#let Patrick “win” a fight against him.

[aiiaiiiyo]

[zweiginator]

Crawling After You (Patrick Zweig x Reader)

includes: mutual pining, friends to lovers, secret relationship

Patrick was your best friend in the whole world since childhood. You both went to tennis camps together and then to boarding school. Your parents are best friends, and they all thought your friendship would fizzle out by the time you hit puberty, but you stayed close.

And both of you would be in your own respective relationships that would inevitably fizzle out when your partners couldn’t get past your closeness. The bona fide twinkle in your eyes when you saw each other, even when it had only been a day or two.

Your friends all have crushes on him; they giggle and twirl their hair at his matches. They say they’re there for you, but you see how they blush when Patrick grunts, when he peels his shirt off and throws his battered racket against the pavement.

“You’ve never thought about fucking him?” Your friend asked you after your match. You were pissed about losing; Patrick was in your peripheral, beaming with his own friends about his big win against an NCAA favorite from UCLA.

“No.” You took a gulp of water, shaking your head. “I haven’t.”

“Do you think he thinks of fucking you?” Another friend butted in. “I mean, how can you resist that?”

You repeated yourself. “No.” Another sip of water, to help you hold your tongue. You weren’t in a good mood. “Patrick does not need help in the dating department, I know he doesn’t think of me that way. We are friends and that’s it.”

Except, since last summer, you had been fucking. A lot. The problem was that you and Patrick hated being told, “I told you so.”

And every single person you had crossed paths with, from middle school teachers, to tennis coaches, to acquaintances in your class were convinced you and Patrick would inevitably end up together. The story was too picturesque, your interests too aligned.

So you kept it a secret. You kept your chin high when girls fawned over Patrick, and he bit the inside of his cheek when boys whistled as you entered the court.

Last summer, Patrick and you got in a huge fight. You had never fought before; your friendship was uncomplicated. Neither of you ever directly competed against the other in tennis, you had almost everything in common. But after a team dinner one night in July, he and you were seething.

“Oh my god, Patrick.” You shoved his chest, annoyed that he barely moved from the force. You were in the parking lot, leaning against his expensive Jeep, a gift from his parents. “All you do is talk about the most shallow, meaningless fucking things.”

It started after he began to complain about your piqued interest in politics. You had always been well-read, but as Patrick said, “You just don’t need to talk about it all the fucking time.”

“What the fuck do I talk about that’s shallow? Tennis? Because last time I checked we both do that.” He rolled his eyes. “And don’t fucking shove me.”

You mocked him. You knew that was his biggest pet peeve. “You’re mad because I care about what’s happening in the world? Do you hear yourself?”

“I’m mad because you sound like a piece of shit politician, and your fucking personality changes as soon as you start talking to a new guy. And you’re becoming so fucking pretentious since you started hanging out with that fucking douchebag Vincent.”

You scoffed. “I find it funny you call me pretentious when you grew up in a fucking castle. Ironic coming from a kid who had escargot and caviar served to him on a platter at age 6.”

“What are you even talking about? You’re just saying shit that doesn’t even make sense because you know I’m right!”

You looked up at him through your eyelashes. “I don’t change my personality. I’m not even talking to anyone right now, and if I were, why does that even concern you?”

“Oh okay.” Patrick nudged you to move you away from the driver’s side door, letting himself in. “Get in, it’s about to rain.”

“No. What were you gonna say?”

He yelled your name. “I don’t want to get drenched. Just fucking get in!”

You crossed your arms. He was right, the wind was picking up, goosebumps peppered your arms all over and your hair blew into your face.

“Fine, then don’t.” He got into the car and started it. The headlights hurt your head and burned saucers into your retinas.

The rain began slow; fat droplets splashed against the curb and dribbled down your cheeks. And then it was faster, and the wind grew stronger, and you stood your ground. Patrick watched you, he watched your gray Stanford shirt get soaked, and your tennis skirt become plastered to your legs. Your hair was flush against your cheeks, eyelids heavy.

“Fucking get in the car.” He wasn’t yelling anymore. His shoulders were slumped, and you know he felt defeated as he got out of the car.

“Why don’t you tell me anything?” You started to cry. You didn’t know where this was coming from; this tantrum.

Patrick was soaked too. “I do tell you things!”

“Not as much.”

“It’s hard. It was easier when we were kids.”

“But what changed?” The engine grew louder, almost crescendoing in your ears.

"We aren't kids anymore. Everyone is always asking about me and you. There's no such thing as our innocent little friendship."

His words broke your heart. And he saw that as your shoulders slumped and your eyes welled with tears. "So what?" You asked. "What are you saying?"

Patrick sighed, pushing his wet hair away from his face. His white t-shirt was see-through, his broad shoulders rippling as the wind tore against his lean body. His voice was soft now. "Let's go back to the hotel. Stay in my room and we can talk."

The ride to the hotel was silent. Usually, Patrick would complain about water all over his leather seats, but he didn't say a word, and you wondered why, out of all the heartbreaks you had been through, why this conversation had chewed you up and spit you out so violently.

You sat on the bed with him and waited for him to speak first.

"Do you need a towel?"

You shook your head.

"What I was saying before," He began. "Why do we act like it's normal that in each of our relationships, the common denominator is that we are way too close?"

"We've never-"

"I know." He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm just saying maybe this friendship isn't really serving us anymore, and maybe it's causing more harm than good."

"You know what?" You stood up, grabbing your bag. "I've sat here and been your best fucking friend for twenty years, and now you're just taking the easy way out like you always do." You slung it over your shoulder. "I'll leave. Don't worry, I'll leave."

You wanted him to chase you down. He didn't. He didn't say bye or that he was sorry. One big fight during twenty years of friendship, and it would seemingly be your last.

The tournament was going on for another 3 days. After 2 nights of barely sleeping and going through the motions, of leaving the court whenever a mens' match was on, there was a knock on your door. You let him in; of course you did.

"I wasn't telling you I didn't want to be friends anymore." He whispered. Your back was against the door.

"Okay."

His finger trailed from the dip of your collarbones to your chin. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

You swallowed, loudly, looking up at him inquisitively, waiting for him to finish his thought.

He fucked you with your legs over his shoulders, while your roommate was at lunch with the rest of the team. Patrick muffled your moans by spilling his own into your mouth. Sweat dribbled off his chest and your nails raked down his back as he thrust into you, over and over and over again. Twenty years of reserved angst and repressed feelings manifested in desperate whimpers and the sound of skin on skin echoing off the chipped taupe walls.

No words, at that moment, needed to be said. He was yin and you were yang. Your friendship began and ended where your bodies met. And it would never be the same.

He told you he loved you after he came, and you reciprocated those feelings. Something was so thrilling about the secret, though. Of people gossiping and speculating about the two of you. Of you both feigning disgust at the idea of fucking your best friend, only to ride him in the back of his car until the windows fogged up, and his chest was red and raw from your desperate scratches.

You loved the thrill. One whole year of sneaking around and nobody had a clue.

One year of pretending to get sick at parties, so Patrick would follow you into the bathroom and eat you out on the bathroom sink until your legs shook, raw from his stubble.

One year of Patrick tugging on the collar of his shirt during a match to signal he wanted you waiting in his car for him afterward. If he won, he made love to you slowly, rocking his hips, so his cock went deep, deep inside. When he lost, he spat on you, and left bruises on your ass that stung the next week as you sat on the metal bleachers.

It was hard to fit twenty years of love and pining into that one year without it bubbling over. At graduation, you and your friends threw your caps into the air and Patrick kissed you. Hands on your waist, tongue in your mouth.

The team gasped. They hadn't known your secret for the past year. But they did know it was only a matter of time.

[gladiatorcunt]

patrick probably whines when you bounce on his cock.

cw: 18+ mdni, au of the ending where patrick wins (no infidelity btw, he and tashi never did anything), implied drug use, car sex mention, riding, afab reader, reader is naked/patrick is fully clothed, lowkey gross & nasty, breeding kink (i’m ovulating rn), unprotected p in v sex, slight degradation, unedited

You’re just so proud of your boyfriend, you can’t help but jump his bones immediately. You see Patrick running towards after his match, and you race to vault yourself into his arms. He laughs wholeheartedly and spins you around, partly happy because you seem to be so happy for him. He’s still in a state of shock, to be honest. Everything was leading up to Art cementing his place in his career, but Patrick had managed to beat him in the end. No one could believe it, Patrick’s hope had been almost completely gone by that point. But he did it, and maybe now he can leave behind the needles and scrimping pennies.

He still hasn’t processed anything, but your lips and giggles are too good to ignore. You gasp as he picks you up by gripping onto your thighs and hoisting your legs around his waist. You rock your clothed core against his abs for a second, in dire need of a little friction. Patrick makes the kiss messy, pushing more of his spit into the intense lip locking. He flicks away the string of saliva that connects your lips when he ducks back to look at you. You grin, eyes wide and cheeks blazing with heat. It’s a stupid decision, but you throw your body weight around to get Patrick to fall onto the bed with you.

“Fuck!” He shouts, darting his hands around the back of your head and digging his knees into the mattress so he doesn’t fall out. “Couldn’t have waited a little bit, are you a greedy whore all of a sudden?”

You shrug, “Maybe, but you’d like it if I was. Now come here, we have to celebrate.”

With that, you leg your legs fall open and put on your most convincing pout, beckoning your boyfriend to get a move on already. Seeing him sweat in those slutty shorts and hearing him grunt whenever he hit the ball really gets you going, something that you didn’t think was possible until you got an athlete boyfriend. It’s a competition to find out who can be the most insanely horny in the relationship at this point, and if Patrick ever got a hold of your diary, he’d agree that you win by a landslide.

Patrick latches onto your shoulders and spins to lie flat on his back with you on top of him. You adjust your position, jostling your hips until you’re positioned right over his hard bulge. You’re too busy getting lost in a flurry of clothes as you both kind of awkwardly undress on the bed, but eventually his pants are pulled down enough for his cock to spring free while you’re fully naked. You look like a porn star to him, teasingly swiveling your hips in the most seductive way possible.

He smirks and throws his arms behind his head, “I thought you were supposed to be my prize, what happened to making me feel like a winner?”

You bite you rlip, digging your nails into his pecs, “It’s not my fault you’re too keyed up to not cum immediately, savoring this is possible, you know?”

Patrick rolls his eyes and smiles, not picking a fight with you on that. Sometimes you like to get yourself worked up too, with his thick cock gliding in between your folds and mixing your juices together.

You lift your ass and throw a certain look towards him, and he tries not to be too smug as he wraps a large hand around the base of his hard cock. He holds the rigid length upright so all you have to do is hover over it and plop yourself right down on it. He doesn’t pump himself while he waits, he wanted to fuck before the match but you wouldn’t let him. You said it’d be better for him to have all this energy stored up.

You get restless and start to sink down on his cock, the stretch always takes some breath out of you but you were the one that decided to wait until now. Once he’s bottomed out, you’ve given up on teasing him until he breaks you entirely. You lift your hips until the tip of his dick catches on your hole and then slam down, starting off with a realsitically unattainable fast pace.

His fingers dig into the fat of your bouncing ass cheeks, “You’re inflating my ego too much, making me feel like a big shot getting fresh pussy in his hotel room.”

You moan, keeping eye contact as you fuck him into the mattress, “You- You are a big shot, babe. Shit- Just lie back and relax…”

The smell permeating in the room is already so pungent. Patrick’s natural musk intertwining with your own, if anyone else walked in they might faint, but to you two, you could cum from the scent of your sex by now. Being the same kind of freak in that regard brought you both so much closer if anything. You grind your pubes down against his, clenching on his dick on purpose. The friction is delicious for your clit, so you do it again.

He throws his head back, reaching up to curl one of his hands around your throat as you ride him, “Uh huh, that’s my dirty slut, so wet and tight for me.”

His words trail off into a squeaky whine as you speed up, truthfully losing stamina a bit but still determined to celebrate your boyfriend properly. You lean to press your sweaty tits right up against his own, and you whisper in his ear about this being a repeating occurrence.

“Maybe someday we’ll have a baby to put to bed first before we can do this, get them to wave at you from the stands and then pass them off to you when we’d see you after you win.” You lick the shell of his ear as you speed up, ignoring the embarrassing wet smacks of your slick ass against his hip bone. “Wouldn’t it be cute, me with a chubby baby on my hip that looks like you and another one already in my belly?”

“You’re a fuckin’ demon, i swear.” Patrick moans, giving you little whines here and there when you seem to really hit the spot. “Yeah, it’d be cute.”

What better way to celebrate than by having a baby?

He pulls you down by your neck to french kiss you, his tongue twisting around yours. The sheets are soaked by now and you don’t want to even imagine what the staff who have to clean his room will find. Random bits of fluid and the stench of sex heavy in the air, you’ll have to remember to leave some cash for a tip to ease your conscience.

You tighten your walls around him in short bursts until he’s clawing at your ass and smacking it extremely hard as he cums inside you. The stinging is a pleasant catalyst for your own orgasm soon after. You can’t wait to see how dirty you get his car seats.

[miss-americana-reputation]

love her madly

patrick verona x reader

warnings- smut 18+, fluff, oral (m receiving), daddy kink, spitting, name calling aka degrading, dacryphilia

inspired by love her madly- the doors

—————————————————————

“i got it.” i call out as patrick knocks on the door. “hi.” i smile and open it to see him smiling there. “hey.” he smiles back, softly kissing the side of my lips. “you’re early.” i point out, inviting him in. “wanna make a good impression.” he responds.

“okay, dad.” i call out, pulling him deeper into the house. i drag him into the living room to where my dad sits, watching tv. “yeah- oh.” he says, looking at us.

“this is patrick, my boyfriend.” i smile. “nice to meet you, sir.” he reaches to shake his hand. my dad shakes it and looks him up and down before letting go.

eventually i pull him away and into the kitchen where my mom is finishing up. “who’s this?” my mom smiles. “patrick, my boyfriend.” i introduce him. “nice to meet you patrick.” she smiles. “nice to meet you too, ma’am.” he smiles.

“dear.” she changes her attention to you. “hm?” i hum. “remember, we gonna have to cut dinner a bit short. the patterson’s invited me and your dad to a cocktail party.” she explains. “got it. i’ll clean up.” i softly smile. “perfect,” she says, wiping off her hands, “go make the table while i finish up.” she smiles.

i nod and pull out plates and silverware, handing the plates to patrick. we set down plates and cups. “wanna go get my dad?” i whisper to him as i follow behind him with silverware while he sets cups down. “i think he wants to kill me.” he whispers back. “i’ll go.” he sighs as he finishes and i smile as he leaves.

i help bring the dishes to the table as they come into the kitchen.

eventually we all get situated and we start eating. “food’s lovely, ma’am.” patrick smiles at my mom. “thank you.” she responds. “so any plans for after graduation?” my dad asks. “i’m planning on working at the music store at main street.” he smiles.

“oh isn’t that nice. been meaning to check that one out.” my mom smiles. we continue to eat for a moment, i softly take his hand under the table. i squeeze it one time for a check in, and he squeezes it back once to say he’s okay.

“so you do anything outside of school?” my dad asks. “yeah, i like to fix up cars, but your daughter seems to take up a lot of my time.” he answers, trying to get a laugh out of my dad. “oh. a future mechanic, huh.” he nods before eating.

dinner went by painfully awkward, eventually my mom and dad freshen up for the party and we finished eating then cleaning up.

“i think he hates me.” he sighs, carrying the last of the dishes to the sink. “he just needs to warm up to you.” i respond, washing off the plates. “do i smell like cigarettes? knew i should’ve not smoked today.” he asks.

“you’re fine, most dads don’t like their daughter dating people.” i smile. “hm. he thinks i’m a failure.” he sighs. “he doesn’t, i promise. he’s just tough.” i smile.

“okay, we’re heading out.” my mom walks into the kitchen. “okay.” i smile. “see you tomorrow. it was nice to meet you patrick.” my mom smiles. they leave as i finish up.

“okay.” i smile. he immediately presses his lips onto mine, lightly shoving me into the counter. “oh.” i hum against him. “sorry, i’ve been holding back all night.” he pants. i smile against him and pull him back.

he sneaks his hands down to my ass and he gropes them while he slips his tongue into my mouth, his easily winning dominance.

“pat.” i pant out. “hm?” he hums, moving down to my neck. “wanna go- fuck- upstairs.” i say. “okay.” he smiles. we move upstairs, stealing kisses and he slaps my ass a couple of times.

we reach my room and i pull him inside, quickly shutting and locking the door behind us. he pulls me on top of him on my bed. he connects our lips and it’s heated, clashing teeth and tongues fighting for dominance, which he quickly wins.

“please.” i moan, sneaking my hand down between us and palming him. his hand grabs mine and he flips us over. “did i say you could?” he spits. “sorry.” i apologize. “naughty girl.” he says.

he moves so he’s standing and i’m laying on the bed. “come on. kneel.” he demands. i follow his commands and kneel before him. “can i?” i ask, motioning to his fly.

“yeah.” he nods. i undo his belt and unzip his fly, then pull down his pants just a little bit. he helps me and pulls down his black boxers. his member pops out, slapping against his stomach. “shit.” he sighs, stroking himself.

“please.” i whine. “what do you want?” he asks. “fuck my mouth.” i swap his hand with mine and slowly stroke him. “yeah? want to have you throat fucked?” he smiles and i nod.

i take him in my mouth and he slowly thrusts into my mouth. “shit.” he takes my hair in his hands and uses it as leverage. i moan against him and he tightens his hand. “didn’t anyone teach you to not speak with a full mouth?” he taunts.

he continues to use me while i look up at him. “fucking slut.” he groans. i squeeze my thighs together for a bit of friction. “fucking pathetic.” he lowly laughs.

“wanna tell me who’s your real daddy?” he slows down. he pulls out and i catch my breath. “y-you. you’re my real daddy.” i look up at him, with pure submission in my eyes.

“good little slut.” he says, snapping his cock back into my mouth. “jesus.” he groans as i play with his balls. he continues to thrust into my mouth so i gag around him.

he uses my mouth like i mean nothing to him. i squeeze my hips together even more, trying to cause some friction. “look at you.” he smirks at my thighs. that just fuels him as he continues to fuck me.

i moan against him and he lets out a loud groan. i meet his eyes as i feel drool slip out from the corners of my mouth. he continues to fuck me and some tears fall down my face.

“aw. pretty baby is crying? you look so pathetic. choking on daddy’s dick.” he taunts. “shit.” he sucks in a sharp breath. “getting close baby.” he warns.

his hips become sloppy as he gets closer and closer. “oh fuck.” he sighs. “you’re treating me so well.” he praises. i let him fuck me as he eventually pulls out.

he finishes himself by stroking his cock and his seed goes all over my face. “shit, fuck.” he sighs as he finishes. he calms down and softly taps his cock against my head.

“here.” he says and quick runs to my bathroom. he comes back with a towel and helps me clean up. “you look so pretty.” he smiles as i finish cleaning up. “thanks.” i smile.

i go and wash my face and get ready for bed. i finish and join him in bed. “hi.” i croak out a bit as i lay down against him. “hey.” he smiles back. “you’re gonna be able to talk?” he asks and pulls me against him. “maybe.” i smile.

he softly laughs and kisses the top of my head. “you know i can’t stay?” he whispers after a moment. “mhm.” i nod. “where you disappearing off to?” i ask. “probably the same bar as normal.” he answers. “okay.” i nod.

“i love you.” he whispers. “i love you.” i whisper back. “i’ll stay until you sleep, how’s that sound?” he asks. “that works.” i nod as i’m already half asleep. “i’ll take you out for lunch tomorrow.” he promises. “okay.” i softly smile. “mhm.” he nods.

———

[notakugelblitz]

YOUR SONG • THE UMBRELLA ACADEMY (season 1)

Luther, Diego, Allison, Klaus, Five, Ben, Viktor

just imagine these songs being in the OST and playing during those “scenes” ;) you’re number 8 btw. english isn’t my first language so sorry if you spot any mistake. enjoy ☂️

LUTHER

/ your power : telepathy /

"I'm going to miss you..."
"I'll miss you too..."

Against his broad chest, you held back your tears as his hand gently caressed your scalp.

"We'll talk every night, won't we?"
"I promise..."

You pulled away and looked at him for a long time. He fixed his gaze on your lips, weighing the pros and cons of his intentions. Just as he was about to close the distance between you, your father burst into the room.

"It's time to go, Number 1. Clear out, Number 8, this isn't the time to distract him."

Luther finally planted a quick kiss on your cheek, leaving you breathless, a terrible frustration swelling within you.

Days, months, and years passed. Every night, you would retreat to the roof to gaze at the moon, talking to Luther thanks to your telepathy ability. You often fell asleep first, and Grace would come to cover you with a blanket when the nights grew a bit chilly. Luther loved to hum a song, Flares, as if to remind himself that you would always be there for him, sending him out flares.

DIEGO

/ your power : see the future /

A soft light filtered into the gymnasium's basement. A faint music coming from upstairs woke you up. You grumbled and stormed up the stairs. Wearing nothing but an old t-shirt belonging to your brother—and, incidentally, your boyfriend (no, thankfully, it’s not incest)—you flung the door open and saw Diego dancing with a mop in the ring. You burst out laughing, which made him jump.

"Am I dreaming, or are you laughing at me?"

You tried to respond, but tears were welling up in the corners of your eyes. Bent over with laughter, you suddenly felt warm droplets splash across your face: he had just splashed you with the mop. You stared at him for a long moment and jumped on the ring trying to catch him.

A wild fight ensued, in rhythm with the music, with the floor becoming extremely slippery due to the water. You delivered several kicks at him, which he blocked with the broomstick. It was a fight worthy of a Bruce Lee movie. Since both of you were very skilled in martial arts (and because you could anticipate each of his moves thanks to your power of visualizing the near future), you lowered your guard to let him win for once. Diego grabbed you by the waist, and you both tumbled near the entrance.

You ended up on top of each other, just like in all those wonderful clichés. Just as Number 2 was about to kiss you, the boss of the place stormed in. He flew into a rage and rushed toward the radio. Unfortunately, he slipped and crashed face-first onto the floor, making you both burst out laughing. Well... you had to clean up everything afterward, and in silence. Still, those moments of total hilarity were and still are the best ...

ALLISON

/ your power : water manipulation /

Having become a renowned actress, Allison traveled extensively. As for Patrick, he worked a lot. You were the perfect candidate to look after Claire. Having left the Umbrella Academy at the same time as your sister, you were inseparable, and whenever she returned from a shoot, you were so happy to spend time together.

Claire adored you, and you managed to calm her tantrums easily, greatly relieving Allison.

One evening, as your sister came home late, you put Claire to bed. She was having trouble falling asleep. So, you waved your finger over a glass, filling it with fresh water, and placed it on her nightstand. Then, with a soft and soothing voice, you hummed the lullaby Wendy sings to the Lost Boys in Peter Pan, her favorite cartoon. It was a routine that worked every time. Allison arrived in the middle of your performance and deliberately stayed behind the door to listen. Once Claire was asleep, you chuckled.

"I know you're there," you whispered.
"I know you know." she giggles.
"I heard a rumor that you stop spying on me."
"You know I can’t help it. It’s adorable. Thanks for everything."

You chuckled and rolled your eyes. It didn’t bother you at all. You went downstairs and opened a bottle of wine to celebrate her return. Patrick left you two alone, and you silently thanked him because these moments with your sister were the best.

KLAUS

/ your power : animal metamorphosis /

It was an evening like any other. Or at least, that’s what you hoped. You were waiting for Klaus outside the nightclub he was in so you could take him home. You preferred to be the one who did so rather than letting him leave alone in a terrible state. As the agreed-upon time had passed, you sighed and stormed out of your car. You entered the club without any difficulty, as the bouncer recognized you immediately. It had its perks to be a member of the Umbrella Academy back then. You searched the entire club for Klaus and finally found him on the rooftop. He was shouting incomprehensible things while walking along the edge of the building. You rushed to join him.

"Klaus, get down. Right now," you ordered, pulling on his sleeve.
"Oh Y/N, I’m so happy to see you!" he chirped, his persistent sniffles confirming to you that he had relapsed again.
"It’s not funny, Klaus, you could..."

Before you could even finish your sentence, he slipped off the edge of the building and fell into the void. Immediately, you transformed into a falcon and dove toward the ground, but it was too late: he had already crashed. Blood was pouring from the back of his head, but that didn’t stop you from kneeling beside him and resting his head on your lap.

"Damn it, Klaus..." you cried, pressing your forehead against his. "You’re such an idiot..."

It was as if your world had just collapsed, all because of some damn white powder and a brother who was a little too dependent. Suddenly, he took a huge breath, coming back from the dead. You were completely shocked.

"Oh! I knew you’d catch me. You always catch me," he chuckled, pressing his temple against your chest like a little child.

And then he fell asleep. You were stunned and took him back to your car. He had been dead... and then alive. High but alive. You didn’t quite understand what had just happened, and you never talked to him about it until he discovered his ability to resurrect in 1963. That explained a lot …

FIVE

/ your power : healing /

Since Five disappeared, not a day had passed without you searching for a way to find him. You studied all sorts of science books, looking for theories on time travel or anything related. Then, you expanded your research to history books, wondering if he might have done something that left a mark on time. When you were too tired to read, you helped Viktor make peanut butter sandwiches just in case he reappeared.

After leaving the Umbrella Academy when you came of age, you continued your research, scouring every library. But what you didn’t know was that a certain organization known as The Temps Commission had taken an interest in you and was considering recruiting you. Whether it was for your relentless determination, your knowledge of time travel, or your healing abilities, you could only be an asset.

When The Handler found you in an aisle of the Dallas Central Library, you immediately accepted her offer. If anyone had information on Five, it would be them. But your disappointment was immense when you found no trace of him once you were there. That didn’t stop you from continuing your search for many years, so much so that, after a while, Herb secretly helped you through the Infinite Switchboard. And that’s how you found Five, in the middle of the apocalypse. Having no right to interfere with the timeline, you begged The Handler to recruit him as an agent, just like you.

"I’ll think about it," she had said, even though she had already been watching him for 30 years.

Then, one fine day, you were summoned to The Handler’s office. Five was there too.

"Five, I present to you your partner, Y/N Hargreeves. Well, you already know each other. I’ll leave you to it."

She left the room, leaving you two standing there, arms hanging by your sides.

"I found you," he let out.

"I found you," you replied. "I trusted the signs, so I made my way back to you somehow."

"Pathetic," he chuckled, though a smile tugged at his lips.

"I'm glad to see you too, Five," you sighed, smiling just as much.

BEN

/ your power : invisibility /

As Ben was reading, an upbeat music filled the house. The 11-year-old boy went to the living room and saw Grace and you dancing the Rock'N Roll while laughing. Mom was teaching you some steps, her eternal pristine smile fixed on her face.

"Oh, Ben, you’re here! Do you want to give it a try?"

You jumped at the sight of your brother and suddenly disappeared, your cheeks turning red.

"Y/N, show yourself…" Grace sighed, amused.

"Yeah, you were doing great!" exclaimed the young boy.

You reappeared, looking at him with hesitation.

"Really?"

"Cross my heart!"

"Alright, kids, let's continue! Take my hand and follow my steps!"

So you listened to him, dancing awkwardly on the living room carpet. Your siblings watched you from the walkway. At one point, Ben let go of Mom and made his tentacles appear. He began making sort of waves in rhythm, which made everyone laugh. Your father and Pogo were in the surveillance room. The chimpanzee glanced at his master: he was smiling discreetly. Eventually, all the other children came to join you, even Viktor, who had always felt excluded. These moments of joy and freedom were rare. Your gaze met Ben's, sparkling. So, this was happiness.

After Ben's death, whenever you felt sad, your radio would turn on by itself to play that eternal song, warming your heart. Much later, Klaus told you that Ben's ghost had been watching over you and, not wanting to scare you, this was the most discreet way to comfort you.

VIKTOR

On this September 6th, 1997, everyone felt relaxed because it was Saturday, and every first Saturday of the month was a day off for the Umbrella Academy. No training until Monday. Of course, the children were encouraged to study, but that was certainly not on your mind, nor on Viktor's. As you were watching TV, sitting on the floor, a news flash interrupted your documentary on Canadian otters. Lady Diana's funeral was being broadcast live from London.

"She was so beautiful," you sighed, resting your chin on your knees, which were encircled by your arms.
"I'm sure it wasn't an accident," Viktor murmured conspiratorially, looking absent-minded.

His pale face suddenly lit up, and he immediately straightened.

"Look! It's Elton John!"

Immediately, you pressed your little noses against the screen to watch the singer enter the abbey. The presenter announced that he was going to sing a final tribute to his late best friend.

"Move away from the screen, you'll hurt your eyes," Grace gently instructed, holding a tray filled with cookies.

“Mom! Can you record this, please?" you exclaimed without even turning around.
“Of course, Number 8," she replied.
"Imagine if we could play this song ! You with the violin and me with the piano !" you giggled.

Viktor nodded with a large smile, still absorbed by the man's performance. Ever since, you've watched repeatedly the tape Grace made you, learning the partition thanks to your perfect pitch. You'd usually play along to distract your father who appreciated it. Oh he never said so but his silence was quite approving.

[writemekpop]

Double Life | Lee Jeno

Summary: You’re thinking of ending things with your boring boyfriend Jeno – when he confesses that he has a surprising secret life. 

Genre: No jam Jeno, he's kinda dumb but he cute, established relationship AU

Word Count: 1.3k

“Okay, okay, Spongebob or Patrick – who would win in a fight?”  

Jeno was speaking so animatedly that his dark wavy hair flopped up and down.

“I don’t know, Jeno,” you sighed, walking through the supermarket aisle. 

Once again, you wished your boyfriend was… different. Less nerdy. You wished he helped you with the chores, rather than sneaking Froot Loops into the trolley. You kept planning to break up with him… you just never got round to it. 

Just then, you heard a gunshot. Your muscles turned to jelly. It had to be a store robbery! 

Suddenly, Jeno grabbed your hand and pulled you into a nearby janitor’s closet. 

Your bodies were pressed against each other in the dim light. The firm muscle of Jeno’s chest pressed against yours. You’d never noticed how toned he was. You felt heat rush to your face. 

“Listen to me, Y/n,” Jeno’s voice was deep, confident… sexy. You’d never heard him talk in this way before.

“What?” you said, heart racing. 

“I’m – a secret agent.” Jeno said. “US government.” You blinked. “Sorry?” 

“Clandestine operative?” 

You frowned.

“Black ops?” 

You shook your head.  

Jeno huffed impatiently. “Y/n, I’m trying to tell you that I’m a… spy.”

Despite your fear, you laughed. “Jeno! Stop messing around.”

Jeno sighed, running his hand through his hair. “I figured I had to tell you the truth. You’re about to see me use seven different kinds of martial arts.”  

A thrill ran through you. Was Jeno – a guy who couldn’t kill a spider on his own – putting his life at risk for the nation?   

You heard footsteps approaching the door. Jeno began unbuttoning his shirt. “Now, I don’t mean to surprise you, but I have an idea.”  

You nodded, unable to believe your passive boyfriend was finally taking charge. 

Just as the door was flung open, Jeno – now shirtless – pulled you into his arms and kissed you with a passion that took your breath away. 

There was nothing gentle about this kiss – Jeno pushed your back against the cool concrete, bunching your shirt in his fists. You shivered at the feeling of his warm, wet tongue in your mouth.

“Are you hiding in-“ a voice barked, then fell silent, before suddenly shutting the door again. 

You burst out laughing, trying to hush your giggles against Jeno’s neck. He was chuckling, too. “I had a feeling that might surprise him,” Jeno said. 

You looked away, suddenly conscious of Jeno’s nakedness. Even though he was your boyfriend, he felt like a stranger today. 

Jeno’s hand brushed a stray hair out of your face. “It’s okay. You can look.”

You slowly turned your face, taking in the smooth ripples of Jeno’s tanned stomach, the faint trail of dark hair winding down it. You realised you hadn’t seen Jeno naked in over a year, maybe.

Your heart was heavy. Jeno’s career, Jeno’s body, Jeno’s life – you knew nothing about any of them. It felt like he wasn’t your boyfriend at all. 

Jeno’s eyes refused to leave yours. “Everything I do, Y/n – I do it for you. To build a world where we don’t have to be afraid anymore.” 

You clutched Jeno’s hand. “Let’s get out of this place before someone comes looking.”

You both crept out into the supermarket aisle… when you were confronted by a masked man holding a gun. “Hey!” he yelled. “We missed one of ‘em!” 

“I’m sorry, does this supermarket belong to you?” Jeno boomed.

You were so shocked you couldn’t breathe.  

Laughing, the man called two of his friends over. “Check out this punk!” 

The man shoved Jeno’s shoulder. Jeno stared right back at him, towering over him, his face like stone.

The man’s voice darkened. “This guy’s got a death wish.”

Jeno reached for his back pocket. All three of the guys took a step back. “Now, gentlemen” Jeno said, “I don’t want to use this, but if you try anything, I will.” 

Relief trickled down your body. 

Until one of the guys at the back said, “I call your bluff. He ain’t got no gun!” 

The others, realising that this was true, glared at Jeno. 

“Beat him up or something!” you hissed at Jeno, who was still frozen. “Use your – karate or whatever!” 

But Jeno just raised his hands above his head. He was shaking. 

“I… can’t,” he breathed.

“What do you mean? Use your spy training,” you said. “Don’t give up now!”

Jeno turned to you. His face was deathly pale. “No – I literally can’t.”

Fear enclosed you, like barbed wire around your throat. “What do you mean you can’t?”  

A tear slipped down Jeno’s cheek. “I’m not actually a spy, Y/n. I don’t know a single martial art, I’m not trained in anything… heck, I’ve never even left the state!” 

“You… lied to me?” you said. Of course. You couldn’t believe you had fallen for it. The weight of your anger surprised even you.  

“I just - wanted you to see me – as more than your dorky boyfriend from high school.” Jeno said quietly. “And now I’ve put us in danger…”  

“Shut up,” you snapped.

Raising one hand above your head in surrender, you grabbed Jeno’s shirt and started slowly pulling him backwards. “I’m so sorry.” you called. “We didn’t mean it. I promise – we’ll leave you alone.” 

The masked men were not backing off. Sweat dripped down your top lip. 

You pulled off the gold birth chain on your neck. It clattered on the floor. “It’s real,” you called. “We’ll run out of the store and not look back, okay?”

“You run right out…” the man said. 

“Right out,” you whispered. 

Turning, you pulled Jeno by the hand and ran out of the supermarket. True to your promise, you did not look back. 

You kept running till you got to your car, then drove right home. Despite showering and eating a hot meal, you and Jeno were still on a knife edge. 

Jeno sat down beside you on the bed. He touched your arm, but you pulled it away. 

“I’m sorry, darling. I don’t know why I did that,” Jeno said, sniffing. 

You touched your bare neck, staring blankly at the wall. “I’ve had that necklace since I was born.” 

Jeno wrapped his strong arms around you and buried his head in your chest. “Please forgive me!” Jeno begged, his voice muffled against your shirt. 

You pushed him off. “Jeno… I need some time to think.” 

---

One week later… 

You and Jeno were nestled together under a blanket watching Netflix. The shock had worn off, and now you missed your boyfriend.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n,” Jeno said for the thousandth time. “I’m know I’m not some – hero. I’m an idiot.” 

“That was such a dumb thing to do,” you snapped. “I can’t believe you lied to me!”

Jeno flinched. 

“But…” you continued, urging yourself to relax. “You’re not an idiot. And I’m sorry that I treat you that way.” You hugged Jeno as tight as you could, pressing your face into his shoulder. “You’re wonderful, Jeno. You’re creative, and funny, and sweet… I don’t want a spy. I want you.”

Jeno kissed your neck, making you shiver. “I want you, too,” he murmured.

“There is one thing that’s been on my mind, though,” you said, pulling away. 

Jeno’s eyes widened. “What?”

“When did you get abs?” you said, lifting Jeno’s shirt and pressing kisses to his stomach.

Jeno’s face darkened. “Um… I guess… I’ve been working out."

You frowned. “Well, agent, your first mission is to get that shirt off. I need all night to explore this new development.”

He grinned. “Jeno to the rescue…”

—

MAIN MASTERLIST

Let us know what you thought in the comments or on anon! 💋

[artdcnaldson]

okay i can see like art’s sister getting into pillow fights with both art and patrick. i imagine one time when you’re tagging along on tour with them its just you and patrick in the room watching something and it turns into a pillow fight. it escalates to the point that somehow you get on top of him during the fight and boy gets a boner and both of you are like 😀

maybe something happens between them after that (i love smut) but like idk idk. the slowburn is kinda interesting too yk

GODDDDD

He says something gross about one of the actresses in the movie, so you just slam a pillow into his chest and knock him over. He throws one at you and it devolves from there— after a while you wind up straddling his lap while he’s on his back, holding a pillow up like you might hit him. He’s panting, pupils blown as he looks up at you.

Big shirt, no bra, tiny little shorts. He can feel the curve of your ass against his dick, which twitches in interest.

“I win,” you say, your voice breathy. You drop the pillow off to the side, but make no effort to get off of him. He swallows, you watch his throat bob, feel his eyes trailing over your body. His hands are on your thighs, warm, rough. You close your eyes and sigh at the feeling. He pulls at you, tugs you down so your lips hover just above his.

You kiss him slow, all sweet like he’d imagined. Your tongue brushes against his, and you taste like soda and salty popcorn. You moan into his open mouth, rock against him involuntarily.

“Is this okay?” You whisper, pulling back to meet his gaze.

He leans up, kisses you once, chastely. “God, yes,” he mumbles against your lips.

You lose track of how long you spend kissing him, easily lost in the feeling of his lips on yours and the his tongue licking into your mouth. You’d kissed people before, but kissing Patrick was something else entirely. A full body experience.

His hands are warm where they slipped beneath your tee shirt, cupping your tits in his hands. You gasp into his mouth, keep grinding on top of him. He’s hard, pressing against your clothed cunt. His hips buck up, meeting yours, and you both pant into each other’s mouths.

His hand slips down the front of your shorts and he thumbs at your clit over your panties. He can’t let himself touch you completely, not yet. The thin cotton fabric is the only tether to his sanity. You whine and rock harder against him, encouraging him to move his finger faster.

Your kisses get sloppy, wet. Eventually it’s just you with your head pressed against his, panting hot, whining as he brings you closer.

“Pat— ah!” You gasp, clutching his shoulders like a vise. Your hips stutter, humping against him as he makes you cum. The sight, the noises, the rut of your hips— god, it’s enough to fucking kill him. He cums like a fucking teenager in his boxers.

[poppy-metal]

i present a thought that has been haunting me for day now and it’s.

play fighting with werewolf!patrick. all giggles and fun at first. we try and run away from him (which triggers something in the animal inside him) until he manages to pin us down!! and then obviously he can’t reaaaally help himself and starts rutting up against us. starts kind of salivating and breathing hard trying (not really) to hold back. i mean. can we blame him???? he’s been trying to hold back all this time and we’re right there underneath him. where we’re the most vulnerable. where he can do whatever he wants to us. he’s got us right where he wants us. his little prey

oh and OBVIOUSLY we let him duh 🙄🙄

we're treading dangerous waters </////3

patrick is reckless and underestimates his own newfound strength too often too. forgets about moon cycles. as soon as you're under him all submissive and vulnerable the animal side of his brain goes she's prey. she's so easy. look at her little frantic pulse throbbing in her throat. I could tear her apart. I could shred her pathetic excuse for shorts to shreds and just force my cock into her - she'd have to take me - she'd have no choice

by the time he wrangles some sense of control back he's got both your delicate wrists pinned under one of his hands. his pelvis is rendering near immobile under him - you're staring up at him with wide eyes and your chest is heaving up and down with your rapid breaths.

you hesitantly bleat, "I- I tap out. you win,"

and patrick swallows. thinks about just leaning down to kiss you. like he is right now. when he's cognizant, at least mostly, and in his head. he wonders if you'd kiss him back. your lips are so soft and supple looking. he wants to feel them under his teeth. wants to feel the inside of your mouth with his tongue. make you drink his spit, suck on his tongue.

instead he says "don't start shit you know you can't win, nerd" and rolls off you.

has to adjust his hard dick in his loose fitting sweats, tuck more comfortably under his thigh. there's still a noticeable tent and he huffs. you don't comment on it.

you're dealing with your own situation between your legs.

[somniuslucis]

Halloween means prompts like:

Patrick & Art getting stoned as a reward for winning their last match. This leads to Patrick talking Art into a handjob “just between bros”… leading to Art getting bent over the side of his bed, Patrick eating him out and Art hanging on for dear life. Art feels like he’s losing his mind as Patrick fucks him into the mattress for what seems like forever with the effects of the drugs heightening every sensation.

AFAB! Art & Patrick go to a Halloween party (Art in a skirt!), get wasted, joining in on taking body shots, truth or dare, and eventually suck-and-blow. Patrick drops the card and subsequently kisses Art, which leads to Art sobering up between then and when Pat & Art decides to join in on a round of 7 minutes in heaven. Art tries questioning Patrick once they get locked in the bedroom together, but Patrick has other things in mind. Cue confessions of feelings, make-outs, and one of Art’s legs draped over Patrick’s shoulders as Patrick goes to town eating Art out, totally ignoring the knocks from the other side of the door telling them the 7 minutes are up.

Patrick and Tashi get together and Art yearns for both of them, realizing he’s more jealous of Tashi than he is of Patrick. Patrick & Art are hanging out one weekend, Tashi is gone for a match and on a silent streak after she and Patrick’s latest fight about Patrick not pushing himself enough in his tennis career. The pair of best friends are having a heart-to-heart, leading to Art confessing having a crush on a guy (leaving out that said guy is Patrick). One thing leads to another and Patrick suggests Art practice his bj skills on Patrick, himself, “as a favor… no big deal! Just like old times.” This leads to Patrick teaching Art how to deep throat, Art with tears in his eyes, choking back his gag reflex, peering up at Patrick with shiny, half-lidded eyes as Patrick encourages Art to take him just a little deeper every few bobs of his head. “Yes, just like that. So good. You’re taking it like such a good boy.”

Stripper!Patrick giving Customer!Art his first lap dance for his 21st after his tennis teammates take him to the strip club. Patrick takes Art back to the VIP rooms for an “extra special gift” paid for by his coach, Tashi, and leaves Art a writhing, blushing, begging mess as Pat goes to town giving him the best gift of all.

Rockstar!Patrick giving Superfan!Art a night to remember after taking a liking to the cute, blushing, stuttering blond while signing autographs outside his dressing room.

Werewolf!Patrick going into a rut and Vampire!Art being the only trustworthy and strong enough being to help his best friend get through the cycle. BONUS for succubus Tashi working her way into the pants of a witch ;)

Frat!President Patrick fucking New Pledge, Twinky!Art up against a wall and over a table after catching Art making out with a boy from a rival college at a house party. Patrick takes his time reminding Art just what school AND frat president his allegiance is to, and ensuring Art knows he can come to Patrick any time he needs to let loose a little.

[decaydanceredacted]

admin help ive been thinking about girl pete (like actual cis always-a-girl pw) and how in that universe patrick would've put like four kids in her at this point 😖😖😖

like the first time they fuck, they're kids and it's a saturday night after a shitty show in some bar. and they're in patrick's room just messing around like they always do. but the adrenaline post show or whatever has them wired and one thing leads to another and suddenly patrick has his fingers down the front of her jeans. and pete has her fingers around his and is showing him how to touch her and she's so fucking wet and needy she let's him hit it raw (because they're dumb kids and just best friends at this point and no one thought of a condom). patrick comes almost instantly because he's seventeen and it's the first time he's getting his dick wet so of course he doesn't pull out. the mere idea of pregnancy, the feeling of patrick's warm come inside and dripping out gets pete so hot she ends up flipping them and riding patrick's face into oblivion. they go to sleep wrapped in each other and have breakfast with patrick's mom like nothing happened <3

except they keep fucking through the years. maybe they don't even officially date, pete has her string of partners and one night stands and patrick has his number of girlfriends, but from time to time post show celebrations or nights at the studio or fights around the songs end up with them fucking. in the van, behind a bar, in a bathroom or in green rooms. and they always do it raw and patrick gets such a possessive kick out of it bc he knows only he gets to have pete like this. none of her boyfriends get to come inside her and rub her belly right bellow her womb tat while he's still deep inside her pussy and no one else gets to see their come dripping down her thighs.

their first kid is deffo unplanned. a drunk fuck after some record party or whatever, too horny to even think of the consequences. and ughhhhhhhhhhh what if pete is already married/engaged at this point??? does your husband know??? that the baby isn't his???????? god, another win for infidelity.

the hate sex doing folie is extra hot. not only bc it's how their arguments end up but bc he knows he's gonna leave her so there's a morbid desire of patrick to leave a bit of him in her as a reminder that she's his. meanwhile pete's thinking if she can baby trap him. it's awful on both parts and it doesn't work anyways.

baby number 2 is the reunion baby. they've been writing songs together again and they just can't help it, they end up fucking in the floor of patrick's home studio. they keep working on their shitty songs and they keep fucking and they get the band together and they have their comeback album and it's a success and truly it is like reunion sex because they can't keep their hands off each other. the pregnancy is like the culmination of everything they worked up to this point to fix, a reminder of the commitment they have to each other now and a promise to never leave again.

baby 3 i guess would be around ab/ap era? early mania??? idk it's the honeymoon baby. they've just settled and they've gotten their heads out of their asses and they know they want to expend the rest of their lives together, so baby. or maybe they have a quarantine baby???

4th baby is deffo current era. they've finally, after everything in the world and with them, found the joy in what they do. and their record is so loved and they can look at the past now and the tour has been amazing. and maybe they're aboard and having the sweetest most disgustingly sappy married sex. you know weeding rings clinking and slow caress and i love yous mumbled against skin. truly sickening in love sex. and after all these years, more than two decades jesus christ, patrick just knows how to play her like an instrument. he knows just how to flick his fingers and how to use his mouth just right to have pete under him shaking and whimpering and so wet. he gets her to come twice before he even fucks into her. and pete grabs his face and pulls him up and rubs her thumb against his beard, wet with all her slick and come, and tells him she kinda wants to have another kid. and patrick just shakes and kisses her so hard because he's been thinking about it too and there's nothing he wouldn't give to pete. all of it has always been about giving pete what she wanted since he was a kid. something about her pulling him in and wanting to do anything she asked just so she would look at him and only him.

they come back from china with a plus one.

fin.

(PSA kids don't do any of this. fucking use a condom ffs)

.

[nothots-headempty]

Handsy

Paddy × reader

Summary: Paddy, a popular rock band member (and your man-crush), takes a keen interest in you, his new favourite girl.

Word count: 2.5k+

Warnings: smut, so much smut, oral sex (f and m receiving), teasing, role play

Author's note: I wrote this entirely because I couldnt stop thinking about it. What happened to the fluff I was going to write, you ask? Well well.

Yes, that one single line about role playing lead to all this. Concerning, I do know. ABSOLUTELY NOT PROOF READ. Srry <3

Posting this at a stupid inactive hour because ofc I'm an idiot

The edge of the settee stung your skin, but you stayed right where you were, the heady surge of adrenaline bleeding into the rush of having his eyes on you. You'd been here for a quarter of an hour now, and all he'd done was pin you to your seat with a kind of calculating gaze that made your insides turn to mush.

"I'm glad you're here.", he chimes in smoothly, breaking the glass-like silence with a snap. You look away from him, finally, letting yourself breathe. Letting yourself adjust to the fact that you were in Patrick's room.

Paddy, you correct yourself. It's Paddy now. The man who had spread you apart and made you cum around his fingers a million times in your dreams was now on a nickname basis with you.

No wonder this felt surreal.

"I'm more surprised than glad." Your words almost mask the chaos riding free within you, your pulse quickening at every move he made, your gaze following the little strip of skin that showed itself under his shirt everytime he got up.

He smiles, chuckles even, looking at you for another second before he reaches for the bottle of scotch before him. The muscles in his forearm feather slightly as he unscrews the bottle and it takes an almost audible swallow down your throat to keep your mind from wandering too far.

"And why is that?"

He sounds almost as surprised as you do. Somehow, that's endearing.

"I've heard you don't quite like being hoarded around by your fans." You bite your lip to hide a smile. Was it weird that you felt special? To be in this room, a few feet away from him. Weren't you just another groupie? Maybe he was used to this too...

"Sometimes...", he starts, trailing off mid sentence, taking his time to pour the drink into two glasses on the counter. "Sometimes I don't mind making an exception." Your breath hitches in your throat, eyes following him silently as he approaches you with one glass offered, the other touching his lips.

You gulp the whiskey, secretly hoping for the alcohol to do it's magic, to turn you from the shy girl in the corner to one that takes more chances. To one that would stride across the room, unzip his pants and just let him-

"You look amused.", he smiles from behind his glass. You flush red, looking anywhere but at him, your now-empty drink put away next to you, your hands clenching on the armrest of your seat.

He raises an eyebrow at that, shrugging as if to ignore his own final comment. In another swig, he downs the Scotch, his tongue pushing out against his lip to wipe off what little he'd missed.

It's a mental picture you'd be willing to have imprinted on your eyes - his tongue, his lips, your desperation to have them on you, in you...

You can feel your vision hazing, the pre-booze, the cocktails, and the Scotch, all fighting with your conciousness, battling for dominance.

And, oh, did they win.

When your mind finally chooses to focus back on reality, you find him at the other end of the room, his arms wrapped around the bass speaker as he puts it back where it belonged. His fingers grip the sides of the sound box, your eyes closing involuntarily as your overworking brain paints pictures of those same arms around your waist, pushing you against a wall, fingers wrapped around your neck as he whispered the vilest words into your skin. Words you were dying to hear-

"What's it on your mind that's so much more interesting than me?" You open your eyes to find him stationed a few feet from you, a lop-sided grin on his face, his arms folded against his chest. Your gaze drops back to his arms, fingers fidgeting at your dress as you try to push away the glimpses you were having just seconds ago.

"Tell me." It's not a plea. It's not a demand. It's an instruction. He towers over you, walking closer, until he places his hands on two sides your seat. His nose brushes against yours, his scruff tickling your cheek. "Tell me, love."

"I was...", you whisper confusedly. "I was wondering how your hands would feel on me." You're not really sure what you're saying anymore. But when his gaze instantly darkens, surprise and curiosity playing wonders on his features, you're not sure you need to think anymore.

"On you?", he repeats, using a finger to brush a stray hair from your face.

"On my throat.", you elaborate, avoiding any coherent thought before it could stop you. You stand up, his chest rising slowly with yours as you find yourself almost cheek-to-cheek with him.

"On my waist.", you step an inch closer, the warmth of his body seeping through you, making you giddy, almost drunk on him. You move his hands to your waist, moaning softly when he tightens his grip. He leans a little further, inhaling against your neck, a groan ripping from somewhere low in his throat.

"I was wondering how your hands would feel in my cunt. Inside me-", you mumble, the last of your words muffled by his lips as he crashes them against yours with an all consuming fervour, his hands slotting themselves against your ass, pulling you flush against the warmth of his own arousal.

You whimper softly when his hard length brushes against your clit, the layers of fabric in between unnerving enough to want to tear them off yourself. His tongue licks at yours, lapping at your mouth until you're warring for control, for the remnants of your sanity. A war he decisively wins with a nip at your lips.

His breath is ragged when he pulls back, pressing his lips to your cheek, your jaw, biting, sucking, until the marks on your skin are left as reminders for the next morning. He groans against your skin, the sound rattling through your bones, your fingers pressing into the fabric of his shirt, trying to get it out of your way.

Your fumbling loses its humor very quick, the frustration building as the buttons to his garment don't agree with the haze in your mind.

"Baby, let me take over.", he murmurs gruffly, freeing your hands from their task, bringing them to his mouth for a kiss. Your eyes glaze over when he sucks at your pinky, the fire burning cold in the blue of his iris as he presses his teeth into your skin.

You feel the surge of pain, the pleasure of his mouth, and there's a helpless part of you that submits to the whirlwind of sensation, giving in with a sigh. His triumph is evident in the way his pupils are fully blown now, his breaths faster as he walks you backwards, slowly, assuredly, until you hit the wall with a small thud.

He places your hands above your head, leaving them there. His approach is agonizing, snail-paced, as he closes the inches separating your bodies. Your torsos press flush against each other, his chest rubbing against your nipples enough to pebble them.

You feel the dampness between your thighs soak through the linen of your dress, the reminder of the approach to salvation enough to make you bite your lip. Apprehensive. Eager.

"Keep them there, sweet heart.", he mumbles, pushing your hands against the wall again. "And maybe I'll give that sweet cunt of yours exactly what it needs." His voice is a purr as his fingers dance down your sides, one hand holding your arms hostage while the other travels lower to rest on the valley of your breasts.

You whimper, annoyed at his avoidance yet again, the sound turning into an embarrassingly loud moan when he leans down to suck a hickey into the hollow of your clavicle. His fingers roll your hardened nipple, his smile wide against your neck as he brings a thigh between your legs, your cunt pushing down against the stimulation that it had been begging for.

"Eager.", he mumbles, but his words are lost in that tightening of your core, your thighs trembling, the rough fabric of his pants bordering on pain as you rubbed yourself against it. He seems to take pity on you, or maybe he'd foreseen this moaning, broken down mess you would become for him, because with one tap on your wrists to remind you of your condition, he withdraws his thigh and gets on his knees before you.

Your breaths are still ragged, the blinding loss of pressure between your legs enough to drive you crazy. He's watching you, lower lip caught between his teeth. He let's his fingers tough your calf, the renewed contact of skin almost enough to push you over the edge.

"Tell me what you want." Letting the words float in the air, he attaches his lips to the inside of your knee, the tender skin relenting to the torture of his mouth with a happy sigh. Your brain goes silent again, all thoughts out the window, the only feeling left is the patterns his tongue is tracing.

But this isn't over. You know he's waiting for an answer. The longer you take with your words the lower his mouth travels, his fingers rubbing circles into your calf, decidedly farther away from your dripping cunt.

Your hands clench into fists as you try to create a coherent thought, an actual answer. "I want your mouth on my cunt, Paddy.", you moan through your delivery as he instantly rewards you, a kiss at the apex of your thighs, the material of your skirt playing enough part in dulling the pleasure.

His hand runs up your leg, the last barrier of cloth bunching up at your waist and a shudder runs through his body at the sight of you, already bare and ready for him. He mumbles a low, "Fuck.", under his breath, tongue darting out against his lips, thinking of all the things he could have done with you.

All the things he wanted to do now.

"All this for me?" His voice is rough, the question very much rhetorical because he intends to find out for himself, his finger catching your moisture as he runs one through your folds.

Your hips buck against him, hands fighting their verbal restraint to curl into his hair, pull him against you. "So desperate for me, my little slut.", he smiles against the inside of your thighs, his stubble burning your skin, his tongue languid as it laved at the bruises.

You keen at his words, slumping lower against the wall, his palm promptly coming up to press against your stomach, holding you steady. He inches forward, agreeing finally to give you what you want, his fingers playing with your folds as he lightly kisses your clit.

The sensation is already overwhelming, your body trembling when he actually dives into you with his tongue, lapping at your wetness, his finger rimming your hole. It's all too much after the agonizing tease he has been and your body is too ready to fall apart under his attentions.

"No cumming till I say so.", he says into your cunt, leaving no space for argument as he sucks on your clit, your retaliation evaporating into nothingness. He eases a finger into you, your walls needily clamping down on whatever he was giving. He groans at the pulsing, wetness of you around him and the sound shudders through your body, your peak threatening to crash over you.

"I'm close, Paddy.", you warn. And that stills him. He leans back, your eyes widening in apprehension, as he eases another finger into you, pumping them at a snail pace.

"That's not how you ask, sweetie.", he reminds. You can feel his fingers dragging inside you, the stretch overwhelming when he pushes a third, thick digit inside, your eyes closing as you fuck yourself onto his fingers.

Leaving his instruction unfollowed is a mistake. One he does not respond to well. There's a sharp, wet pop that echoes off the silence of the room, your walls clutching at nothing as he leaves you bereft to deliver a sharp slap to your clit.

Your eyes fly open just as fast as they'd closed and you blink at him, the building haze dissipating with a snap. "Please, Paddy.", you whine, his hands spreading you apart, keeping you from rubbing your thighs, from any friction you could possibly have.

He tuts at that attempt, shaking his head sadly as if this was another mundane disappointment in his day, like you weren't naked and spread apart before him. Like his mouth hadn't just been devouring you seconds ago.

"You can do better than that." His eyes find yours again, fingers back to rubbing your thighs. "Please, Paddy. Need to cum. Need you.", you whine, your relief rushing out in a sigh as he throws your leg on his shoulder, his mouth back where you need it, lapping at you with a ferocity that makes you see stars.

His digits push back into you, all three finding home inside your weeping hole, pumping at a pace that sets every inch of your skin on fire.

Your pussy clenches around him, your peak coming at you in waves and you let yourself go, hands reaching for his hair as you ride his mouth to your release.

"That's it, baby, cum for me.", he growls against your pussy, thrusting his tongue in time with his hand as he finger-fucks you through your high.

He let's you fall into his lap, still out of breath as he runs his hands through your hair, lips busy planting feather light kisses on your forehead, your cheeks, your neck.

"Did that do any justice to those vile fantasies of yours?", he asks, capturing your lips in a kiss as you're about to answer. You wrap your arms around his neck, running your fingers through his close shorn hair, much as they'd been denied a while back.

"More than.", you whisper against his ear, pushing on his chest until he's lying on his back, you on top of him.

"We should role-play more often.", he laughs, pulling you against himself. "I could get used to making you a whimpering mess, in more ways than one."

Your eyes droop shut under the exhaustion and you bury your face in his neck, sucking on the skin lazily. He groans when you bite down, his arousal bulging through the fabric of his trousers, pressing against your thigh. You undo his buckle, hand descending lower until your fingers wrap around his cock.

"I think this fan of yours would like to return the favour, Sir. Since you've let me into your room and everything. It's the least I could do." You climb onto him again, pushing his pants down, stroking him at a slow, teasing pace. He watches your movements, eyes glued to the way your small fingers find hold on his cock.

He laughs again, a light, almost happy sound.

"I thought you'd never ask, love." His words stumble into silence with a low hiss when you lower yourself to replace your hands with the wetness of your mouth.

"Right bloody minx, you are.", he groans, fingers grasping at your locks, pushing you lower onto his cock. You gag for a second, tears pooling at the edge of your eyes and then your throat goes slack. His hips buck involuntarily, thrusting deeper into your throat, a wanton moan let loose. He's all out using you now, heaving you around as he needs, the wet sound of his movements filling the room.

You dare to steal a glance at him, this version of your man that no one ever had access to - his head thrown back, weight carelessly held up on one arm as his grip tightened in your hair, cock twitching on your tongue.

You moan when you feel him get close, tongue running over his leaking head, a jerk of your strands in his fingers all the warning you get before he's letting go of himself, white, hot cum spurting down your throat.

He thrusts into you a couple more times, his breaths still ragged when he pulls you off his cock in one swift motion, a throaty laugh on his lips as he presses them to yours. His tongue caresses yours, the taste of his orgasm shared between your mouths, a combined groan reverberating through your bodies.

"Well, Sir, was that what you got me here for?", you whisper, body still trembling as you relaxed against his chest. He hums in response, fingers tracing along your spine.

"Oh, honey, you don't even know the half of it."

[ladyluscinia]

Tashi/Patrick + No Art = disaster fling. Tashi withholds easy (non-sexual) affection like vulnerability will kill her instantly. Patrick has massive commitment issues and defensively frames everything as a joke that he can pull back from at any time. It's impossible to resolve how your relationship is failing to meet your emotional needs if both parties are allergic to treating it more seriously than fuck buddies who could go find someone else at any time. They are constantly on the edge of a blowout fight because they understand each other instinctively but use that understanding mostly for sex and knowing who wins more points in the argument. On a tennis level, Patrick gets it but he is too comfortable as is and lacks a guiding reason to strive, which is even more infuriating than if he didn't get it at all because the wasted potential is constant. And Art in this situation is swallowed by jealousy, like a big ugly pit in his center. His inferiority complex is at an all time high (the second choice twice) and while it does give him some motivation to improve, mostly the spikes of envy/rage derail his focus and trap him in his own negative spirals. He seethes at tennis because he feels like he's always losing before he even steps on the court.

Tashi/Art + No Patrick = cracking under pressure. Tashi's withholding becomes a long term problem when pitted against Art's inferiority issues because she won't be able to stop doing so when it slips over the line from giving him something to strive for to enabling his negative spirals when he really just needs some reassurance. Art is pliable and willing to take direction, but he's also prone to being passive and simply losing energy when Tashi wants him to push back. His quips rarely turn into rallies. He builds low-grade resentment for decisions he's not willing to actually challenge. Tashi likes control but loves a certain kind of adrenaline-junkie spontaneity that gets ground out of Art the longer they are locked in on enabling each other to tunnel vision on optimizing him into the best tennis player ever. On a tennis level, Art is an eternal exercise in frustration because his emotional investment and technical skill are usually a trade-off instead of Tashi's ideal harmony, and she's constantly (and increasingly resentfully) fighting his mental fires for just a spark of real tennis to make it onto the court. Patrick, meanwhile, goes into near permanent flop era because he can't admit he's emotionally starved and his issues make him refuse to chase their coattails out of spite. He embraces the carefree loser persona and lets his own, smaller inferiority complex tell him he won't ever catch up, so why try?

Patrick & Art + No Tashi = I knew that guy in high school. Both deciding against pushing their homoerotic thing too far, and different life goals would probably have just drifted them apart.

Patrick/Art + No Tashi = potential murder-suicide. Patrick is once again non-committal and joking, and Art once again has a lot of jealousy and needs reassurance in the security of his relationship. But where Tashi's withholding at least has an element of she would just leave him if she wanted to, Patrick's eternal hints that there could be a punchline dropping any moment makes Art angrier, not depressed. Art is inclined to compete with Patrick but he doesn't find it as fun and low stakes, and also how do you meaningfully "win" against the guy you are dating and who refuses to take you seriously as a competitor or partner (bringing out the uglier side of the inferiority complex again). Patrick doesn't meaningfully distinguish between when Art is playfully mad at him and genuinely mad at him until he gets his feelings hurt about it, and he still can't talk about those feelings directly. Either a fight goes ugly and they have a messy breakup or Art gets mad enough to kill them both and Patrick just dares him to do it. Tashi probably continues with her life trying to find some other tennis player that can understand the convoluted prism through which she expresses love, but odds are not great because usually romantic partners like it when you can say the words "I love you" and not sound sarcastic about it.

[oscarisaacasimov]

The Princess Bride swordfight - how Westley won

Inigo is a better swordsman that Westley.

Let me explain:

... No, there is too much, let me sum up:

In the books, it is explained that Inigo is a wizard. That is the only other plateau above grandmaster in sword fighting, and it is mentioned in the book that there are only 3-4 other Wizards in existence.

He is also a Spaniard, and for those of you with any knowledge of historical fencing, you'll know that the Spanish Destreza style of fencing is widely regarded as the most lethally efficacious.

(Watch The mask of Zorro to see some excellent Destreza style training)

Westley was a prodigy. If he had started fencing at the same time as Inigo we wouldn't even be having this conversation. He learned everything he learned in 5 years compared to Inigo's studying for his entire life.

But Wesley also learned on a ship, which means he more than likely learned to focus on an entirely different form of fencing. I'd wager to say that Westley was at the level of a grandmaster, but as far as the sharpness of his mind goes, he was twice as brilliant as Inigo.

Westley is always observing, and he not only learned that Inigo was a Spaniard, but saw the ornamentation of his handle, and had an up close look at his right hand's callouses just as he was cresting the cliff, and in that short amount of time, put it together that he was facing a swordsman of "inconceivable" skill, which is why he immediately plays against Inigo's ego by drawing his sword left-handed behind his back, while panting.

Inigo sees this and thinks he's going to get to fight a left-handed fighter, and wants him to be as rested as possible.

Wesley then endears himself to Inigo, treating his opponent with respect and bringing his would-be assassin to the point of actually having him say, "You seem a decent fellow I hate to kill you."

Which is leagues beyond the level of affection he had for him just 5 minutes prior.

He then proceeds to tucker him out, and uses his terrain to his advantage, forcing Inigo to fight in a more constrained close-quarters manner, instead of out in the open where he would have had the clear upper hand.

He indulged him in fighting left-handed because he wanted to encourage a protracted duel, knowing that even though that was Inigo's goal, it was also his weakest point, because a swordsman of that level of skill hasn't likely, for many years, actually had a protracted duel.

He then begins to banter about swordsmanship with him, which, in my opinion, was simply to confuse Inigo about what was going through Westley's mind, and how he was controlling the situation. (Remember, Westley wins all three of his duels with Inigo, Fezzik, and Vizzini by using his mind. Utilizing their assumptions about him against them)

It isn't until he clearly has the upper hand, and Inigo is exhausted, swinging with both hands on his sword, that he engages in his final tactic: distracting him by flicking his hair out of his face with his sword. A move that he knows Inigo is going to respond to no matter what, as evidenced by the two blade marks on either side of his face.

Westley meant what he said when he stated he would rather destroy a stained glass window than an artist like Inigo, as he recognized Inigo's skill wholly and without mistake.

Inigo was, and is, a better swordsman than Westley, he just wasn't even half the tactician.

source: Facebook group "The Princess Bride: Inconceivableposting" by Ian Patrick Pearce.

[berenwrites]

Time and Again - Stranger Things - PG13

A/N:  Sliding in at the last moment, hope I am in time for this month. Don’t forget to check out all the other great fics at @steddiemicrofic too💖. Not beta'd, sorry, didn't have time.

Written for prompt: ONE | wc: 1111 | Rating PG13 | cw: temporary character death

Time and Again

One year they had been trying to finish this fight.

They were losing.

As Robin’s skull smacked against stone, backhanded by a Demogorgon, part of Steve split open. Robin’s dead eyes stared blankly, but her presence burst into his mind.

They’d joked about melding together, but he never could have guessed what it would make.

Russian drugs, the Upside Down, Vecna, whatever had caused it, they stepped forward together, a gestalt.

Screaming defiance, they joined El in her desperate fight. Bonds broken; energy joined with energy.

Everything exploded.

Steve blinked back to reality, shocked to be suddenly alone in his own head. Cheers rose around him as he looked over, meeting Robin’s gaze as she stood in her band uniform after Lucas scored the championship winning shot. He stood, frozen in a sea of celebrating people, staring at his best friend.

“Did we?” Robin mouthed at him.

All he could do was nod.

As everyone moved towards the court, Steve moved towards Robin.

“Do over?” she asked, grabbing onto him.

“Has to be,” he replied.

“We could…” she began to say.

“You are not dying again,” he told her pointedly. “You get Lucas, Nancy, Fred, and Chrissy, I’ll get Dustin, Mike, Erica, and Eddie. We’ll meet in the parking lot. We can figure out how to get Patrick away from Jason once we have the others safe.”

In the face of his certainty, she nodded.

It took no time to make it to the drama room, where he found Hellfire packing up.

“Code red,” he said, looking directly at Dustin.

“Holy shit,” Dustin replied, as Mike and Erica reacted in a similar manner.

“Harrington?” Eddie asked, all but glaring at him.

His stomach twisted hearing the anger in Eddie’s voice. He’d come to a few conclusions about himself since Eddie died, mostly because of the man himself and everything he’d come to learn from those who had known Eddie well. Wayne had been a crucial part of their team as they had tried to save what was left of Hawkins. He’d promised himself that if he survived he would never let another opportunity like Eddie pass him by.

“Bring him,” was all Steve said.

“A gate?” Dustin asked.

“If we don’t stop it there will be,” he replied, “and so much worse.”

“Did El call?” Mike asked.

“No,” he said, “it’s more complicated than that. I’ll explain, but we need to get to Max first. She’s in trouble. We’re meeting the others outside.”

He didn’t wait for them to agree before turning on his heel.

“Wait,” he said, stopping himself. “Do any of you have Walkmans? We need four.”

“I have one at home,” Erica said.

“Holly has one,” Mike revealed.

“Then we just need one more, since Max has her own,” he concluded. “Let’s go, time is of the essence.”

“What the hell?” Eddie demanded as Dustin grabbed his arm. “Henderson have you gone insane?”

“You know all the weird shit that happens in this town,” Dustin responded before Steve could, “that’s code red. If Steve says to bring you, we’re bringing you.”

Steve left Dustin to deal with it, heading out with Erica at his heels.

“What’s going on?” Nancy demanded the moment he made it to his car where Robin was standing with the others.

“Just a minute,” he said as Dustin and Mike dragged Eddie across the parking lot towards their group.

“This better be good,” Eddie all but snarled, and Chrissy and Fred didn’t look too sure either.

“Time travel,” Robin said.

“Is this a joke?” Fred asked.

“If only,” Steve said. “Robin and I are from one year from now and the shit starts hitting the fan tonight. All the crap that has happened has been caused by someone like El, you christened him Vecna,” he looked at Dustin, “his real name is Henry Creel or One. El sent him to the Upside Down when he killed all the others like her. She didn’t remember doing it. He’s trying to open rifts to the Upside Down and he’s going to use Chrissy, Fred, Patrick, and Max to do it.”

“This is crazy,” Eddie muttered.

“Yeah, well you had to be all heroic and died, and I’d really like that to not happen again because your Uncle Wayne does not deserve that, so go with the crazy, okay?” he said, a little more loudly than he intended.

Robin reached out and touched his arm. He took a deep breath. His feelings for Eddie would have to wait, there were more important things to think about.

“Did you say this Vecna uses me?” Chrissy asked.

“Your headaches,” Robin said, “not headaches, Henry getting into your head. Those waking dreams you’ve been having, all him. He’s going to sacrifice you to open a gate.”

“We need to get a copy of your favourite song and you need to listen to it on loop,” Steve said before Chrissy could panic. “Same with Fred. Music blocks his influence. We … we …”

The world around him went dim. His instinct was to fight, but he recognised the touch. He had felt it only for the tiniest amount of time, but it was unmistakably El. Fighting his natural urges, he surrendered.

“Steve,” El’s voice filled his head, “we are coming.”

“You came back too,” he replied.

“Yes,” she told him. “We will stop Henry. Doctor Owens is going to Russia to get Hopper.”

“I understand,” he replied, “we are waiting for you.”

As quickly as it has started, the contact was gone.

“Steve,” Robin was all but holding him up.

“It was El,” he said as the real world slammed back in, “she came back too. She’s on her way here.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” Robin said, which rather summed up his feelings as well.

“El just spoke to you?” Mike asked.

Steve nodded, trying to restore his equilibrium.

“Why you three?” Dustin asked.

“Russian truth serum probably,” Robin replied, “but there was no time to figure it out. This wasn’t exactly a choice.”

“Look,” Steve took charge, “we can figure out all the details later. First we need to make sure Max, Chrissy, Fred, and Patrick are safe, and Jason can’t start blaming Eddie for any weird shit that starts going down. Got it?”

“El will probably know more anyway,” Robin agreed. “Let’s move people. We need music and a safe place.”

“My house is empty,” he offered.

Even their friends were looking at them as if they were on the insane side but as soon as Nancy nodded, Steve knew everyone else would fall in line. They had work to do. Henry would not get the upper hand this time.

[racefortheironthrone]

So I know my homoiousios vs. homoousios, and my monophysite vs. dyophysite, and my monothelite vs. dyothelite, and how it all led to the Arab caliphates getting a decent navy and winning the Battle of the Masts.

I don't, and I'd love to! (If you feel like it, obviously.) I'm pretty sure the homoiousios one is about, like, the Trinity or something, but beyond that it's all Greek to me.

(At this point, I feel like I owe @apocrypals royalties or something, but I'm getting a weird kick from doing this on Saint Patrick's Day, so let's do this).

I covered the impact of the monophysite vs. dyophysite split and the Battle of the Masts here, so I'll start from the top.

You are quite correct that the homoiousios vs. homoousios split was, like most of the heresies of the early Church, a Cristological controversy over the nature of Christ and the Trinity. This is perhaps better known as the Arian Heresy, and it's arguably the great-granddaddy of all heresies.

The Arian heresy was the subject of the very first Council of the early Church, the Council of Nicea, convoked by Emperor Constantine the Great in order to end all disputes within the Church forever. (Clearly this worked out well.) In part because the Church hadn't really sat down and attempted to establish orthodoxy before, this debate got very heated. Famously, at one point the future Saint Nicholas supposedly punched Presbyter Arius in the face.

What got a room of men devoted to the "Prince of Peace" heated to the point of physical violence was that Arius argued that, while Christ was the son of God and thus clearly divine, because he was created by God the Father and thus came after the Father, he couldn't be of the same essence (homoousios) as the Father, but rather of similar essence (homoiousios). Eustathias of Antioch and Alexander of Alexandria took the opposing position, which got formulated into the Nicean Creed. As this might suggest, Arius lost both the debate and the succeeding vote that followed, as roughly 298 of 300 bishops attending signed onto the Creed. This got very bad for Arius indeed, because Emperor Constantine enforced the new policy by ordering his writings burned, and Arius and two of his supporters were exiled to Illyricum. Game over, right?

But something odd happened: the dispute kept going, as new followers of Arius popped up and showed themselves to be much better at the Byzantine knife-fighting of Church politics. About ten years later, the ever-unpredictable Constantine turned against Athanasius of Alexandria (who had been Alexander's campaign manager, in essence) and banished him for intruiging against Arius, while Arius was allowed to return to the church (this time in Jerusalem) - although this turned out to be mostly a symbolic victory as Arius died on the journey and didn't live to see his readmission.

....and then it turned out that Constantine the Great's son Constantius II was an Arian and he reversed policy completely, adopting the Arian position and exiling anyone who disagreed with him, up to and including Pope Liberius. While the Niceans eventually triumphed during the reign of Theodosius the Great, Arianism unexpectedly became a major geopolitical issue within the Empire.

See, both during their exile and during their brief period of ascendancy within the Church, one of the major projects of the Arians was to send out missionaries into the west to preach their version of Christianity. Unexpectedly, Arianism proved to be a big hit among the formerly pagan Goths (thanks in no small part to the missionary Ulfilas translating the Bible into Gothic), who were perhaps more familiar with pantheons in which patriarchal gods were considered senior to their sons.

While they weren't particularly given to persecuting Niceans in the West, the Ostrogothic, Visigothic, Burgundian, and Vandal Kings weren't about to let themselves be pushed around by some Roman prick in Constantinople either - which added an interesting religious component to Justinian's attempt to reconquer the West.

[partiallypearl]

this opportunity comes once in a lifetime - a patie fic

a/n: very slightly inspired by @raging-violets' just a boy fic + lose yourself by eminem! like honestly this is barely a fic lmao also tagging: @ceruleanmusings @myloveforhergoeson @bibaybe

"What are you doing?" Katie asks, and it's that which snaps Patrick out of his head as he walks through the park. His entire right side feels like it's on fire. Particularly his ribs.

Derek and his mates had really beaten the shit out of him this time. For the first time in a while, he actually was feeling pain after a fight.

"Pat? Seriously, what are you doing?" Katie asks, and for a second, Patrick thinks she sounds almost worried. His breath catches in his throat as he turns to face her.

"Nothing. Why are you out so late?" He asks, and Katie looks at him with a furrowed brow. "I was hanging out with Lizzie."

"Lizzie?" He asks, a slight smirk forming on his face, "The same Lizzie whose curfew is 9PM?" Katie doesn't reply, instead, she lowers her chin and shuffles with her jacket pockets, a nervous tick of hers.

"I won't snitch." He says, and Katie bites down on her lip before walking over to him.

"There's this college girl whose willing to let me play poker with her and her friends. Shit games, but I win most of them." Patrick snorts. Of course Katie is involved in yet another money scheme. It's no surprise honestly.

But the surprise for most people would be what Katie does with the money, something she had only recently let Patrick know about. Most of her earnings are split between her savings for the California Institute of Technology and her mum's retirement fund - something Kacy wasn't yet aware of.

The boys (Kendall, Logan, James and Carlos) also contributed monthly to both funds, though Patrick knew Katie wasn't aware of her brothers, both biological and not, giving her money for college.

"You aren't becoming a loanshark are you?" He asks her, and Katie rolls her eyes at him. "If I was, I'd do it to get you to spill your guts on whatever's going on." She looks at him, the late May moonlight lighting his face just enough that she can see his pale blue eyes.

"Seriously though Pat. Are you okay? You've been acting...weird lately." Patrick nods, pulling Katie into his side, noting the way her cheeks immediately heated up. "I'm fine. I promise Sweetheart."

The nickname makes Katie roll her eyes again, her face still flushed as they begin to walk out of the park together, towards Patrick's Jeep Wrangler. Katie pauses as they reach his car. "I can take the bus." She says, and Patrick shakes his head.

"No way in hell Princess. It's almost midnight. I'll drop you off at home."

"It's almost 40 minutes from the Palm Woods to Bel-Air. Won't Ronan and your siblings worry?" She asks, and Patrick shrugs. "No more than usual. 'Sides, it's polite to get a lady home on time."

Katie laughs, and Patrick opens the car door for her, making sure she's good before closing it. He pauses as he rounds the back of his Jeep, resting against the trunk for a moment to catch his breath before going back around to the drivers seat, and getting inside, flashing Katie one of his signature smiles when she looks at him concerned.

He hates lying to her. Hates it the same way he hates people assuming that he's stupid, or that him and his siblings are troublemakers. Katie's something. Something that honestly Patrick isn't fully sure what she means to him.

But he doesn't want her involved in this. Not if he can keep her out of it.