#my fanfics pls

[super-notnatural]

[paperclipninja]

I swear trying to write smut feels like:

His hands were hands and then the fingers were in the hand and the hand was with the fingers and the fingers had the hand in the other hand then the fingers dragged to the hand with the fingers and it was hot

[brningcigs]

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

no1-pro hero!katsuki x babysitter!reader !!

╰┈➤ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

“is the brat asleep?”

you were knocked out of your cleaning trance upon hearing that familiar gruff voice, glancing over your shoulder and smiling before you looked back down to finish washing the dish in your hand. “he sure is.. he knocked out about twenty minutes ago.”

katsuki approached the sink, leaning against the counter as he watched you clean the dirty dishes in the sink. “how’s he been with you? i know he can be a handful.” you simply smiled and shook your head. “he’s an angel. s’got a temper like his daddy, but i know how to handle him.” you replied, your smile only growing. ever since you started working for bakugou you and his son became inseparable. he was the sweetest kid - sure his tantrums were a nightmare but he was awesome.

katsuki chuckled and nodded his head. “yeah sorry bout that.. he seems to take after me with a lot of those kinds of things. how are you with.. yknow, everything? working for me i mean. any complaints?” as you pondered his question you turned away from the now empty sink and grabbed a clean rag, drying your hands off on them before looking back up at katsukis taller frame. “i like it.. i really do. honestly i would do it for free. you’re son is wonderful and you’re..” you stop yourself before you accidentally say something unprofessional, smiling sheepishly as your ears heat up a few degrees. “you’re wonderful as well..”

the corner of katsukis mouth pulls into a grin noticing the faint hint of color on your cheeks and he leans in a little closer. “you’re pretty wonderful yourself.” he spoke in a foreignly tender voice and you can’t help but lower your head to hide the growing blush on your face and tuck your hair behind your ear. “thank you..” you say as you glance back up at him, your eyes switching between his red ones.

a brief moment of comfortable silence falls between you two before katsuki finally breaks it, his hand reaching out to rest on the counter top behind you. “do you wanna have dinner with me sometime?”

you almost choke on nothing, surprised by his sudden proposal and you find your cheeks starting to hurt from smiling so much. “i- yeah i would.. love that a lot.” you reply with a small giggle and a few chuckles pull from katsuki as well. “good.” he replies, nodding his head in triumph.

a moment of silence fell between you two but it wasn’t uncomfortable. when you first started working for katsuki, he was more stand-off-ish, not really making conversation or feeding into your attempts at small talk. but as the weeks of working for him turned into months he became more accustomed with you, and you were just so good with his son.

katsuki could still recall the moment he realized he was interested in you beyond working as his babysitter for his son - or his ‘brat’ as he referred to him as. he had come home from work late, pushing down enough of his ego to apologize for getting held up when he spotted you in his sons nursery, holding the small child in your arms protectively in your sleep. his features softened as he stared, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips and his heart swelled.

ever since that moment, he knew he wanted to get closer to you. he became more talkative, showing his appreciation more. he even started paying you more, which took him having to tell you to shut the hell up when you politely declined, pointing out that he had more money than he knew what to do with.

now that he’d finally made a move, you were beyond overjoyed. you weren’t sure what to expect of this date, but you couldn’t wait to finally get to know him on a deeper level.

[catgrandpa]

Gotham has always been weird, so when the groundskeeper at the cemetery noticed the Wayne kid’s plot was disturbed, he just chalked it up to more of the same ol’. Alright, so ‘disturbed’ may be a tad too light of a word, but what’s an empty grave in the grand scheme of Gotham? God knows in a city like this one, they could use all the burial room they could get. He figured he’d just jot it down on the website and hope nobody noticed for a while.

Too bad he didn’t account for the 13 year old boy in Bristol who periodically checks the cemetery’s website when he’s feeling particularly lonely.

Plot Removed.

Tim Drake stared at the two words under the heading for Jason Todd’s plot number. Removed? What do they mean ‘removed’? They can’t just remove a plot? That’s a person down there! That’s Robin down there! You can’t Remove Robin!

Calm down. Deep breaths. Assess the situation.

Robin has been dead for 5 months and 14 days. There is no reason for a grave to be removed that early, especially one of a member of such an affluential family. Chances are likely it’s a simple clerical issue. He can call first thing in the morning and make them aware of the mistake. He can have it all fixed in 5 hours.

Just a phone call.

In 5 hours.

…

Tim hates talking on the phone almost as much as he hates waiting.

Well it won’t be the first time he’s snuck out to head to Gotham proper at 1am. It can’t even really be considered sneaking out if there’s no one home to catch you.

Buses stop running at 2, so he layers a couple sweaters under his coat and grabs his best running sneakers so he can comfortably make the trek back.

Just a quick trip to settle his nerves. Maybe get a few shots in if he spots Batman, but really he just wants to see with his own two eyes that things are okay and Jason can rest.

It’s 1:37 by the time he gets to the headstone reading ‘Here Lies Jason Todd’ and the gaping, muddy pit in front of it.

This- This doesn’t make any sense. This is not removal. This is destruction. Desecration. Somebody did this. Somebody-

Assess the situation.

A hole in the ground, approximately 1.5 feet in diameter.

Mud and grass flung outward but with little force.

Large chunks of earth turned over and shoved away.

No signs of tool marks or clean lines of entry into the dirt.

Dragging claw marks.

Staggering, shuffled pairs of foot prints in the mud.

A trail of dirt.

Something… Something large clawed its way out of the ground here. Something large and bipedal and- and humanoid.

Tim refuses to jump to any conclusions he can see all the facts laid in front of him. He’s going to cautiously follow the trail and simply hope to any god listening that he isn’t the world’s first line of defense against the zombie apocalypse.

He’s been walking for 23 minutes and there’s good news and undecided news. Good news: he’s closing in on the target and the trail isn’t taking him out of the way so his trip home won’t be prolonged. Undecided news: The potential Zombie Robin is heading directly for Wayne Manor.

As zombie apocalypse news, this is very bad. From Tim’s collected observational evidence, his not-so-professional opinion is that Batman, faced with a horror movie level zombie of his dead son, would not respond well, and would likely not fight back.

In Batman and Robin news? Tim’s unsure. If Jason is simply back? What could that mean for them? Batman can have his Robin. He wouldn’t have to continue nearly killing others and himself every night in his grief. Jason could-

No. Stop. Do not jump to conclusions.

Hope only brings heartbreak.

What would Batman do? Get close and see if the target is a threat.

Target is male. Mid-teens. Dark hair. Pale skin. Leaning against surfaces as he walks. Appears injured and disoriented.

Minimal risk assessed. Approaching and attempting contact.

Target identity confirmed: Jason Todd.

“J-Jason?” It comes out as a croaked whisper. Jason shows no sign of acknowledgment.

Tim clears his throat, steps right in front of his path, and tries again.

“Jason. Jason, stop I want to help you.” Still nothing.

“Please, Jason. I can help, I promise I can help!”

Why isn’t this working?! Why can’t he just do something right for once?! He wants this to work, he wants to help Bruce, he wants to fix Batman, he wants to not be alone, he wants-

“Robin!”

Robin jerks to a stop.

Tim reached out his hand.

“Robin. Robin please, I’m sorry you’re going through this, it’s really scary, I’m really scared. But I just want to help you. Help you find Batman. Help you get home.”

Jason just stares at him. Of course he does. Of course it’s not going to work. Why did he even bother hoping he could help?

Hope only brings heartbreak.

His sight blurs as his eyes fill with tears and he starts to lower his outstretched hand.

His arm is slowed as a cold hand weakly grasps his own.

“Don’t… scared… Bat… help… Dad… help.”

A relieved sob tears out from Tim’s chest and he gathers himself together. He yanks his extra sweater off and gently pulls it over Jason’s cold shoulders. Jason lets Tim drag his arm over his shoulders to try and carry some of his weight.

“Okay, Robin. Yeah. Your dad will help us.”

Batman will solve everything once Tim gets Robin home.

[hannikin-grahamkin]

He's not my enemy. He is my homoerotic rival and if anybody but me ever tries to hurt him I will promptly kill them.

[samaraxmorgan]

Your Roommate Sukuna

“That Time We Went To The County Fair”

Modern no curse AU, Sukuna X Reader

Synopsis: This housing crisis sure is no joke huh? Rent is just too expensive to live alone, so you put out a listing for a roommate and ended up living with none other than the tattooed bad boy Ryomen Sukuna! This is part of a series of drabbles and oneshots showing glimpses into you and Sukuna’s living situation!!

Contains: pure fluff, frenemies dynamic, emetophobics be cautious (no one actually gets sick it’s just mentioned), Sukuna is trying so hard to be nice

Word Count: 2.89k

Series Masterlist - My Full Masterlist

Sukuna always tries to give off the vibe that he’s too big and bad for anything. Everything is beneath him, everyone is merely a nuisance, and this Ferris wheel in particular is just too bland and boring for his tastes.

He acts like you held a gun to his head and forced him to come with you to the fair, but you really didn’t; if anything he forced you to let him tag along. You just happened to see a flyer in the mailbox and brought up that you were planning to go and he could tag along if he wanted to, the last thing you expected was for him to immediately start lacing up his boots and stuff his wallet into the pocket of his ripped black jeans, asking you a nonchalant “You ready?” not even a minute after you suggested it.

And now here you are, a decent train ride later and you’re at the top of the Ferris wheel sitting across from each other, looking down at the colorful lights of food stalls and amusement rides below you. You wanted to go on the Ferris wheel first since the sun is beginning to set, the sky turning shades of pink and orange as a gentle breeze chills the evening air.

Sukuna’s gruff and uninterested voice breaks the peaceful silence, “You could’ve looked out the window at home for free.”

You’re scooted to the edge of your little cart, elbows perched on the rusty metal railing and your cheek rested on your palm, looking longingly between the colorful lights of the roller coasters down below and the changing hues of the sky, “The view’s not this pretty at home.”

All he can respond with is a hum, his arms stretched out across the railing behind him as he leans his back against the hard metal wall of the gently swinging cart. From the corner of your eye you’d swear you could see him watching you, but when you shift your gaze towards him his head has already turned to look down towards the carnival beneath you.

He outstretches his arm and points toward one of the rides, colorful lights spotted around the outside of its spaceship style design begin to transform into streams of light as the ride starts to spin and twirl around, “We’re doing that one next, too fuckin’ boring just sitting around.”

You turn your body towards him and give him a sarcastic grin, “What if all the spinning makes me sick?”

He scoffs, gently kicking your leg across from him with his combat boot, “If you throw up I’m pretending that I don’t know you.”

“Boo.” You roll your eyes at him and look back towards the fair as the Ferris wheel begins to spin. You reach your arm out of the cart and point at a ride in the distance, a large boat shaped contraption swinging back and forth before turning completely upside down, the passengers' screams echoing through the open air, “Would you go on that one?”

He gives you a sly grin, “Only if you go on it too, you didn't drag me along just to watch, did you?”

“I didn’t drag you here, you might as well have begged to come with me.”

“Oh fuckin’ please,” He leans towards you, propping his elbows on his knees and looking up at you, “You gave me those ‘lil puppy dog eyes when you showed me the flyer.” He mimics a dramatic pout, making you groan and press your sneaker onto his chest to push him away.

“You’re unbearable.”

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

The metal steps creak below both of your feet as you and Sukuna step into the spaceship ride; the walls are round and covered in separate metal panels for each person to stand with their back against, and in the middle of the ride there’s a booth for the operator with large buttons and levers. You and Sukuna find two open panels on the wall and stand in front of them as the doors to the ride slide shut, leaving you both and everyone else blocked off from the festivities going on outside.

The operator looks bored as they flip a switch above their head, the lights dying off before you hear the clicking sound of buttons being pushed, rainbow lights streaming along the ceiling in swirling patterns above your head. Blaring loud techno music starts to blast from massive speakers in the operator’s booth as you feel your balance start to waver. Within seconds everyone’s backs are slammed into the wall, fits of giggles and startled screams surrounding you in the ride.

You turn your head to look at Sukuna and he’s already grinning at you, he tries to yell something to you but the music is far too loud to hear him. You open your mouth to yell “What?!” but instead a yelp is ripped from your chest as your entire body slides up the wall. He points up towards you and laughs, you try to kick him in the shoulder but the pressure of the ride spinning is keeping you effectively plastered to the wall, hardly able to move at all.

Sukuna, on the other hand, is somehow barely affected by it; deciding that it’s time to show off as he plants his palms onto the wall behind him and bends his knees to be completely off the ground. He stumbles back slightly on his first attempt to push himself up, but by the second try he’s crouching completely upright on the wall.

“What the hell are you doing?!” You scream out to him, but he can hardly hear you over the loud music and playful screams of everyone on the ride.

He’s got a massive grin plastered on his face as he stands to his full height so casually, as if the pressure of gravity just doesn’t affect him, taking a broad step over your stiff body to stand with his large combat boots on either side of your hips. He takes a knee over you, wrapping one of his hands around the back of your neck and the other behind the small of your back, leaning forward and yelling into your ear.

“You’re coming with me.”

It feels like you’re going to fly back into the wall as he pulls you into his arms, his strong grip keeping your body flush against his as you try to raise your arms enough to wrap them around his neck.

“You’re insane! Put me down!”

You can feel his breathy laughter on the crook of your neck as he lifts you up to stand with him on the wall, his hands never loosening their protective grip on you even as your feet plant themselves on the wall. He’s holding you so close, you’re not sure if your head is spinning more from him or the carnival ride. Your arms are wrapped tightly around his neck, your head pressed flush against his broad chest and tilted up towards the flickering lights adorning the ceiling.

“Not so bad, see?” You can hear the grin in his voice, his lips brushing against your ear while he speaks to you, “Not gonna drop you, calm down.”

Can he feel how fast my heart is beating?

The pressure in your head starts to feel relieved, but at the cost of your balance as you stumble forward. Sukuna completely wraps his arm around your waist and lifts you off your feet, taking long strides backwards off the wall and back onto the floor as the ride slows to a gradual stop.

“Hey!” The operator is screaming over the music as the large doors slide back open, “You two! Off!”

Sukuna chuckles into your ear as he drops you onto your feet, “Oops.”

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

“I can’t take you anywhere-“

“Ugh, how was I supposed to know that guy would be such a pussy?”

“Sukuna!” You slap his arm, “You’re gonna get us kicked out!”

He just huffs and rolls his eyes, his arms crossed over his chest as you both walk side by side through the fair. You knew he was nothing but trouble, and you feel a little stupid for assuming he wouldn’t drag you down into his bullshit with him, but you’re stuck with him now; at least until your lease is up. Maybe you shouldn’t invite him out with you anywhere after this, but when you glance up at his stupid grumpy expression you get butterflies.

With a face like that it’s no wonder he gets away with anything.

He’s so… annoying. That’s what you like to tell yourself; it’s annoying that you can’t stay mad at him, that he gives you that smirk that makes your heart race, that he held you like that on the carnival ride. He drives you insane in all the best and worst ways, either waking you up in the middle of the night by being loud and obnoxious coming home drunk from a concert, or making you go crazy wishing he was home with you while he was out with his friends.

“Are you even fuckin’ listening?” He snaps you out of your trance.

“No.” You huff, breaking your gaze from his. Did you doze off while staring at him?

“Brat,” He wraps his fingers around your wrist and pulls you towards a pop up stall, the stall walls lined with balloons and stuffed animals, “You beat me in this and I’ll… behave for the next one.”

You scoff at him, “No you won’t.”

A small smile creeps onto the corners of his lips, “… Yeah you’re right.” You roll your eyes and turn away from him, but he sidesteps in front of you, leaning down to match your height, “Tell you what, let’s make a bet.”

“That’s a terrible idea.”

He smirks, “Winner picks out a tattoo for the loser.”

You laugh right in his face, “Absolutely fucking not!”

“What?” He gives you an exaggerated pout, “You don’t trust me?”

You cross your arms and glare up at him, “You would make me get some kind of gang tattoo.” You say sarcastically.

He mutters under his breath, “Shit, am I that predictable?”

“Sukuna!” You kick him in the shin.

“Fine, fine. Piercing.”

You look over at the plastic machine guns mounted onto the edge of the stall, noting a toppled over “out of order” sign next to the red gun. Maybe it’s a bad idea to humor him, but you know damn well he’d pick that red gun over the baby pink ones surrounding it, you might be able to play dirty if he hasn’t noticed the sign that fell over.

A grin paints your lips as you look back at him, “You’re on.”

His head cocks to the side slightly, “Really?” He looks genuinely surprised, but definitely not disappointed, “Shit, that was easy.”

He strides over to the stall, planting himself right in front of the red gun, exactly where you want him. You suppress your smile as much as you can as you walk up beside him, wrapping your finger around the trigger of the pink gun next to him. He’s looking down at you so cocky as the game attendant counts down for you both to start.

“Three!”

“You know…” He leans down towards you to speak into your ear.

“Two!”

“I know a guy who does eyelid piercings.” He states smugly.

“One!”

Like clockwork, you start peppering through the balloons while his gun immediately jams.

His brows furrow in frustration and you look towards him, giving him a mischievous smirk, “You’ll have to give me his number.”

As the game comes to a fast end, you learn that Sukuna is such a sore loser, grumbling about how that was “fucking rigged” and that you’re “a dirty little cheater,” but you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face if you tried. You doubt he’ll hold up his end of the bet, and you’re not really that concerned about it to be honest, that frustrated look on his face is more than enough of a prize.

“Yeah yeah,” You giggle, “I’m just the worst huh? I’m gonna run to the bathroom, how about you win me something while I’m gone?”

He shoots a glare down at you, “No promises.”

“Oh yeah, because you fucking suck at these games, right?” Your bottom lip is caught between your teeth in a futile attempt to keep a straight face, you just can’t help but smile, it’s a nice change of pace for you to be the one getting on his nerves for once.

“Such a fuckin’ brat.”

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Something about Sukuna is suspicious when you meet him back at the games. His grin has returned once again and he’s holding one of his hands behind his back. His eyes light up when they catch yours, taking long strides to meet with you.

He leans down to be eye level with you, keeping his hand tucked away behind him, “Close your eyes.”

“You didn’t…” You look up to his eyes but his gaze flickers away from you.

“Shut up. Close your eyes and give me your hand.”

You let out a sigh, shutting your eyes and holding your hand out in front of you. Your brows furrow in confusion as something cold and squishy lands in your palm, “What the fuck…?”

“You know how you said you wanted a pet?”

You open your eyes and are greeted with… a goldfish. A little tied off plastic baggie dripping condensation onto your skin as the tiny fish swims in panicked circles, “Sukuna!”

“What?” He stands up straight, stuffing his hands into his pockets, “I thought you’d like it.”

“When I said I wanted a pet I meant, like, a dog!”

He nonchalantly shrugs his shoulders, “Well you won’t let me get a cane corso, so-“

“Because they’re a hundred and fifty pounds.” You mutter over him.

“Say hello to Brat Junior.”

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me.”

He’s definitely not kidding if the grin on his face is saying anything, he takes a step forward and pokes the bag, watching the fish squirm inside, “He’s got your attitude.”

“Oh my god,” You rub your temple with your free hand, “We need to go get a fish tank.”

“We’ve got bowls at the house.”

“No! We are not mistreating this fish, asshole.”

“Don’t call him fish, he has a name.” He declares sarcastically, crossing his arms over his chest.

You mutter curses under your breath, “Brat Junior needs a tank. A real tank, with a filter.” You pull Sukuna by the sleeve of his shirt, dragging him along behind you, “There��s a pet store around the corner, let’s go before they close. And you’re paying.”

“Hey, why am I paying for this shit? It’s your pet.”

“It was your stupid idea!”

You both leave the loud chaos of the fair, walking along the quiet sidewalks to the pet store. The skies have gone dark now, the moon making itself at home above you as you cradle your beloved Brat Junior in both of your palms, trying to keep the water in his bag from swaying too much.

You and Sukuna bicker the whole walk there until you make it to the sliding glass doors of the pet store, quiet music playing through the speakers as you walk across the shiny white floors to the fish section. You both split up so he can pick up a tank while you sort through food, but shortly after he walked away he’s already making his way back to you.

“We’re gonna have to flush Brat Junior.” He says plainly.

You defensively clutch the fish close to your chest, “Absolutely not!”

He rests his elbow on one of the shelves lining the wall, leaning his side against it, “Then you’re paying for half of the fish tank.”

Your brows furrow in confusion, “You broke now?”

“Lady at the counter said he’ll get,” He straightens his fingers on each hand, placing them together like a prayer before parting them about a foot away from each other, “This big.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“I wish I was joking, the tank is $600.”

You blow a raspberry, slumping your back against the wall and looking down at the goldfish in your palms. You’re silent for a moment, but then you let out a reluctant sigh, “I’ll pay half, but you’re carrying it on the train ride home.”

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

You hold your apartment door open, watching Sukuna maneuver the giant 40 gallon fish tank through the small doorway, “Got it?”

He grunts in annoyance, “A little help would be nice.”

“Ooh, about that,” You hold the little plastic baggie up in your palm, “My hands are full with the baby.”

He blows his bangs out of his eyes, carrying the fish tank into the tiny apartment, “Should’ve fuckin’ flushed him.”

You let out a mock gasp, cupping the goldfish in both of your hands and holding it up to your face, cooing at it, “Did you hear that? Your father doesn’t love you.”

Sukuna placed the tank onto a long empty table against the wall before flopping on his back onto the couch. His eyes flicker between you and the fish for a moment, a faint smile creeping onto his lips.

“I knew you’d like that little fucker.”

A/N: Fun fact did u know that those fair fish grow to be 12 inches long? Unfortunately this fic is based on true events of when my boyfriend and I won TWO OF THEM at the fair and had to spend $600 on a fish tank for them (rip my wallet). Dividers by @adornedwithlight

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!!

[justaz]

fake dating!arthur panicking after being cornered by a princess/noblewomen and saying that merlin is his husband bc he was the first person he thought of bc he doesn’t want to court or marry this woman, he wants to marry merlin. so now the two of them have to keep up this charade while visiting/being visited. arthur dressing merlin in fine clothing and crowning him for feasts just as merlin has always crowned him but now they sit side by side at the table instead of him sitting and merlin standing a few feet away. arthur and merlin holding hands and linking arms and trying not to seem to eager to finally have an excuse to hang off the other. everyone getting tipsy enough on wine and relaxing from Queens and Kings to people that happen to be royalty and speaking freely, them asking merlin and arthur how they fell in love bc wtf the king of camelot married a fucking servant??? a peasant??? and merlin (lightweight, finally had access to alcohol all evening instead of standing sober for an hour) engages easily enough and tells the story of how they met and then when he first started to catch feelings which is entirely truthful but arthur is convinced he’s making it up for their ruse so he decides to match his energy and tell his side of things of when he first caught feelings which is again entirely truthful but merlin is convinced its for their ruse.

anyways arthur watches as merlin loosens up and lights up the room with his smile and eyes and his joyful energy and he’s captivating everyone in the room as they hang onto every letter his lips spell out and he starts to imagine it’s all genuine, that he truly is married to merlin and this was a feast to celebrate them and their union. merlin speaks of how their courtship, engagement, and marriage was rather sudden (his eyes glitter mischievously when he looks over at arthur as he says this and arthur can’t help but share a conspiratorial grin at his sly comment) and how he feels like a fish on land or like everyone else knows the dance, when to step, where to step, how to step yet he didn’t even know there’d be music playing, he talks of how he feels out of place and one of the royals is like “do you regret your marriage then?” and merlin is slow to answer but not because he’s unsure but just bc he’s thinking over a reality in which he does marry arthur and how he would feel in that position.

he finally answers and is like “i mean to say, everything is different and challenging, yes, but he’s been with me every step of the way. he’s been my rock and,” he turns his head to stare at his king, “he makes it all worth it.” and arthur looses his breath. he reminds himself its an act over and over again but his heart can’t help from pounding against his ribcage in an attempt to escape into merlin’s soft hands. merlin’s lips aren’t moving but he can hear his voice say something softly but his brain is too foggy to comprehend what he’s saying. arthur just about manages a shaky smile and nod and then merlin is reaching up toward his face and crowding in and then he’s kissing (kissing) arthur in front of everyone and arthur can’t pay any attention to that when merlin’s lips are pressed against his. just as he presses back, merlin pulls away and turns to smile at the other royals and the feast continues but arthur is barely aware of that bc he can’t pull his eyes away from merlin’s glowing profile as he continues his conversation with the rest of the royals

anyways merlins knowledge of royal duties is from watching arthur work through it and helping where he can so when they ask him what it was like jumping from a servant to a royal he has a great answer of it not being easier or harder but just that he faces a different set of challenges and that there are pros and cons to both lives and it just gives all these royals another perspective on how they rule and arthur is just sitting there giving him heart eyes bc merlin is literally acting like a royal and its just fueling his fantasy of being married to merlin and having him as his king. before their ruse, he considered the possibility often as a late night fantasy, but now that he’s seen a glimpse of what merlin would be like at his side, he can’t help but need it like he needs air

[zephyrchama]

A New Game

It must get boring playing the same mundane games, like rock-paper-scissors, for millennia. The Obey Me cast would probably jump at the opportunity to try something new. Something introduced from the human world. (This fic is not explicit in nature but repeatedly uses a word some people consider naughty.)

---

You received a message from Lucifer.

"My brothers are studying in the library. I have to step out for a while, will you supervise them until my return?"

The RAD library was busier than usual with students rushing to cram before the next big exam. The usually serene room had demons occupying every nook. Some sat on the floor with their back to a bookcase, some perched on the ladders leading up the shelves, and few were lucky to have a table seat.

Six of the seven brothers sat around one such coveted table. Lesser demons shied away from approaching them and even the more powerful students felt uneasy walking by. You were the only one with both guts and permission to approach.

The atmosphere was strange. They looked focused and were completely silent, so you greeted them with a wave and slid into the last open chair. Must have been Lucifer's. You leaned forward against the table edge and took a peak at Satan's advanced curse notes.

Things were too still. It felt wrong. At a glance they appeared to be studying, surrounded by book stacks and messy note sheets, but the brothers stared blankly at the material in front of them them without actually interacting with it. Something was up.

Leviathan made a barely perceptible sound. You looked at him, but brushed it off as your imagination when you realized he hadn't moved. It could have been someone nearby turning the page of a book.

At least they were all behaving. You couldn't force them to study, you were just there to supervise. You took a moment to enjoy the rare sight of the grand library being full. It was weirdly inspiring. A minute later you saw Mammon's lips twitch. He definitely said something under his breath.

"What?" you whispered, leaning his way.

Mammon dismissed you with a wave of his hand, shaking his head. You gave him a confused look.

Another mumble came from the opposite direction. You swung your head towards Asmodeus but he was fixated on a blank potion worksheet. He didn't so much as flinch when you narrowed your eyes suspiciously and waved a hand in front of his face.

"Ok. What's going on?" you asked. If this was a new way to study, it sucked.

Beelzebub coughed. It was so obviously fake. The way he covered his mouth made it hard to discern what he said.

"Lucifer's not here, you know. You guys can tell me." Would you rat them out if they were doing something malicious? That remained to be seen.

Feeling that someone was going to try again, you abandoned any hope of studying and focused all your senses towards the brothers. Who would be next to move?

It was both Satan and Belphegor. Being across from each other, you couldn't pay attention to them both and missed what they each said. They broke the stillness to make eye contact with each other and clenched their jaws in frustration.

Asmodeus took advantage of the moment to act next. The boys were getting a little louder each time, and this time you could almost make out what was said.

"...nis." Leviathan briefly shrunk behind a stack of books to say his piece.

Realization began dawning on you.

Beelzebub pretended to clear his throat. You were ready this time, and caught the word clear as day. "Penis."

By goodness, they were playing the human game you told them about. The Penis Game.

"What are the stakes? What are you playing for?" You had to know. They were doing this in the school's library, of all places? The brothers eyed each other with distrust.

"Winner gets to have you sit in their lap when Lucifer gets back," Leviathan explained, throwing a quick "penis" onto the end of his sentence.

You wondered if Lucifer would even allow that while Mammon said "penis," plain as day. A passing gaggle of students looked over.

Up on the second floor, a random demon stumbled and almost fell off a ladder, sending the books they carried crashing to the ground. Satan took advantage of the noise to say "penis" in a louder-than-average tone. The stakes were rising.

You were supposed to be supervising these guys, to make sure they studied properly to pass their exams. You should have put a stop this game. But it was funny and you were too curious how it'd unfold.

Belphegor shut his eyes. After a few deep breaths, he snorted a noise that resembled the word.

"That doesn't count," Asmodeus pouted. "It wasn't clear enough. Penis."

Belphegor furrowed his brow and cracked an eye open. "What? Yes it does. I said penis, didn't I?"

Satan clicked his tongue. "That's debateable. Penis."

The table was now speaking rather loudly and attracting stares from every direction. Nobody would dare shush the rulers of the Devildom without a death wish, but they could observe them in silence.

"I-I don't know how much longer I can do this... P-penis." Leviathan was at his limit. He didn't like the stares. Maybe if you had told them this was the "anime game" he would have stood a chance.

"What? We're just saying penis." Asmodeus had no reservations at all.

"Penis." While Mammon called out, students noticeably began trickling out of the library.

"Maybe we should wrap this up, you guys are disturbing everyone," you gingerly suggested.

"That's not fair, penis. Are you saying you want to sit in Mammon's lap?" Belphegor scowled.

Beelzebub, newly determined to beat his older brother and spurred on by his twin, bellowed "penis."

The yelling caused more students to pack up their belongings and scurry out. You cringed a bit. All remaining eyes in the library were on your table. "No! I'm not favoring anyone, but this is getting out of hand."

"Penis! They're just jealous! Come over here, I'll take good care of you." Mammon patted his thigh.

"Absolutely not! Mammon, get away from them! Penis!" Asmodeus shouted and grabbed your shoulder. Uh oh.

The physical altercation began. Satan growled, "don't touch them," and shoved Asmodeus into Leviathan's textbook stack. "Penis."

"H-hey! Watch it! Ugh, penis!" Leviathan scrambled to avoid Asmodeus' fist.

"Wow, Satan! Rude! What if I got scratched? Penis!" Asmodeus lurched at Satan, who ducked and sent the former crashing into Beelzebub.

Beelzebub didn't really care, but he still wanted to win. "Penis."

"Yeah, penis. You said it Beel." You didn't really get what he meant, but Belphegor was upset in his twin's place.

"I'm winnin' this thing! Penis!" Mammon nearly toppled the table over.

Everyone was straining to shout as loud as they could, a rowdy chorus of "penis" chants. You watched the insanity of the scene unfold in front of you, hoping demon forms would not get involved.

Something made you shudder. An ice cold, low rumble of a voice from the library entrance that cut through all the arguing and screams.

Lucifer had returned. "You're not studying."

He was followed by Lord Diavolo and Barbatos who both remained quiet, letting Lucifer deal with his family.

"You disrupt our meeting for this?" Lucifer's eyes could have had flames in them. A black mist emanated from his shoulders. He was furious. "Do you know how many complaints we received? Half the student body showed up, knocking at our door."

Diavolo was beside himself trying to maintain composure befitting a royal. He wanted nothing more than to laugh. Lucifer was not going to hear the end of this incident.

Barbatos had a cold smile plastered to his face and a hand on his chest, implying that one wrong move would result in unfathomable punishment.

The brothers shifted uncomfortably back into their chairs, dragging textbooks towards them and guiltily sticking their noses back into piles of notes. They didn't dare utter a single word.

"Don't think any of you are getting off scott free." Lucifer loomed over them. They could already feel the impending rope burn on their skin.

"If you wanted extra duties so badly, there are many sites on school grounds that can use improvement. You could have just asked." Barbatos was happy to take advantage of their suffering if it was beneficial for Diavolo.

Lucifer looked at you. He wasn't mad, just disappointed, which felt worse. "Don't think you're innocent, either. You were supposed to be supervising them."

You nervously averted your eyes, slumping your shoulders while picking at the corner of some notebook paper as he continued, "come with us back to the council room. You're giving us a detailed report on exactly what happened here, and what this 'penis game' malarkey is all about."

[obsob]

happy and proud!!

✷(print shop)✷

[mensmommymilkers]

Hey have I mentioned I’m obsessed with them

[super-notnatural]

upon many requests (and threats via pitchforks) I have fixed it

[rawbin-hsr]

Aventurine x Reader

You treat Aventurine with more respect than he deserves.

Read part 2 here !

Only barely proof-read, guaranteed to have lots of grammatical errors, English is not my first language and I am experimenting with my writing style <3

CW: smut, handjob (Aventurine receiving), dehumanisation (internal, thoughts Aventurine has of himself, referring to himself as a “monster”), feelings of inadequacy, hurt/very little comfort, crying, mentions of death, at some points this seems like dubcon because Aventurine speaks of feeling “dread”, but it’s NEVER intended to be read as him not wanting to receive touch from reader, it is meant to convey how little he thinks he deserves this. The smut is soft and gentle, but Aventurine’s internal thoughts definitely are not <3

Lmk if there’s anything else I should warn about !!

18+, minors will be blocked <3

Your touch is so kind. Soft and gentle, as if he is made of the finest porcelain, as if he is a fragile flower, as if he is delicate. It is cruel, he thinks, that he has made you think he is any less than a monster. It is cruel that he hasn’t pushed you away, when he knows he will devour you. It has become part of his nature.

But how can he push you away when you are so persistent? How can he push you away when you roll with his punches, when you go along with each and every one of his pushes and pulls? It is hard to keep you out when you insistently pry your way into what’s left of his soul, when you gaze upon the rotten corpse that he is and still claim him to be beautiful. He thinks you must be blind at best and naive at worst.

“You’re so pretty,” you whisper reverently, and though Aventurine knows his body is, he also knows that is not the part of him you’re referring to. Not when your hand rests on his chest, above the empty cavern where his heart is meant to be.

You kiss his neck and he shivers. There’s a pit in his stomach, knotting his insides with dread.

He should tell you to stop, should warn you that he’s deceiving you, that he’s not the person you think he is. Should show you that he is a wolf in sheep’s clothing, that he is a bad omen. But he can’t bring himself to. Not when being with you feels so good, not when he’s self-indulgent to a fault, and he can’t help himself with you. He is the worst mistake you could ever make, in part because he can’t even stop from letting you continue to make it.

His hands rest on the back of your neck, fingers tangled in your hair. It is unfair how good your touch feels, his back arching just from mere caresses upon his skin. You play him like he’s an instrument you’ve practiced for years, despite never having fucked him before. He digs his heels into your back as your hand wraps around his dick, and he whines into your shoulder when you lovingly stroke it.

“I love you,” you murmur as he pulls on your hair, as his nails dig into your skin, and he wants to cry. He will destroy you from the inside out, he knows, or maybe he will kill you before he gets the chance to. He can never keep the things he loves alive.

Your lips kiss his skin, and he moans brokenly as your thumb glides over the head of his cock, pushing down on the tip. His hips rock up to meet your hand, and he feels ashamed of how blatantly he allows himself to enjoy you, how blatantly he allows himself to use you. You deserve so much better, but you are the best thing that he has ever managed to get his bloodstained hands on, and so he can’t help himself. He wants you to remain unaware of how much better you could do. He wants you to stubbornly remain by his side even when he makes it hard for you to do so. He wants to bare every part of his being to you so you can see how little worth he is to you. He wants you to run from him before it’s too late.

But part of him knows he already has shown you himself, that you’ve seen who he is and you still love him. You must be stupid.

“Use me,” he begs you, wishing you’d do something with him to alleviate the guilt he feels, so it would at least be mutual. His hands cling to you, and he whimpers pathetically when you lean back to look down at him. “Use me, please. Please…”

And your eyes are so kind. Your eyes are so sweet and soft and human, and everything he is not.

“Shh,” you hush him, tenderly pressing a kiss to his lips. He sobs, feeling embarrassing tears fill his eyes as you press closer to him, the touch so caring and innocent yet so lewd as your hand tugs at him. “Just let me make you feel good, okay?”

And you do. You always keep true to your words, unlike him. It’s barely a minute later that his breath hitches and he keens, nearly wailing into your neck as he comes undone under your too loving hands. It’s obscene, and he feels filthy as his semen paints your hand and splatters on his lower stomach. He has soiled your perfect skin, has dirtied your perfect body. He hopes you will let go of him and wash yourself up, then leave him here, broken on the bed in the mess he’s created. That you will leave him to pick up the pieces of himself he has left. He is undeserving of you.

And yet he only feels your love swaddle him when his body relaxes, adoring praises and sweet words tumbling from your perfect lips as your perfect hands gently stroke his body, soothing him as if he is deserving. Your perfect body presses closer to him, no doubt getting his mess on your perfect abdomen as you almost lay yourself flat on him. You pepper perfect kisses all over his face, and he realises belatedly he’s crying. For the first time in ten years. Fat tears rolling down his cheeks, and he doesn’t know for what reason.

But you seem like you do know. You look so understanding, wiping his tears with an achingly kind, perhaps slightly sad smile, and you don’t ask him why.

“I’ve got you now, it’s okay,” you say instead. And you do, because you always keep true to your word.

And he is selfish, because he doesn’t stop you. He lets you clean him up, lets you kiss his tears away, lets you take care of him. Lets you climb into bed with him afterwards, unaware that you have brought the monster under your bed up into your loving arms. He hasn’t felt so much love since he was nine.

And he is selfish, because even though he can already feel his claws dig into your flesh as he holds you in return, he cannot bring himself to pull away. He can only hope he won’t dig in his heels when you eventually see reason and try to leave. He can only hope you will have the time to get away before he kills you.

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

My inbox is open, feel free to send in asks or requests, I'd love to ramble about things <3

[dr3amfyr-e]

brat. - j.v. ( w. 4.5k )

꒰ in which the boy you see every summer enrolls in the same university as you. ꒱ — modern!jacaerys velayron x reader

୨ ⎯ i cannot stress enough, football means ⚽️ not 🏈. childhood-friends-to-lovers, but you have to get through my 2000 word psychoanalysis and backstory first. light angst. mention of the death of a parent. lots and lots of talk about the velaryon-targaryen-hightower family dynamic. light make out action. reader's family is implied to be wealthy enough to have a summer home. almost everyone lives au. set in the uk, not westeros. omitted daemon rhaenyra marriage because there’s no way to to make it even semi-normal. realizing now i omitted daemon entirely erm sorry. pushing the laenor agenda bc he’s my favorite character. this is abhorently long. extreme overuse of the em-dash. uhh the perspective is wonky in a few places. will prob get a pt.2. ⎯ ୧

i had to write this twice. i'm offering this to you with shaking hands, like a peasent child begging for coins. i may write a part two because i have more to say, but i don't want to figure it out rn.

On the cold January morning that Jacaerys Velaryon-Targaryen was born, the media went into a frenzy. 

The Targaryens were old money, their fortune rooted a century back in good investments. Historically adept at finding their way into things, the empire had a string to pull in every industry. From art and law to technology and shipping, if business prospects looked good there would be a Targaryen investment.

And then there were the dogs — regal greyhounds, with long, thin bodies and sleek coats. The Targaryens bred them as far back as bloodline records went. The pups were never for sale; sometimes they were used as show dogs, and successful show dogs they were, but more often they were pets. It was a status symbol, to nonchalantly own such a coveted creature. 

The Targaryens were idolized in the public eye. They were all stunning, with sharp features and silver hair, and each member of the family seemed to possess a Midas touch. But, where Valyrian blood ran hot, so did the press. It was no surprise when magazines started to turn a profit from silver heads plastered across their glossy covers. It was the price that came with God-like aristocracy.

From editorials to gossip columns, people devoured the insider life of the untouchables. When Aemma Targaryen died, there was a four-page spread in nearly every magazine; complete with pictures and quotes. Business papers filled with opinion pieces about Rhaenyra’s inheritance claim to her family’s empire; magazines exploded with the announcement of her engagement to Laenor Velaryon, and subsequently Viserys’ marriage to Alicent Hightower, the daughter of his lawyer. 

When Jacaerys was born, reporters lined up outside of the hospital doors. There were cameras and microphones and crew trucks, and Rhaenyra hated it. It wasn’t the way she wished to welcome her child into the world — swarmed by people who didn’t know nor care for him.

Laenor had always been good at navigating the attention, and Rhaenyra was constantly grateful. So, when he pulled his gaze from the babe and steeled himself to deal with the onslaught of reporters outside, tears pricked at her eyes. Appreciation, exhaustion, adoration? She couldn’t be sure. 

Looking down at her son, she thought, he’s perfect. He had a smattering of dark hair, and he was quiet but not concerningly so. Wispy lashes fell upon his cherub cheeks, and when he eventually blinked up at her his eyes were dark. He looked nothing like her — she didn’t care. 

She refused to talk to anyone outside of her family, and had the curtains in her private room drawn. To expose her son, her heart, to the prying eyes of the bored masses with nary a care for his well-being was a nightmare. She wouldn’t have him exploited. 

At the time of Jacaerys’ birth, she and Laenor had been married for a little over a year. Laenor’s father, Corlys, managed the bulk of the import and export for Viserys’ company. Corlys was a good man, he hadn’t dreamed of marrying his son off. But Laenor and Rhaenyra were both in the same impossible situation: the wiles of youth mixed with the ever critical public. 

They had both fallen into scandalous relationships, both preyed on by paparazzi. If they married one another, it would save face for both of their families. Plus — both being the eldest and heir, this would clear the expectation of a dignified marriage. They agreed to leave each other to whatever youthful fun they wanted to have, as long as everything was discreet. 

Both the Velaryons and the Targaryens kept a summer home in Dragonstone, a private community in coastal Wales. It was the perfect place for Rhaenyra and Laenor to begin their life — far from her father, close to his parents, and out of the line of sight for any nosy journalist. 

The public eye had looked to other things by the time Lucerys was born, two years later. Again, Laenor dealt with the small gathering of reporters with the utmost grace, and Rhaenyra submitted a written statement. 

Alicent divorced Viserys that same year. 

As she watched her boys grow up, full of energy and life, Rhaenyra thought, there was no one better to parent with than her best friend — a title Laenor had rightfully earned. They hadn’t had much choice in knowing each other, and they certainly would never have chosen to be married, but he made a bearable roommate. They had things in common; they liked the same music, and the same men. They drank the same wine and frequented the same restaurants. And, they both loved their boys. 

As Jace and Luke grew up, they found the best company in each other — the school in Dragonstone was so small, though, that there were very few other options. They both played on the school’s small football team, and Jace took piano lessons while Luke learned to fence. Where Jace was driven by emotion, Luke was level-headed; where Luke was cautiously quiet, Jace spoke his mind. It was an ideal childhood, the Welsh coast was an idyllic backdrop to grow up upon, with the sea in their backyard. 

They were ten and eight when Joffrey was born, both excited for their new brother. Their mother brought him home, bundled in a soft red blanket. The boys sat on the couch beside Rhaenys and stared at him for upwards of an hour. 

Hardly a week had passed when Harwin Strong died. He was a family friend, a frequent presence in their home and life — Jace and Luke had been upset by this, of course. 

In time they came to understand the situation fully. Jacaerys first, fitting the pieces together with the evidence he found in the mirror. Neither Rhaenyra nor Laenor had dark hair, like he and his brothers. 

His matriline was uncontestable though, as he grew into himself. He possessed the same nose, jaw, brow, and high cheekbones that Rhaenyra wore. The comparisons between the two became more frequent as he grew older, and he found himself to be quite proud to look like her. 

Her attitude lived in him as well, the temperament she had been so notorious for as a girl festered in her eldest son. She had once been christened ���The Princess of Dragonstone’ after flipping off a reporter at their summer home. Jacearys earned it for himself when he was fifteen, after loudly berating a reporter. He had been defending Luke, but no one seemed to care when they deigned him ‘The Prince of Dragonstone’. He took it with grace, claiming that he couldn’t help but be his mother’s child.

It instilled a sense of public propriety he strove to uphold. 

Rhaenyra remarried the same year — to Alicent Hightower — and moved her children from Wales to London. It took a while to adjust to the new life — Jace liked his new school, but he detested his step-brothers. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t come around to the idea of living with Aemond and Aegon, who took so much pleasure in making he and his brothers miserable. 

After the first month, Jacaerys fell in brilliantly. He performed well in school, quickly being enrolled in the advanced literature and history courses. He got on well with his peers, and made a number of friends. He joined the football team and spent his Sunday afternoons learning piano concertos. 

Living in London made him a more publicly prominent figure in his family's legacy. He knew how to play his role as heir; he carried himself perfectly — confident and charming and elegant. He didn’t particularly like being in the public eye, but there was a certain sense of satisfaction when he did something to receive positive public attention. 

King’s Landing, much like where he had grown up, was a community reserved for the upper echelon. Situated in Northwest London, and surrounded by wrought iron gates, it was regal and dignified. The house had high, vaulted ceilings, large stained glass windows, and more than enough bedrooms. It rained more, Jacaerys noticed in the first month. When it had rained in Dragonstone he would watch the droplets bounce off the sea, where it lapped at the sandy bay. Here the rain splattered unceremoniously upon the pavement. 

For as wonderful as life in London had turned out, Jacaerys found himself longing for what was left behind in Dragonstone. Laenor lived there still, and while he called often and visited as much as he could, it wasn’t the same. Jace’s childhood bedroom remained, along with all of the memories in the house he grew up in. And his friends. There was an assortment of people he only saw between late May and early September; the children of the other seasonal residents. The number had dwindled in years past, with fewer of them returning for break — favouring more interesting places, like Ibiza or Rome, as they got older. 

Far too few of his childhood friends he kept in contact with, especially after the move to London. You were the exception. 

He was grateful, on days when it stormed in London, to receive a silly text or too-long voice note. It made things feel less dull — you had a way of doing that. 

He took to reading theory around the time he turned seventeen. It’s queer theory, at the suggestion of his cousin Baela, who lent him his first Judith Butler book. He finished it that weekend. 

His aunt Laena and her two daughters lived in London, and Jace found a close comrade in Baela. She played competitive tennis and listened to riot grrrl, she was much cooler than him and he knew it. Her bedroom held two massive bookshelves, and she let him pillage her collection for De Bouvier and Didion and Gay. Hours were spent lying across the floor in Laena’s house, studying, or reading, or talking. He enjoyed Baela’s company more than any of his school friends, favouring anything with her over anything with the boys from his football team. 

His youngest sister, Visenya, turned one around the same time. Baela, staying with Jacaerys while he babysat one night, inducted him into the eldest daughter club. 

“You’re so keen on driving your siblings around, and taking care of them. Plus, aren’t you your mother’s closest confidant?” She asked. 

True, Jace supposed. He was the oldest of Rhaenyra’s children, and the most responsible of his brothers and step-siblings. His mums both worked full time, they were busy but as involved as possible. Jace just did the menial things. He made Joffrey breakfast, picked Luke up after school, and watched Visenya when necessary. He didn’t mind.

Baela argued that he should mind. 

He had been a sensitive child, more so than his brothers, but it made him incredibly emotionally adept as he aged. So many boys his age prided themselves on stoicism, but that was never something Jace felt connected to. He always felt things too deeply to bottle them up — it accounted for the occasional temper that flared up when he was upset, but also how empathetic and kind he was. 

Jacearys was set to graduate with honours in the first week of May. It was three months before when college acceptance letters began to appear in the mail. He had applied to a number of places, and been accepted everywhere. The University of the Vale was where his hopes hinged though. 

Just after Valentine's Day, it showed up. The envelope was wide and stuffed full, and sealed with a wax stamp. His acceptance letter was on the very top of the stack of papers — the thick paper heavy in his hands, as he admired the blue printed border and silver flocking. 

Rhaenrya sorted through the informational packets while Jace reread the letter. Part of him couldn’t believe it was real.

He sends you a picture of the letter, and you respond in kind with one of an identical nature. 

You hadn’t planned to go to the same university, but it certainly was a happy coincidence. 

After graduation, he was beyond excited for the reprieve that Dragonstone granted. The promise of early morning hikes, and evenings spent on the beach — the once empty house, full of life and bustling with bodies. 

You were the first thing Jacaerys thought to look for when he set his bags down in the summer home. 

It was late May, and you were guaranteed to be out of school. I’ll text after I unpack, he thought, pulling clothes and books from his suitcase. 

His room in Dragonstone had once been his childhood bedroom. The walls were a warm tone of white, and the small bed was still covered with his blue and white checkered duvet. Piano scales and pictures of his brothers and friends adorn the walls. There was a soccer trophy on the back edge of his desk, something he had won when he was eleven. It was stuffy from nine months of stagnance, but familiar all the same. 

He pushed the curtains back from the window to let sunlight filter into the dusty room, gazing down at the beach, when he spotted your figure. He was quick to rush downstairs, out the backdoor, and across the stone path that leads from the patio to the beach. He greets you with a call of your name and a tight hug, sunglasses perched atop his head and linen shirt half buttoned. 

It had been a year since he’d last seen you. You had kept in touch during the school year; Jace favoured Snapchat and FaceTime, delighted with the pleasure of seeing the mundane things you were up to. There was a nearly constant text thread, and voice memos passed back and forth. But, it all paled in comparison to physical company. 

He abandoned his housekeeping duties, keen to sit on the beach and talk. And you did so for hours, about everything and nothing. He tells you about his last year of school and listens as you do the same. When the sun dipped past the treeline, he leaned back on his elbows, watching the water crest on the sand. He felt more at ease than he had in a while, enraptured by the ease of your presence. The conversation flowed, there were no awkward lulls and no pressure to talk about something dignified. It was comforting to be so close to someone who didn’t see much of his life in London — you knew the best version of him. 

Your friendship had always felt like that, from a young age. On days that smelled of sunscreen and sea salt in his mind, you would meet in the mornings and depart past dark and then do it again the next day, never tiring of each other. Your parents knew his, so you had always been welcome in his home — invited or not. You had shared a bed during sleepovers, drunk from the same cup, and fallen asleep on the couch during movie nights countless times. Quick glances and imperceptible expressions were a language you communicated in, reading each other without words. In your presence, Jace was the most comfortable.

The summer slipped away as it always did, taking long nights and leaving memories of sand and sunshine. The days were ambled away in the water, on rocky hiking paths, or in the meadow that sat a mile away from all of the homes. 

Jace had started The Hobbit before school ended — most days he found himself sprawled out in the park or on the beach, reading. He had also taken to running with his dog, Vermax, in the mornings. He relied on the serotonin boost to start the day, and with no football to play a jog was a decent alternative. 

When the summer drew to a close, the typical melancholy that befell the return to the real world wasn’t present in Jace’s mind. He presumed it had everything to do with the fact that he would see you every day now

You have one college class together — a nine a.m. medieval literature discussion. 

Clinging to familiarity in the new environment, he glued himself to your side for the first week of classes. He memorized the way to your dorm, meeting you outside every morning to walk together to your first lessons. The meandering conversation was a good start to the day, and he silently relished in your tired eyes and quiet voice, not yet used to the early schedule. 

On Friday he all but begged you to come back to his dorm after the discussion; it was your only class that day so you had given in. You hadn’t seen his living quarters yet, and he wanted to spend time with you, worried for when your schedules would fill up and you would lose room for each other. 

The discussion had been mind-numbing. You reviewed the same syllabus as the lecture, and went over the same rules and policies as every other class. With the thirty-five minutes remaining, the teaching assistant made everyone watch an incredibly monotone video about the history of medieval England. 

Jace linked his arm into yours in the hallway after class, pulling you to the doors. The cool morning air was refreshing, waking you up more as you walked across campus. His dorm building was new and modern, seventeen floors with grey siding and big windows. It was private housing, clearly expensive. 

He had a single room with an adjoining bathroom and a small common space. The walls were typical dorm white, with laminate wood flooring. Joffrey’s school photo is hung on one wall, the frame clearly decorated by the child with glitter and string. Scattered across the other walls were photographs in thin silver frames, a large world map, a clock, and a cross-stitch of a rainbow stag beetle.

Sitting on the couch, you observed the unframed photos that lay across the coffee table, inspecting a leggy grey dog as you plucked it from the pile, “Who is this?”

Jace leaned into your side, gazing at the photo, “My mum’s dog, Syrax,” He reached over you to tap the picture, “Syrax is my dog’s mum.” 

He slipped his hand into yours as you walked with him to his second class of the day.

In the third week of school, Jace asks you to attend a mixer for a pre-law society with him. He doesn't know anyone, and doesn't want to be alone at the party. You meet at his dorm at a quarter-to-six so you can walk to the event together. 

The dress-code is emi-formal, and when he opens the door to you his hair is slicked back with water and he smells like his cologne — musk, sandalwood, and amber. 

“Are your clothes pressed?” You ask, grinning at his freshly ironed slacks and the three buttons undone on his shirt. 

He rolls his eyes, locking the door behind him as he escorts you down the hallway. The walls of the elevator in his dorm are mirrored, and you laugh at him when you catch him taking pictures of himself. He makes you take one with him, and sets it as his lock screen. 

The mixer was in the dean of law’s massive house, buzzing with young people in smart outfits. Jace abandons you about fifteen minutes in, spotting a group of poli sci majors from his social psychology class. 

From his childhood spent between galas and his mother’s business meetings, Jace was good at navigating these situations. He was charming, leveling the professors with charismatic smiles and confident posture. He was good at holding an intelligent conversation, discussing theory and strategy. 

You were on the patio, watching the stars, when he found you an hour later.

His arms brushed yours as he leaned against the railing, “Sorry for leaving you,” His voice was quiet, and he stared at your profile, watching the way the moonlight illuminated your skin. 

You wave his apology off and make him buy you coffee in recompense on the way home. 

You’re stood talking together on the quadrangle a few weeks later, a cup of hot chocolate warming your mitten-less hands, when you realise just how cold it’s gotten. It's just too cold for the thin jacket that you try to sink further into, hiding from the wind that bites at your delicate skin.

Jace watches you shiver, observing your lack of appropriate attire. 

“Are you cold?” He asks, reaching out to run his hands up and down your arms, half to warm you, half to gauge how thick your jacket is. Not very. 

You nod, “I didn’t check the weather this morning.” 

He sighs with exaggerated exasperation and slides his arms around you, careful of the paper cup you held. Of course, he’s worn the right coat, and you feel the downy material of his hood against your cheek as he rubs your back to generate some warmth. You smell the cologne on his collar and the expensive shampoo he uses; he grumbled something about taking better care of yourself. 

Then, one particularly cold Friday morning he has forgotten his coat. Dressed in a hoodie, he mirrors your excuse from the week prior, smiling sheepishly — face flushed from the chilly air, dark curls blowing around his head like a halo. You take pity on him, slipping your scarf off. You loop it around his neck, tucking the ends down into the collar of his sweater, and leave him with a fond peck on the cheek; his skin is cold. 

He's appreciative, though the scarf does little against the cold wind cutting through his sweater. Still, he doesn't give the scarf back. 

With the cold, comes midterms. You’re the first person Jace asks to study. 

Your dorm room is closer to the central part of campus, and thus a shorter walk in the bitter cold. Jace brushes snow out of his hair as you unlock your door, ushering him inside. It's small. Two twin-sized beds, one on each wall, with nary enough room for two bodies between them; a desk is crammed into the small space between your bed and the window. You let him take the desk, spreading your books and notes out across your bed.

Your dorm is old, and the room has very little ventilation. Despite the frigidity outside, the room is stuffy and almost hot with both of your bodies inside. An hour into studying Jace shrugs off his heavy, knit sweater and pushes his glasses up into his hair. 

“What are you working on?” You ask, leaning forward. You’re bored, working on the same power point you started yesterday. You want to talk to him, though he doesn’t seem keen on the idea

He doesn’t look up from typing as he speaks, “Analysing The Art of War.” 

You shut your laptop, bent on distracting him, “The book?” 

He nods but doesn’t give a verbal response. 

“Who's that by?” You ask, fighting to suppress a grin

This time he does look up, glaring at you over his glasses, “Sun Tzu.” 

His tone is short, but it's amusing to annoy him so you grin, suppressing a giggle, “Sounds very interesting.” 

“What do you want?” He asks after a beat, still holding your gaze. 

You shrug, “Nothing. I’m bored,” 

The next time you study is even less productive, school work discarded on his floor in a matter of minutes. 

“We can’t be trusted to work together,” He tells you, watching as you calculate his astrological chart, geometry homework forgotten. 

You attend your first college party together in November. When you arrive at his dorm, he’s dressed much more casually than normal. 

You reach out to tug at the thin silver chain peeking out from his shirt collar, “This is fun,” You tease, giggling, “Aiming to impress tonight?”

He rolls his eyes in mock-offence, turning you around by the shoulders to shove you out of the doorframe. 

The lights in the house are dim, and they strobe slowly through different colours. It’s too dark and too bright all at once. The music is almost unbearably loud and people are packed in like sardines, it’s all incredibly overstimulating. 

When he senses your unease, Jace takes your hand, pulling you tight against your side to lead you through the throng of bodies. He’s looking for someone, but you’re unsure who, and he canvases the whole space before giving up on finding them.

The backyard of the house is quieter, but the ground still vibrates from the bass of the music. People are scattered about, smoking cigarettes and sipping from bottles of cheap beer. 

You both learn what Jell-O shots are, and make out in the bathroom back at his dorm. It’s not the first time you’d kissed each other, trying it a few times in your adolescence just to see what it was like. But this is different, tipsy and sloppy, as you giggle into his mouth. 

It's forgotten in the morning, when you wake up in his bed still dressed in your going-out clothes, head pounding.

But then it happens again, the week before finals.

You had stayed at the library far too late studying, leaving the pair of you to walk back to his dorm in the dark. It's positively frigid, cold December air whipping snow into your face. 

There are still snowflakes in your hair as you shed the thick coat you’re wearing, pulling off your gloves and hat. 

There's a bottle of wine in Jace’s freezer, left by Aegon the weekend before. It's expensive and rich and red, and Aegon would likely skin you if he found out you were drinking it — but, that's part of the fun. There's a baking show on the small television, and you’re curled into Jace’s side to steal some of the warmth from his body.

When the program lulls he brings his hand to your hair, combing through the tangled strands. You pay it little mind, leaning into his touch as you watch a contestant on-screen whip macaron batter. His fingers slide down to your jaw, turning your head so your eyes meet his. He’s studying your face, cheeks flushed from the wine or the cold. 

The attention is odd, and you giggle nervously under his gaze. His hands come to cradle your jaw as he leans towards you, nose brushing yours. The air is charged with an unusual tension, his mouth a breath away from yours. 

When he kisses you, he’s slow and gentle, his whole body angled into yours. Everything feels warm, a welcome contrast to the weather outside, and you chalk it up to the glasses of wine coursing through your bloodstream. 

It's pleasant, different from times past; this certainly doesn’t feel like an innocent, experimental kiss. It's heated, tinged with passion. He uses the placement of his hand to ease your jaw open, tongue sliding slowly into your mouth. 

There's a vibe, something you hadn’t felt before with him. It's communicated through the gentle touch of his hands, and how his breath hitches when you kiss him back with the same sort of force. 

The moment is broken by the announcement of a winner on the television. His hands slide down, resting on your shoulders, pulling your frame into his. 

You don’t talk about it afterwards. 

[eyeheartboobiez]

𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲!𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞 𝐡𝐜𝐬

-> warnings: smut mention

-> a/n: are you able to pick up other people’s tabs at a bar? what even is a tab? idk. here are some unnecessarily long bruce hcs that i wrote at 1am

(edit): fun fact, this was the first set of sugar daddy!bruce hcs i wrote but ended up “scrapping” bcs i didn’t like the direction it was going in👨🏿‍🦯

• honestly, you don't know how either of you ended up in this situation

The drink in your hands was starting to sweat.

One of your professors had given you the chance to attend a charity event of one of his more high society friends. Of course, while you were beyond grateful, you can easily say you'd much rather be at home binging your favorite series.

So here you were, sipping on your fourth glass of the evening without a single clue how you were gonna pay for them all. Your social battery was beyond drained as you were sitting by yourself at the bar, just about ready to call it a night.

All the other socialites in the room, however, seemed to be having a blast talking about politics or stocks or whatever it was that rich people talk about. Well, all except for one.

• on one hand hand there was you, a broke college student just looking for someone to pay for her drinks

• on the other, there was the rich billionaire who was searching for someone worthy enough of his time

• bruce had noticed you sitting alone at the bar, lightly sipping on an amethyst martini:

He takes the night off from his batman duties, and this is how he decides to spend it?

Bruce couldn't wrap his head around it either. Alfred was actually the one who talked him into going to this party. With him being one of the top donors, he was basically obligated to attend at this point.

While all the other party goers were standing around talking amongst each other, the billionaire found himself off in the corner, eyes sweeping the room to find all its nearest exits. In the midst off his mental scan though, he saw you.

The dress you wore was simple, yet it somehow made you glow against the warm lighting. Despite all the commotion in the room, your presence alone practically drew him in like a moth to a flame.

If Bruce was gonna be here all night, he might as well make things interesting, right?

• you hadn't noticed him approaching until the chair next to you was being pulled out

• you were hesitant to open up to him at first

• because why in the hell was one of the richest men in gotham talking to you of all people

• but after a while, the two of you practically sprung into conversation, talking about almost anything and everything.

• after talking for what felt like hours he asks you:

"Would you perhaps like to continue this conversation back at my place?"

• with the way his index finger was gently caressing your hand, you just knew that if you left with this man, you both would be doing anything but talking

• while you usually weren't one to sleep with strangers, one night of some fun couldn’t hurt, right?

• plus you still needed to get these drinks paid for

"Only if you offer to pick up my tab."

• one thing led to another and you found yourself lying in one of the biggest beds of your life, getting fucked by one of the richest men in the world

• you and bruce ended up spending a very long night together. by the end of it, you both were practically comatose from it all

• the next morning, you woke up fully prepared to sign some sort of NDA and head on home

• or at least you were. until you felt the hot trail of kisses leading down from your neck

"Last night was incredible," The billionaire grumbled, the low murmur of his morning voice making butterflies appear in your stomach. Open-mouthed kisses continued to trail down the valley of your breasts, "I don't suppose you wanna do that again sometime, hm?"

• you almost had to pinch yourself to make sure you weren't still dreaming

• it was over breakfast that you both went over some of the necessary details neither of you seemed to bring up the night before

• you told him things about yourself like your age and how you typically didn't go home with strangers. you also ended up confessing how you were only at the same event as him because one of your professors gave you an invitation

• which then led to him asking what your major was

• …which led him to ask what university you attended

• ….which then led to him offering to pay off your college expenses

• like hold on. pause for a second.

• did he fr just offer to pay your whole tuition?

• was the pussy that good???

• before you could think too much about it, bruce made sure to let you know that this would be a small dip into a very big bucket for him

• all he asked for in return was to spend another night with you

• of course he didn't expect you to come to a decision right away, so after exchanging numbers, he drove you home to think it over

• to be honest though, it didn't take you very long to consider things

• i mean you were practically swimming in student loans over here

• immediately after you called to give him a confirmation, your phone pinged with a notification

bruce w. sent over $860.

‘buy something nice for yourself and meet me tomorrow at seven. don’t worry about transportation, i’ll arrange a car for you.’

• and after that the rest was history

• being bruce’s sugar baby was honestly one of the best decisions you’ve ever made

• after your second night with him was when he wanted to make things official between you two

• “official” pretty much meant that he would volunteer to be your personal bank as long as you continued to keep him company

• even though it all sounded great, you weren’t stupid.

• if you were to really go through with this you would need it written on paper. you wanted this shit documented

• so that’s exactly what he did

• by the end of the day, bruce had his lawyers make a drafted copy of the terms and conditions your so called “relationship” would entail (a draft that you were free to make changes to, of course)

• now that everything had been officially set in stone, most days you found yourself either attending charity events or maxing out his company credit card

• now if only bruce could tell you about a certain night job of his…

-> a/n: when i tell you these have been in my drafts for a MINUTE😭 i think imma make a fic about how their relationship develops but first i wanna write the next part to my jason smau series

[pharawee]

Seiji✨Pan✨Ken

—DEEP NIGHT THE SERIES · Special Episode

[angelpuns]

Lil hater Leo in honor of me FINALLY getting out of bed. Idk what happened to me today but I couldn't get out bed for the longest time ;-;

Anyway just like me, Leo also managed to get out of bed. Now, I for the life of me couldn't figure out what I would want someone to say to me in this situation, so I went the silly route. Probably don't actually say this to someone, I genuinely don't know what I would have wanted someone to say if there were anyone for me to apologize too :/

Anyway here's a transcript:

Leo: I'm sorry...I was supposed to cook dinner, but I did nothing all day...

Yuichi: it's okay!

Yuichi: in the wise words of my great-great-great-grandfather...it just be like that!

Leo, thinking: idk why this is making me feel better

Leo: he did NOT say that

Yuichi: he did, I swear

Anyway I once again would not recommend actually saying this and I don't think Yuichi WOULD say this, but I couldn't think of what I would want someone to say so :/