking your leg up higher so he can pound into you deeper.
He drops your thigh, sliding his hand up your body and around your throat. You whine loudly, pushing back into his thrusts harder. Guys have tried the choking thing in the past, but Patrick’s hand is the only one that’s felt right. His long fingers curling around your throat like they belong there.
“Shit, fuck- don’t stop.” you mewl, lips parted in ecstasy. His hand squeezes a little tighter, not enough to cut off your breathing, just enough to get your eyes rolling back into your head as your pussy weeps around the thick length of his cock.
“That’s it, taking my fucking cock like you were made for it,” Patrick grates through a groan, gripping your hips and pulling out from your tight hole to spit on where his cock bumps up against your entrance before plunging back in.  You jolt at the extra wetness, whining at how dirty it is. “So fucking tight— does it hurt, baby?” he asks in a barely breathless voice, laughter edging his tone. “Is my fat cock hurting your tight little pussy?”
“God– shit, yes!” you sob loudly, cheek rubbing against the wood of the door as you nod your head frantically. “Hurts so fucking good.” You stop caring about inflating his ego, letting moans fall freely from your lips as you get closer to the edge.
“Fuck yeah, I’m gonna come,” he grunts, his rhythm growing sloppy and erratic as his muscles tense. He wraps your hair in his other hand, pulling hard enough to make your neck crane back awkwardly. He leans forward, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “I can feel you, fucking clenching up on me so tight,” he whispers, still pounding into you roughly. “I know you’re close. Do it. Come all over my cock like a slut.”
Patrick's hand tightens around your throat as he talks, cutting off your air for just a second. “Patrick!” Your voice sounds weak and strained, your hand coming up to wrap around his wrist desperately.
He pulls out abruptly, dropping your hair from his fist to frantically jerk his cock, burying his face in your neck. You can hear the lewd shlick shlick shlick of your wetness help his hand glide over the skin of his cock quickly. Patrick lets out a loud growl before you feel the sharp bite of his teeth sinking in where your shoulder meets your neck, muffling a loud groan of your name as he sprays hot come over the skin of your lower back and the swell of your ass. 
The feeling of Patrick’s hand wrapped around your throat as his come paints your skin has you catapulting over the edge. Eyes rolling back in your head as your convulsing pussy gushes wet over his spent cock. 
You drag in greedy lungfuls of air, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. “You came first.” You say breathlessly, voice scratchy and hushed. Patrick chuckles against your skin, swatting the tender flesh of your ass lightly. 
“Shut the fuck up.” He mutters half-heartedly, nuzzling his nose in your neck in a way that seems far too intimate for what the two of you just did. You don’t say anything.
Patrick eventually peels himself off your back, but the warmth of his body stays wrapped around you as he starts to gently wipe your skin clean. You’re ready to scold him for using some poor guy's coat as a come-rag, but when you turn your head to glare at him he’s using the inside of his own shirt. You wrinkle your nose, but a tiny smile fights its way onto your lips. So gross, you think with a sort of reluctant fondness.
He leans over to fix your panties back over your puffy, abused pussy. Your thighs continue to shake weakly as you try to stand on your own, still unsteady without Patrick holding you up. He gives you a sweet kiss on the back of your shoulder, smacking his lips loudly. You huff out a tiny laugh, pushing away from the door to face him.
You watch him as he languidly gets re-dressed. He looks well-fucked, his hair and clothes are mess, his face is flushed and sweaty. Your eyes trail down to where he’s buttoning up his atrocious shorts. 
The fabric around the crotch is darkened with your release, wetness soaking the denim around the zipper and front pockets. You gawk at it, a mix of terror and excitement swirling through your stomach. “You can’t go back out like that.” you say to his shorts, shame burning your cheeks. 
Patrick follows your gaze down to his crotch. A pleased smirk plays on his lips when he looks back at you. “I’ll text you later.” Is all he says, zipping his fly and turning towards the door. 
“You don’t have my number.” You say, tugging the skirt of your dress down over your hips. You can slowly feel the horny fog leave your brain, leaving you clear-minded and a little panicked.
He cracks the door open, but before walking out of the closet he looks back at you over his shoulder. “Art’ll give me your number. “ He says casually with a small shrug of his shoulder. You suddenly feel sick, wondering how many other people have heard that line before getting completely ghosted. 
Patrick must see the negative thoughts running through your mind play out on your face. He gives you an actual smile, one that has his eyes crinkling up the tiniest bit at the corners. “Promise.” He says with a reassuring nod, it’s the most sincere you’ve ever seen him. You bite your lip to stop from smiling at the hope blooming in your stomach, nodding back at him slowly. He throws you one last toothy grin before he’s walking out and closing the door behind him.
You sigh contently, staring at the closed door for a few beats before your phone buzzes to life from where it's laying on the floor. You bend over to search for it, blindly rooting around until you see the tiny display light. The ringing stops before you can answer, when you flip the screen up to check your inbox you have seven missed texts and two missed calls.
Four texts and two calls from Art, and just three texts from Tashi.
arty where are you? i’ve been looking for you are you okay? hello???
tash you know you're not invisible right? everyone saw your little show have fun <3
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tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!
mini a/n: yes i did change the title leave me lmao love you!
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starscream-is-my-wife · 3 months ago
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This is part 1 of a continuation for my other post where LL Megatron gets trapped in the G1 universe, I was thinking about how someone would go insane in this cartoon world and thought "what if Megatron had someone else to accompany him" so, I gave Starscream an existential crisis
Edit: pt 2 here
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teaboot · 2 months ago
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you're so like. inspiring. or i wish i could be inspired. you reblog that post with the blue critter and you're like "im glad i was born on this planet". how do i manage to get that mindset. how do i manage to not want the pain to stop at any cost and enjoy what's still possible to enjoy
It's my first time here and I'm never coming back
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cloudybarnes · 1 year ago
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bad idea right?
Pairing: theodore nott x reader
Summary: after theo breaks up with you, he pledges to make things right and do anything necessary to win you back. however, you are determined to make him work if he wants to win you over again aka part two to new beginnings
Word Count: 2.3k
Masterlist
a/n: LONG AWAITED PART TWO WOOHOOOO also this could be read as a solo instead of a part two if you really wanted, but here's part one in case you wanna read that as well ;)
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✰  ✰  ✰
“Please don’t tell me you got back together with him!” Ginny groaned. She sat on the edge of your bed as Hermione braided your hair for the night. 
“No, I didn’t get back with him. I told him if he really wanted to prove it to me, then he could.” 
“So you’re thinking of getting back with him.” She said disapprovingly. Hermione chuckled from her seat in the bed behind you. She was working on doing dutch braids in your hair. 
“I think it’s fine, Gin,” Hermione said. “It’s not as if she’s going to jump back in bed with him.”
You waggled your eyebrows teasingly to Ginny. She gasped and swatted your shoulder. “That’s so not funny, (Y/N/N). Just because you think he’s sexy doesn’t mean you should get back with him.”
Theodore broke up with you very unexpectedly. He barely even had a reason for breaking up with you, which left you heartbroken and devastated. You were in bed for a few days, had a good cry, and then you were back. 
Theo had tried to mend the broken bond between your relationship, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to take him back that easily. Your ego was high, and you knew you would be kicking yourself if something like that happened again right when you took him back. 
“Don’t worry, Ginny. If he really wants me back, he’s gonna have to work for it. He knows that.”
“Alright,” Hermione said as she tied off the end of your hair. “All finished. Your hair’s gonna look so good tomorrow.”
“Theo better be drooling when you see him,” Ginny said, “if not, I’ll give him a different reason to drool.” She made a motion of punching her fists together, insinuating she would punch him in the mouth. 
You chuckled. “Hopefully there won’t be any blood drawn. I don’t think he’d really wanna go through all the trouble if it just got him a busted lip.”
“Oh no,” Ginny grinned, “it would be more than just a busted lip. I’ve got five brothers, I’m known to throw a mean punch or two.”
“Lights out girls!” The prefect yelled as she knocked on your bedroom door. 
Ginny rolled her eyes. “Alright, I’ll see you guys at breakfast. But for real, if Theo tries anything you know I’m right there for you.” 
You smiled, grateful to have a friend as awesome as her. “Yeah, Gin, I know. Thank you.” 
She smiled, “night guys.”
You two said your good nights as Hermione moved from your bed to her own. 
“What do you think he’ll do tomorrow?” You asked Hermione as she shut off the lights. You pulled the covers close to your body, waiting for her response. 
“I’m not sure,” she replied, getting comfy in her own bed. “Hopefully something sweet. He’s got a lot of making up to do if he wants to get back on our good side.”
You smiled softly, “yeah, you’re right. Night, ‘Mione.”
“Goodnight.”
✰  ✰  ✰
The next morning at breakfast, the owl dropped a letter in front of you.
“What’s that?” Ron asked, his mouth filled with food. 
Ginny slapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t talk with your mouth full. Honestly, you act like you were raised in a barn.”
“We were raised in the same house, you know.” He pointed. 
“What a shame that was,” she replied. 
You chuckled at their banter, and ripped open the seal on the letter. 
“What’s it say?” Hermione asked. 
You scanned over the words before you read them aloud. “It says,
(Y/N), 
I hope you know how much you mean to me. I was a fool to break things off with you. I only hope one day you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me. 
Forever yours,
Theo”.
“Forever yours?” Ginny squealed. “That is so romantic.” 
Hermione raised her brow quizzically. “Weren’t you the one telling her not to get back with him?”
Ginny rolled her eyes. “I can have mixed feelings about this. He breaks her heart but then he writes her a love letter. It’s got me confused, okay?” 
You chuckled. “I think it’s cute. It’s not gonna win me back, but it was an alright effort.”
“Oooh, what a burn,” Harry chuckled. “Poor bloke must’ve forgot how stubborn you are.”
You shook your head with a smile, “nah, he didn’t forget. If I know anything about Theo, he’s just getting started.”
“So, (Y/N/N),” Ron said, “do you want to get back with him or what’s going on with this?”
You shrugged. “I mean, obviously I still love him. It just sucks what he did and I don’t think he should be able to get off the hook that easily. He shouldn’t be forgiven for breaking my heart just because he writes a little letter.”
“I love you for that,” Ginny said as she nodded her head. 
“Hey, (Y/N/N).”
Looking behind you, you could see Enzo give a sheepish smile and a small wave. 
You grinned, “Hey Enzo, how are you? Sorry about yesterday, by the way, Theo’s a little crazy sometimes.”
He chuckled and awkwardly rubbed his hand through his hair. “Yeah, I’ve noticed. But, yeah, no, Theo and I are all good. He apologized last night and told me all about his plans to woo you.”
You chuckled with a roll of your eyes. “Go figure.” 
“Yeah,” he smiled, “anyway, I just wanted to come by and resume how we were before, you know, the whole break up thing, and drop off this book I think you’ll like.” 
Enzo pulls out a book from his satchel and hands it to you. 
“Coraline?” You asked as you flip it around and skim over the synopsis. 
“Yeah, it’s kind of spooky and psychological which I think you’ll really enjoy.”
You grinned up at him, “that’s perfect. Thank you, Enzo.” 
He sent a tight lipped smile, and nodded before turning away and walking back to the slytherin table. 
“I like Enzo,” Ginny said with a dreamy look on her face. 
You rolled your eyes with a smile. “Go get him then. He’s a sweetie.” 
“You guys and those Slytherin boys,” Ron shakes his head with a scoff. “Not even that cute, I’ll tell ya.”
“Oh, what?” Ginny asked sassily, “like you’re cute?”
“I think Ron’s cute,” Hermione winked at her boyfriend. 
“Ugh, barf,” Ginny said. 
The bell rang. You all stood to gather your things for first class. 
“We’ll see you guys later,” you smiled as Hermione and you walked out to your shared first class. 
“That was a pretty cute letter,” Hermione said as the two of you started walking down the hall. 
“Yeah, I think it was sweet, but like I said, he can’t win me back that eas-“
“Excuse me?” Someone tapped your shoulder. 
Stopping, you and Hermione turned to see a younger Slytherin boy, presumably a first year, standing before you. 
“Uh, yes?” You asked confused, “do you need help with something?”
“Um, Theodore says I have to carry your satchel and books for you.” The first year stood awkwardly. 
“Oh, uh, that’s okay, you really don’t have to.” You blushed, a little embarrassed that Theo would make a first year cater to you. 
“I have to.” He said adamantly. “Theodore said he’ll set me up with this hot girl I like if I carry your books for you.” 
Hermione snickered from next to you. You turned back to her, a bewildered smile on your face as you tried not to laugh.  
“Well,” you said as you handed the young boy your satchel. “I can’t be the one to stop your true love, now can I?”
The boy grinned as he held on to your satchel as well as his. 
“Theodore is crazy,” Hermione remarks as you continue walking to your next class. The boy followed behind the two of you all the way to your first period. 
As soon as your classroom came into view, you could see Theodore standing there with a bouquet of flowers in hand. He grinned a devilish thing as he saw you approach. 
“I’ll meet you in there,” Hermione said with a knowing smirk. 
You walked up to Theo. He was beautiful as ever, but even he knew that wouldn’t get him anywhere. 
“Hi (Y/N).” He smiled at you then turned to the kid. “I’ll take it from here. I’ll have my guys put in a good word with Maizy for you.”
The kid nodded his head and smiled as he ran off. 
Theo threw your satchel over his shoulder and held out the beautiful assortment of flowers towards you. “For you, to say I’m sorry for being a douchebag and an idiot and a stupid motherfucker. All in the words of Draco by the way. Never knew how much he liked us together.” 
You chuckled and grabbed the flowers out of Theo’s hand. “Thank you.”
He smiled and shoved his hands in his pockets. “So, have you thought about what I said yesterday?” 
You sighed. “Of course I’ve thought about it Theo. Just like I’ve thought about how much you broke my heart when you dumped me.”
“Okay, I deserved that.” 
You chuckled. “Yeah. Thank you for the flowers, Theo. And… I still care about you, I just need time to figure this all out. I can’t just forgive you that fast when you broke my heart, just  last week!”
Theo sighed, “I know. I know! Fuck! I know I fucked up, baby, but I am going to do everything I can to win you back. I’ll wait for you. I’ll wait as long as it takes, baby, I swear it to do. The boys are down my back yelling at me for how hard I screwed everything up. They think I’m stupid, and I think I’m stupid too for letting you go. I promise you, I will do everything it takes for you to trust me again, mi amore.”
Your eyes softened. Theo knew exactly how to make your heart soar. 
“Theo…” 
“No, baby,” he shook his head. “You take your time. I’m gonna be here whenever you decide if you want to forgive me or not. Hopefully you decide you do want to forgive me.” He chuckled awkwardly. 
You matched his awkward laugh. “Well, thanks again for the flowers. They’re very pretty.” 
Theo smiled and nodded before turning around and walking away. 
✰  ✰  ✰
Later that night, you sat in the library studying for your Herbology final. Ginny and Hermione offered to help you study, but you knew you’d be here too late to want to burden them. 
As you flipped through the pages of your herbology book, you tried your best to take down any notes that you thought would be important. 
Your stomach growled. 
“Knew that was inevitable.” 
When you looked up from your textbook, you could see Theo sheepishly smiling as he held two trays from the cafeteria. 
“What was?” You asked with a smile. You cleared some papers to make space for Theo to sit down. 
He grinned and placed the trays on the table as he took his seat next to you. 
“Knew you would forget to eat while you studied for this exam.” 
You chuckled and peered over to see what Theo brought you to eat. Ham, potatoes, and stuffing from the dining hall. 
“Thank you, Theo. That’s really sweet of you.” 
He slid a tray closer to you, and you eagerly picked up the provided fork and dug in. 
Theo chuckled as you scarfed down your food. “Pretty hungry?”
You nodded as you finished chewing. Theo smiled to himself and started to take a few bites of his potatoes. 
“You’re being awfully sweet to me, Theo.” 
“Haven't I always been sweet to you, darling?”
“Well, yes. But that was before.”
Theo sighed. “I know I screwed up royally. I’m trying to make up for my mistakes. I’m still the same boy I was just a few months ago. I had a lapse in judgment and that cost me the best thing in my life.”
You frowned. “Theo…”
“Don’t you miss me, (Y/N/N)?” Theo shifted to face you straight on. He nervously leaned forward on the table, staring into your eyes, waiting for your response. 
“…of course I miss you, Theo. How could I not? You’re everything to me, and I’m just so scared of something like that happening again.”
“(Y/N),” Theo started. He tentatively grabbed your hands in his. “I promise you, with everything in me, if you decide to take me back I will never hurt you or disappoint you ever again. You have my word mi amore.” 
You were conflicted. You miss Theo like crazy. You couldn’t help it. No matter what you said to your friends about him having to work hard for you, it tore you apart every time you saw him knowing you still weren’t together. You missed being his. 
“Okay,” you said. 
“Okay?” Theo’s face lit up. “You-you’re giving me another chance?”
“Yeah,” you softly smiled, “I miss my boy.”
Theo grinned and yanked you toward him, engulfing you in a hug—one you’ve been waiting days for. You missed him. You missed being held by him. 
You held around his neck tightly, scared to let go. You never realize how much you craved his touch when it was gone.  
Theo buried his face in your hair, breathing in your scent. “God, I’ve missed you.” 
You smiled and pulled back. Theo smiled back at you. Slowly, you leaned in and pressed your lips against his in a warm, longing kiss. Your hands rested on his cheeks, his on your waist as you kissed with all the love stored up between you. 
When he pulled away, Theo stayed close with his forehead rested against yours. “I promise you baby, I’m here for good.” 
“You better be.” 
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lucabyte · 5 months ago
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A belief in Nominative Determinsim
#mira & isa sitting at the other side of the room: oh that cannot be a healthy rationalisation. someone should deconstruct that QUICKLY...#change's strongest soldiers VERSUS one guy echo chambering themselves about a susperstition-based retributive model of the world. GO!!!#isat spoilers#isat#isat fanart#isat siffrin#isat loop#sifloop#sloops#in stars and time#in stars and time fanart#lucabyteart#hey look now. this is softer than usual isnt it? ignore the. ignore the subtle damnation of blame unto the self. its fine. theyre fine#this is in fact a slight adaptation of that headcanon of mine i linked! yep! turns out the way to comic-ise it was to. make it like#90% speech bubble and get kinda weird with the formatting. it's clunky and experimental but hey. im experimenting.#the next ones gonna have even more fucking speech bubbles if it goes how im planning. christ#then its gonna get followed up with something wordless so. all things in perfect balance.#DISCLAIMER: i like to write loop and siffrin displaying the maybe not so great logic-holes their seeming fear of 'retribution for not#sticking to (the script) what the universe intends for them' entails. i do not agree with their weird philosophising.#i in fact think this is . bad for them. and am exploring how fucking unhealthy their mindset seems to be even when 'mundane'#OCD siffrin real as hell whats with the doing arbitrary actions in specific ways lest Something Nebulously Bad Happen little dude?#anyway if you caught the extremely blunt symbolism of kissing a hand with a knife in it you win a prize! it's called self-satisfaction 🎉🎉#hmm. do people realise i kept calling this type of back and forth between siffrin and loop a socratic dialogue bc socrates was also just#arguing with himself? like he was just making up the other guys. complete thought experiment. i also call them that because theyre WORDY!!!
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pummelingbat · 1 year ago
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Persecution Complex, or: "Just You, Me, And The Weight Of Your Dead Girlfriend Between Us"
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bluerosefox · 7 months ago
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Phantomish Rogues
Team Phantom get ripped from their home universe into the DCverse. With no money or real ID's in this world. Now thats a problem.
Another big problem is that Danny is badly injured and his core kinda put him into a deep cryo sleep. He needs to rest and gather ectoplasm.
Bigger problem Team Phantom have no clue how to get home because they don't know how to decode the Fenton Portal blue-prints, not even Jazz who at the time didn't pay attention to her parents portal work anymore by the time they finished it. The only one who does have an idea is Danny!
Biggest problem, they landed in a place called Gotham that seems to be overrun with actual villains and heroes? (vigilantes). And for some odd reason many of them seem to find them no matter where the Team goes to hide.
Until they can get their hands on a safe space, tech, and money, Team Phantom might have to go a bit Rogue/Villainous if they wanna keep Danny safe until he wakes up.
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chitsangenthusiast · 11 months ago
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red is to spider-man as pink is to miles, in that pink is the color of: self-expression, confidence, compassion. if you side with miles, if you want to support his growth, you're going to be in pink
that being said...a pink robe can be removed, and pink hairdye can be washed out
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starry-bi-sky · 6 months ago
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Unpleasant Revelations - DPxDC Ficlet Idea for the Stillborn Au
"Have you met my youngest, Damian, Mr. Masters?"
Its only from twenty years of long, hard experience and practice that Vlad doesn't increase the room temperature from 'borderline uncomfortably cool' to 'unbearably hot' the moment Bruce Wayne pulls his youngest and "only" biological son out in front of him.
He puts only in quotations because twelve year old Damian Wayne looks scarily, uncannily like one Daniel Brown. Jack and Maddie's foster son, second victim of their foolishness, and only other halfa in existence. Second only to him.
It's nauseating how similar they look. From the scowl and terrible glare on the young boy's face, to his brown skin -- which was only a few shades lighter than Daniel's, the shape of his nose, and even the strange winged edge of his eyebrow. Something that Vlad has long since come to find endearing on the child he considered a son of his own. The only difference was that Damian had dark, sharp green eyes.
Daniel's eyes were blue. The same glacier shade as his father's, who stood behind Damian with a proud, oafish smile on his visage.
It was infuriating how similar they look. Vlad might not have rapidly swung the room temperature from one extreme to the other, but he can't stop himself from letting the fury burning within his core from slipping out and raising the temperature up a few degrees.
Because it really only meant one thing.
Damian Wayne and Daniel Brown were related.
Damian Wayne and Daniel Brown were brothers.
Standing in front of him, it was clear as day. He can already picture a phantom image of Daniel standing beside Damian, the same scowl written on his face, the same glare carved into his eyes. The only difference being the dark, exhausted circles beneath them that seemed to be permanently painted onto his skin. The only thing missing being the permanent loneliness and vigilance permeating his being like a scar.
This, if revealed, would be enough to ruin Bruce Wayne's reputation. Or, at the very least, darken it quite a bit. The great philanthropist Bruce Wayne with another secret blood child? One related to his youngest? One that had been put into foster care? Seemingly thrown away?
It would be a firestorm.
One that Vlad is not keen on starting.
It would ruin Bruce Wayne's reputation, yes. But it would hurt Daniel in the process -- the harassment he would face alone might just be enough to break that fragile child completely. That was just not something he could allow. Or, even worse, bring him into his biological father's care and custody -- something Vlad was even less willing to allow.
It's not out of kindness to Wayne that Vlad will keep mum about this.
His grip on his champagne flute tightens, just a bit. He's still aware enough of the world around him to not let it shatter in his hands. His plastered, pleasant smile tightens around the corners, and he forces his focus to slide from Damian to Wayne.
"The resemblance is uncanny, Mister Wayne." He says, slanting his smile to the side slyly. Although he's not talking about the resemblance between Wayne and his son. Rage simmers beneath his skin, burning coal and embers in the core of his chest, nestled between his lungs, as he meets the man's eyes.
Wayne swaggles his head proudly, his ditzy smile widening as he squeezes his son's shoulder affectionately. Bastard, Vlad wants to spit.
He breathes in through his nose, and exhales out through his mouth. The champagne in his hand cools, and stops its unusual bubbling.
The Damian boy scoffs under his breath, his mouth still coiled upward into a scowl. With the revelation of his blood relation to Daniel evident, Vlad's not sure if he should find it endearing or not.
He is not Daniel, so he decides that it's just simply irritating. He decides to ignore it.
"And you said he was your only biological son?" He asks, voice lilting and head tilting. He knows its a suspicious question at worst, insulting at best. But considering Wayne's past proclivities, he can hardly call it an unexpected question.
Damian puffs in great offense, face twisting angrily. It reminds him of Daniel when Vlad insisted that he was wrong about something or other, and for a moment his heart swells, fond.
But this is not his child, and so the feeling quickly crashes and burns, simmering back into rage. This was not Daniel -- this was his replacement. A replacement that Wayne was free to keep.
Wayne chuckles, idiotically, as if he'd said some funny joke. Vlad's other hand, the one gripping his cane -- something he's required ever since he was dispatched from the hospital all those lonely years ago -- tightens instead. He grinds his teeth -- him and Jack Fenton would get along like a house on fire, he hates it.
"I can understand why you'd ask that, Mister Masters," Wayne says, squeezing Damian's shoulder again, "but yes, Damian is my only biological son. Although that doesn't mean I don't love my other children any less."
Bastard.
For all his posturing and flouncing about caring for his city and his children, Vlad never would have thought the Prince of Gotham capable of abandoning one of them.
But, well.
They all have their dark secrets.
And what one man throws away, another man picks up. If Bruce Wayne didn't want the treasure child that was Daniel Brown, then Vlad Masters was more than happy to take him instead.
"I see."
#dpxdc#danny fenton is not the ghost king#dp x dc#dpxdc crossover#dp x dc crossover#dpxdc au#danyal al ghul au#dpxdc ficlet#dpxdc fanfic#i was hit with this idea two hours ago and was hit with the intrinsic need to write it down#parental vlad masters#protective vlad masters#vlad is currently going 'OH? OH YOU ABANDON AND REPLACE **MY** SON??? MURDER. DEATH. BEES UPON YOUR FAMILY'#but he's also still like. evil. much less of a creep! but evil. so he comes off a bit possessive. which was intentional.#vlad's reaction is kinda valid if it was accurate and bruce DID willingly and knowingly abandon danny. except he didn't. he has no idea#danny is even alive. vlad doesn't know that tho. we all love a good reasonable misunderstanding :]#hc that vlad needs a cane as a human because the ecto-acne that killed him fucked his nerves up a bit as a result and now he's got a bad le#and is also immunocompromised. which had a slight hand in his 20 year isolation thing.#stillborn? no still born au#stillborn danny au#stillborn danny#vlad masters#this may or may not be canon to the au im still thinking about it#vlad acknowledges that danny is formiddable but he's also not wrong that a media shitstorm like that would hurt him considerably.#diamonds are the toughest known material to man and yet it still shatters like glass when put under pressure. vlad's right he's fragile#ummm anyways yeah Vlad finds out first and promptly decides to go 'oh okay so fuck you personally actually. keep your replacement child'#he has No Plans on telling Danny what he learned mostly for the obvious selfish reasons and also bc yeah. this is gonna hurt danny#ITS NOT FUN IF IT ISNT A LITTLE TOXIIIIC#i absolutely know that vlad only swears in deserts which is why its important that i have him call bruce wayne a bastard directly.
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choccy-milky · 5 months ago
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the place me and my roommate were supposed to move into today was so disgusting and uninhabitable we just took our stuff and left and now we're gonna be staying at airbnbs and hotels until further notice/until we can find a new place hopefully quickly...........im in my homeless drifter era y'all!!!😍😍so if im not as active then thats why LMFAO
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1 like = 1 prayer
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