#no joke i started hyperventilating

[mika-c0re]

Sorry for the shit quality but Mobile appearance let's gooooo

[beanghostprincess]

this specific sanji rewired my brain completely at the time to the point that it's quite literally the only thing that can make me reach full happiness now

[yourlocalbadgerscales]

Black brothers angst wasn’t enough so decided to watch Arcane

[willosword]

[adhd-merlin]

Ok so, @destielification asked about my Simon Amstell joke, and I'm not going to hijack poor @centurieslove's post but...

(Sorry, this isn't Merlin-related but it's tangentially about Colin Morgan, so it is at least Merlin-adjacent.)

Simon Amstell, if you didn't know, is a British stand-up comedian and certified weird little man.

I'm not, like, a Simon Amstell fan or anything, but I do like stand-up comedy. And I became aware of Simon Amstell some years ago after watching one stand-up show of his on YouTube, which is Do Nothing, which is still available, in fact, and you should definitely watch if you haven't because it's pretty good.

Now Simon's openly gay, and in Do Nothing he talks a lot about his romantic life, or lack thereof, and he jokes a lot about the type of men he finds attractive, who he describes as "ill-thin", "timid" and "vulnerable".

And one of the funniest bits in the show is one where he recounts an extremely awkward encounter with one such man — an actor Simon had "fallen in love with", despite never having talked to him.

So Simon went to see a play starring this actor in the hope of meeting him afterwards and maybe talking to him a bit, which didn't happen.

What did happen, though, is that a few weeks later Simon randomly bumped into the very same actor, love of his life, in a shop. And he decides there and then that it's destiny, and he must shoot his shot. (You can skip the quote below if you intend to watch the show, but I'm pasting it here because it's hilarious).

I saw him there, he hadn't seen me. He was about a metre away from me. There, that thin. And what I thought... For some reason, what I thought would be really cool and seductive would be to just stand in the middle of the shop and shout his full name. He turned round, alarmed. I could see the terror in his eyes, but because I'd started at a certain volume, I thought it'd be too odd to get any quieter. So I'm there just shouting about the good reviews this play has had and he's going, "Oh, I don't really read reviews." And he's all timid and vulnerable, which is why I love him. And I think the difference between us, because I think we were both quite shy as children... I say, "I think" — I did a lot of research on him.

And that man's name? Ben Whishaw. Apparently.

Look, I have no idea who claimed it first. I don't know if Simon admitted it in an interview at some point, or what. But it became An Established Fact™️ that the actor he was talking about was, indeed, Ben Whishaw. And if you watch Simon Amstell's show, and you know about Ben, well. It tracks. It makes perfect sense, actually.

Anyway, Simon talks to Ben, gives him his email address with some excuse or another. Ben promises to email him. And then, he doesn’t. Cue sad noises from the audience.

And that could have been the end of it, except that Simon, certified weird man, decided to be weird about it. And instead of letting it go, he elaborates his trauma by incorporating it into his writing.

And in case you think I'm exaggerating — here's what Simon himself wrote about it some time after the fact, in his own book. Straight from the horse's mouth.

A year later, the actor was in another play at the Royal Court. So I thought I’d give myself one more go at making him love me. I felt I’d written and performed all the insanity out of my head and was now ready for something real. I believed this because it would have been unbearable to accept that after all that transformative, healing comedy, I was still the same lunatic. (source)

So what Simon did was write a sit-com, in which he played a fictionalised version of himself, and in it he put a character called Ben Theodore, a pretentious theatre actor and also, basically, Ben Whishaw. (Like, if you know Ben Whishaw, you cannot not see it. That's him talking.)

But hang on, you might say, I thought this was going to be about Colin? Why are you going on about Ben Whishaw?

Well, Simon, in case you don't remember (and at this point I hope you don't) is also the writer and director of the film Benjamin (BENjamin), starring Colin Morgan as the lead and title character.

A Colin Morgan who, I might say, has something of a young Ben Whishaw about him. And he doesn't play a pretentious actor this time — in fact he plays a version of Simon Amstell himself — but the fact remains that he's exactly Simon Amstell's type, kind of looks like the man Simon was admittedly obsessed with, and even bears his name. And Simon cast him in his film to play himself, which is weird but also funny and very on brand for him, because he's self-obsessed like that.

So, to come back to my joke — I just thought the idea of Simon Amstell developing an obsessive crush on Colin Morgan and going to see The Tempest specifically to see him and missing him was hilarious.

But he did get to have him in his own film, so.

(I can't censure Simon too much for his obsession with Ben because... well, same, and also it resulted in Simon giving us Colin Morgan looking Peak Gay and serving cunt in Benjamin — in his own accent! — and I'll be forever grateful for it).

here's another post about it

[kohaioi]

GUYS GUYS GUYS MY DAD JUST ENTERED MY ROOM AND HE SAID....... HE SAID THAT..................

THE SWSH MANGAS ARE HERE.

[oneironautz]

hey bbg (basketBall Game) you look like you could cast spell of spider summoning

cant you guys ever just say hello

[wheresurboytonighthelookslikeenj]

this episode is rlly bad for me

its rlly bad for me as well. we are holding hands.

[fatalhoon]

caught in my web ! - sjy

spiderman!jake x best friend!reader

wc ~6k

cw fluff!! swearing, one cum joke LOL, jake is a big nervous dork and reader is a little dumb lmaoo, i think that’s all!

an i wrote this and posted it on my sideblog for a different fandom but i thought it was cute so i wanted to redo it for jake a post it here too :>

—🕷️🕸️🕷️—

when he first discovered that such a simple and seemingly harmless spider bite had such irreversible effects on him, jake, to put it bluntly, was petrified.

even from the moment the spider bit him, for all he knew he could soon be literally petrified by the way the bite was making his arm feel weird already, and though he can’t say he’s necessarily well versed in arachnids, that was not a spider he’d ever seen before.

he knew most likely it was just paranoia, but his brain was swirling with worst case scenarios.

nonetheless, it was very late at night and a college student such as himself did not have the money nor the means for an emergency room visit, so he decided to attempt to sleep it off, and if it seemed to be worse in the morning he’d see what he could do.

well, maybe that’s an oversimplification of events.

he’d called you, practically hyperventilating and saying his goodbyes, scaring you shitless as well for a good minute before you’d finally pried out of him what had happened.

luckily, entomology was something you were actually studying, and you had enough knowledge of various spiders and the effects of certain venom that when you arrived at his apartment (for his own peace of mind and yours) you were able to calm him enough to the point that planning his own funeral was no longer at the forefront of his mind.

with the strange spider safely captured in a small jar (as afraid as he was, he couldn’t bring himself to kill it) he felt a little better even just from your calming presence.

(“jake, why did you put a piece of cheese in there?” “i wanted to be hospitable.” “..cheese.” “i don’t know what spiders eat!”)

you spent the night on his couch that night as well (he hadn’t asked, but you knew if you left he might start typing up a will) so you were able to keep an eye on him.

the next morning jake wakes up feeling fine, albeit a bit groggy. he flops out of bed, and he rubs the sleep from his eyes as he wanders across the hall to the bathroom.

grabbing his glasses and sliding them on, he looks down at the spot on his arm that he’d been scratching at to check it’s status.

but its.. blurry?

he blinks a few times to focus his vision, but nothing changes.

its not until his hand pushes his glasses up to rub at his face and he gets a view without a lens that he realizes that its actually his glasses that are the issue. he moves them out of the way, and to his shock he can see completely clearly without them.

he lifts them up to sit on his head, looking at himself in the mirror, absolutely dumbfounded.

“what.. the fuck?”

“jake?”

he jumps, banging his knee on the counter.

“jesus! sorry,” you chuckle, hands up. “not a spider!”

“har har,” jake mocks, massaging his leg, a cute pout on his face.

you step into the bathroom, reaching up to adjust his glasses that had fallen from the crown of his head to the tip of his nose. he squints, rubbing at his temple.

“you.. okay?” you venture, watching him blink hard a few times.

“yeah! uh-“ more blinks, eyes wide- “i’m good.” a fake smile. its your turn to squint, not quite believing him.

you see him instinctively clenching his fist, shaking out his arm a little. you grab it and drag him forward a little to examine the splotch on his forearm.

“mm.” you hum. you brush your fingers along the bump, making a shiver roll up jake’s spine. he watches you over the rim of his glasses.

“its a little red, but it looks okay. i don’t think it was poisonous.”

“great! uh- cool, that’s good news,” jake bumbles, an awkward smile on his face.

he stares at you.

you stare at him.

your face is blurry.

he adjusts his glasses.

“right..”

he gulps.

“well. i have a lecture soon, so i should get going.” you give his arm a little pat and release it from your fingers. he nods, scratching at it absentmindedly again.

“still on for movie night later?”

jake answers without thinking through it.

“of course.” shit.

you grin at him. “great.” shit shit shit.

but the twinkle in your eyes and the way your fingers ruffle through his messy hair makes his heart flutter less with anxiety and more with something.. warmer.

you turn and round the hallway corner and jake lets out a tense breath he didn’t know he was holding. he knocks into a small table from his lack of clear sight as he follows you, and swiftly blames it on lack of sleep when you quirk a brow at him.

a minute later you’ve gathered your things from the living room, the bottled spider included to take to your class to be studied, and give him a wave as you walk out his front door.

“see you tonight, spider man.”

jake takes off his glasses once the door is closed behind you, sighing heavily and rubbing a hand down the side of his face. he swipes his thumb across his forearm, your touch lingering in his mind.

“spider man.” he scoffs, but he can’t help the fond smile that turns up his lips.

—🕷️🕸️🕷️—

“where are your glasses?”

“i got contacts.” jake lies through his teeth.

“today?” you question incredulously.

“… yeah.”

you clearly don’t believe him, if the way your brow furrows is anything to go by. you’d seen him just a few hours ago.

“is it because i always call you a nerd? you know i mean that affectionately, right?” jake hears the hint of guilt in your voice and panics.

“no! yeah i uh, i do- i just-“ he trails off. he isn’t sure where else to go with this. you catch the awkwardness, watching as he scratches the back of his neck, and decide to let it go before he starts sweating.

“well, if you can’t see the screen don’t ask me what happened,” you joke, lightening the mood to jake’s relief. you set down the snacks you brought and plop down on the couch, propping your feet on the coffee table, remote in hand.

jake relaxes in his spot next to you, ripping open a bag of chips. “you’d probably be asleep even if i did.” you roll your eyes and smack his arm. jake lets out a laugh.

fourty five minutes later, jake does have to ask a question about the movie you’re watching (but not because he couldn’t see, he’s just been daydreaming for most of it.)

and lo and behold, you are asleep, so he’s left to wonder.

jake starts to reach for his soda on the table in front of him, but you, wrapped around his right arm and sleeping comfortably, tighten your grip when you feel him start to move.

he moves just the left side of his body forward, ever so slowly, wiggling his fingers as he strains to grab his drink without disturbing you.

but suddenly, something knocks into the can, denting the side and sending it falling over with a tinny clank against the wood. liquid spills from the opening and dribbles over the side and onto the floor.

“how the-“

“shhh,”

he freezes, looking down at you. you pull him back again, nuzzling your face into his shoulder. your cheek presses up against his sleeve, smushing up your face and jakes’s heart almost explodes. he reaches up gently, pushing a tuft of hair away from your face, and you hum happily.

jake thinks for a second that maybe a stain on his carpet is worth it if he can stay like this forever.

something stuck to his wrist catches his attention.

its a strand of web.

jake yelps before he can catch himself, frantically flicking his arm to detach it and startles you fully awake in the process. you let out a similar yelp in practically the same octave as his was, jumping up and clutching tighter onto his bicep.

“what!! what happened?” you squeak.

he doesn’t answer, just continues his task of brushing off every square inch of his body to rid himself of any potential dangers. when he deems himself safe, he looks over at you, and is met with crossed arms and a disgruntled look.

“sorry! sorry,” jake huffs apologetically. he clears his throat, his face flushing red from embarrassment as he explains, “spider web.”

you chuckle incredulously, rubbing your eyes and letting out a yawn. “spider web,” you giggle through a playful smirk. you stand, stretching your limbs, and hobble in the direction the bathroom.

“try not to die out here without me, alright?” you quip as turn the corner.

jake groans. he gets up himself to grab a towel from the kitchen, coming back to crouch down and sop up the mess still dripping from the table.

he picks up the can and tries to set it back on the table top, but it sticks to his hand. even when he uncurls all five fingers from it, its still stuck snugly to his palm. he uses his other hand to grab it and pry it away, and it detaches with a sticky snap, leaving multiple strands of web connecting his skin to the tin.

“jesus christ,” he gripes, watching the web strands flutter under his breath.

“oh, there really was a spider web,” it’s jake’s turn to startle, jumping a bit as he sees you crouched down right beside him, observing the wiggly webs.

jake gives you an indignant look, one that reads ‘did you think i was lying?’

“honestly i just though you were being paranoid.” jake rolls his eyes, nudging you with his shoulder.

“sorry! not my fault you’re a scaredy cat!”

“i am not!” he defends, pressing the towel further down into the carpet plush.

you glide your fingers up the back of jake’s neck in a gentle tickle, and right on cue he lets out a little ‘eek!’, slapping your hand away. he pushes you softly and you giggle, falling back from your crouched stance on your toes and onto your butt. you hug your legs, resting your chin on your knee as you watch him continue to dry up the mess.

“they probably just like you. i know i do.” you drop a little hint at the end. he never seems to catch on.

“they can like me all they want, just far away from me please.” he grumbles, taking the can to the kitchen to toss it in the trash.

“spiders are friends!~” he hears you sing from the other room.

he drops the can into the bin, hoping this is the last of his spider related worries.

—🕷️🕸️🕷️—

jake never thought he would ever be friends with spiders. let alone be one.

it took him a while to realize that the spider bite had caused him more trouble than just a slight fear of the nooks and crannies of his apartment. much more trouble.

he discovered that it was him creating the webs he was finding around when he dropped his pen once while writing out some notes for a class, and when he tried to grab it before it hit the ground, he’d caught it with a collection of web strands that shot out of his wrist instead.

he discovered how strong his webs were when he tripped on the staircase while running late one day, spurting out a web that stuck to the wall and caught him, and tugged him upright before he hit the ground.

and he discovered how useful this strange new talent could be outside your apartment.

“so, any news about that spider? you brought it in to study it, right?” jake asks as nonchalantly as he possibly can, walking down the concrete steps beside you.

“oh, actually yes! we think it might be a-“

suddenly a hooded figure runs by, snatching your backpack from right off your shoulders, and sprinting down the sidewalk through a dense crowd of pedestrians.

the stranger nearly knocked you to the ground with the push-and-shove of stealing your belongings. jake caught you, steadied you on your feet, and booked it after him without even thinking twice, leaving your confused cries to stop behind him.

his speed and reflexes seemed to be heightened as he caught up in a few seconds flat, and in a fraction of that time he had a web wrapped around the strap of your bag, pulling it directly into his chest to wrap his arms around, and a leg out to sweep the thief’s legs straight out from under him, sending him face first into the pavement.

jake stands motionless for a second, energy rushing through his veins, and waits for his brain to process what had just happened. when it does, it feels like he’d just returned to his own body from somewhere completely different.

you caught up to jake after a moment, heaving heavily from your tired lungs. your eyes widen at the scene in front of you; a completely unscathed jake and a nearly unconscious criminal bleeding from the nose below.

“how did-“ you struggle for a full breath. “how did you do that?”

“uhm- adrenaline, i think?” honestly, jake isn’t quite sure how he did this either.

“jake, you could have gotten hurt!” you scold him, trying your best to sound steady and serious, but by the way your hands tremble it tells him you were more worried for his safety than anything else.

“i wasn’t gonna stand there and do nothing,” he says like its the most obvious thing in the world. he settles your bag back on your shoulders, looping your arms through the straps for you and adjusting the fabric of your sleeves. your eyes gloss over and you’re gnawing at your lip like you’re trying your best not to cry.

“your laptop is expensive. we can’t have you lose that,” he jokes, attempting to lighten the mood.

you let out a trembling laugh, and yank him in to hug him with a full crushing force. “you’re such an idiot,” you whine, and he returns the hug with a chuckle of his own.

jake isn’t sure how he did this or what exactly is going on, but what he is sure about is that whatever is happening to him, using it to protect you will always be his first priority.

—🕸️🕷️🕸️—

the idea to become a “hero” of sorts struck jake one day like a bolt of lightning.

the notion sounds absolutely crazy, jake knows that, but the circumstances have fallen directly into his lap, and he knows that if he has the ability, the real ability to protect people, he should take it.

he practices his web slinging in private, and he’s gotten quite good at it; he now can do it on command instead of at random, and can control it when he needs to.

(and yes, he’s made all of the jokes, even if he’s the only person around to laugh. he can shoot sticky white goo from his wrists, did you expect him not to be a little silly with it?)

he practices his dexterity in the air out in an old alley that no one has any reason to frequent. in doing so, his muscles have bulked up significantly, and he was flustered beyond belief when you of all people were the one the pointed it out.

he told himself that if he was going to be this new face of justice, he should protect his identity and keep it separate from his personal life. he didn’t want anyone he knew and loved getting involved; if someone got hurt because of him he wouldn’t be able to bare it.

so he made a few suit prototypes from old clothes and acrylic paint. he may not be the craftiest, but he made do, and he learned some sewing basics in the process, though you really wouldn’t be able to tell. (in the end he commissioned someone to make one for him anyway, for the sake of quality.)

the last thing he really needed came to him after he’d successfully helped a woman with an issue involving a man following her down the street late one night. after making sure the woman was safe enough to leave, he attaches his web to a fire escape and is about to swing away.

“what do i call you?” she yells out from below him as he hangs from the rail.

he thinks for a second. web boy? no, that’s dumb. arachnid kid? a little silly, he likes that it rhymes, but it still doesn’t feel right.

and then it hits him.

“spiderman.”

he swings away, and within the next few weeks, ‘spiderman’ is everything that people are talking about.

you included.

“have you seen him?” you ask him excitedly, rocking back and forth on your heels as you both stand in line at your favorite ice cream shop. “he’s so cool!”

he chuckles a little. “i’ve heard of him.” a blush creeps up on his face he hopes you don’t see, but you’re too excited to even notice. “cool, huh?”

“so cool!” you thank the worker for your milkshakes and leave the small shop, the bell above the door jingling as you step outside. “i want to talk to him so bad, i bet he’s so interesting, and he’s probably so cute under the mask,” you daydream out loud as you walk down the sidewalk.

jake coughs a bit in surprise. “what makes you think that?”

“don’t be jealous,” you poke, a smirk on your face. “just a hunch.”

in a split second you’re suddenly yanked to the edge of the sidewalk by jake as you’re about to step onto the crosswalk. before you can comprehend why, someone comes barreling through on a bicycle, shouting a faint ‘sorry!’ as they whiz by, the wind fluttering your hair. your milkshake slips from your fingers, a small gasp leaving your lips, and jake grabs it before it can splatter across the ground, placing it back in your hand for you.

“you okay?” he asks, brushing off your jacket. you don’t answer, still staring off in the direction the bike went in shock. as soon as everything catches up to you, you look at him, eyes wide. “that was insane! when did you get such crazy reflexes?”

“what do you mean?” jake sweats a little. “didn’t you hear him coming?”

you shake your head. “no that’s not it, you did that so fast, and my drink-“

“i think- i think you were just caught off guard,” he excuses, ushering you forward to keep walking.

“so um. you were talking about spiderman?”

—🕷️🕸️🕷️—

and talk about spiderman you did.

specifically, you talk about how you would love to meet him, to speak to him.

so, who would jake be to keep that from you when he is the one you want to meet?

well unfortunately, it wasn’t his choice.

(how was he supposed to go about that? knock on your door and say “hello random citizen, i’m spiderman! your best friend jake who i totally don’t know and definitely am not the same person as said you wanted to talk to me”?)

no, in reality, it was a total accident.

he finds himself crash landing onto the roof of your apartment building after a particularly brutal fight he’d gotten himself tied up in, his fatigue and pain not letting him swing any longer to make it all the way back home. he groans loudly, cradling his leg in his arms as he lays on the cold roof in the fetal position.

“spiderman??”

fuck. he knows that voice.

he lifts his head up in the direction it came from, seeing your head pop up over the ledge of the building. before he can say anything, you scramble up from the fire escape and run over to his side.

‘great,’ jake thinks. this is the second worst byproduct of you having a top floor apartment. (he still remembers how sore he was after having to help you drag your mattress up several flights of stairs when you moved in.)

“are you okay?”

“i’m fine, i’m good, i just-“ he attempts to stand on his own, but groans again, and crumples under his own weight. its your turn to catch him before he falls.

“oh god, um, i can help! just- here-“ you sling his arm around your shoulder and huddle into his side, and you help him hobble to the edge. he clambers down the fire escape, using his webs to keep him relatively stable, and fumbles through the window and onto the floor of your apartment. he hits the floor with a thud and a moan.

“sorry! um, i’ll get my first aid kit! i’ll be back!”

you leave and come back in a blind hurry, making quick work of rolling up the torn part of his suit to get a clear enough view of the gash in his leg to start your process. it hurts at first, a lot actually, but the pain subsides not long after. maybe because its you doing it, and he trusts you more than anyone, but he feels so much love and care in your movements.

he lets you focus in quiet for a while before he finally decides to say something.

“for someone who studies bugs and not medicine, you’re pretty good at that.”

you raise your eyebrows at him, wrapping a bandage around his calf. “how do you know i study bugs?”

shit. “just a hunch.”

you glance at him, not convinced.

“the pinned butterflies on your wall.”

“ah,” you say, nodding.

whew.

“maybe i just like butterflies.”

“that could be it too.” he chuckles under the mask. “i mean they’re pretty. like you. so it makes sense.”

you blush, a smile tugging at your lips. “smooth.”

“thanks, i know,” jake drawls, leaning to suavely rest on his elbow next to him, and hits his head on a table. “ow.” you both laugh.

when you finally get him patched up, he thanks you (he almost leans in for a hug on accident, but settles for a firm handshake instead) and climbs over the windowsill in preparation to take his leave.

“hey, can i ask you something?”

jake’s heart pounds. “sure.”

“can you.. come back sometime?” you twist your fingers nervously as you ask, avoiding his eyes. “i always wanted to talk to you but, this wasn’t really.. under the best circumstances, i guess.”

jake’s brain doesnt know if he should say yes, but his heart knows he could never say no to you, spiderman or otherwise.

“of course.” your smile makes it worth it.

he slings a web up onto a bar of the fire escape and flings himself out.

“wait!”

he turns back, glancing back down at you leaning out the windowsill, the chilled wind fluttering your hair.

“i don’t just like butterflies. i like spiders, too.”

jake grins.

“i didn’t used to like spiders. but i think they’re growing on me.”

and with that, he swings away.

—🕸️🕷️🕸️—

despite his better judgement, jake does come back. more than once.

he knows he shouldn’t appear as spiderman in front of you more than he needs to, but it just makes you so happy, it was physically impossible for him not to when he knows he’s the reason for your smile every time.

he sits with you now on the roof of your apartment, the same place you found him the first time, and the same place you two always meet now.

“-and that’s the story of how i met my best friend jake.” you finish your story, face flushed from laughing, and he’s forever grateful you can’t see his face under his mask. if he’s being honest (having lived through that torture with you) you actually told it way less embarrassing than he remembers it being. whether you perceive it less humiliating than he does or if you’re just gracious enough not to go into detail with strangers he’s not sure, but he’s thankful nonetheless.

“seems like you really care about him.”

“jake?” you ask, leaning back to rest on the heels of your hands. “well, yeah. he’s my favorite person in the whole world. don’t you feel that way about your best friend, too?”

jake feels his face heat up. “yeah, um. you pretty much took the words right out of my mouth.”

“yeah? tell me about them. what’s their name?”

“hey, whoa” jake lifts his hands in defense. “ask me about my favorite ninja turtle all day, but i can’t be giving out my best friend’s identity. why do you think i wear the mask?”

you laugh, nodding in understanding. “okay, okay, fair.”

a comfortable silence falls for a moment, and jake watches you gaze at the stars above the city lights.

“you remind me of him, you know.”

“huh?” jake snaps back into the present.

“jake. you guys seem really similar, honestly. same mannerisms, same cologne-“ you know the smell of his cologne? “you say things sometimes that i definitely think he would say. same favorite ninja turtle, too.”

he never really realized you paid this much attention to him. his heart flutters.

“ehh, i don’t know. guy sounds like a total nerd.”

you snort out a laugh. “oh he is,” ouch?? “but he’s my nerd. i love him just how he is. i wouldn’t change a single thing about him.”

“.. you love him?”

another silence. this one a little more.. tense.

“i love all my friends, but jake is.. different.”

“different how?”

“i’m not in love with my other friends.”

jake’s brain nearly short circuits right then and there. how he gets a single comprehensible sentence out of his mouth after that is honestly beyond him. but he’s not jake right now, he’s spiderman.

“i’m in love with my best friend too.”

“really?” you look at him, a sense of hope in your eyes, like you just found the only other person in the world in the same position as you. if you only knew.

“this,” he motions to his suit, and in turn the whole act of being spiderman at all. “its for them. i help everyone i can, of course, but,” he seems to be lost in thought for a second, drumming his fingers on his knee. “like you said, they’re different. i’d do anything for them. anything at all.”

you tilt your head at him. “wow, who knew a superhero could be so sappy.”

“yeah, yeah,” he waves his hand dismissively. “my bad, gotta protect my stone cold image.” you huff out a laugh.

“have you told them?”

“no.”

“why?”

“same reason as you, i’m guessing.”

“fear?”

“fear.”

a knowing look is passed between you.

“my best friend doesn’t actually know i’m spiderman.”

“wait really?” you ask, surprised. “why not?”

“how am i supposed to tell them that? ‘hey by the way i’m risking my life every day for you!’ that seems like a horrible conversation.”

you chuckle. “yeah, i get that. i suppose its similar to the reason you haven’t confessed. the fear of rejection is present either way.”

“exactly,” he sighs.

after a second, a light bulb seems to come on above your head. “hey, i’ve got an idea. you tell your best friend you’re spiderman, and i’ll tell my best friend i’m in love with him.”

“that’s a terrible idea,” jake admits through a chuckle.

“is it?” you feign indignant. “if they love us, they’ll accept us, right?”

jake thinks it over for a second, his heart racing so fast he hopes you can’t hear it.

“okay. deal.”

you grin. “perfect.”

how the hell is he gonna do that?

“jake should actually be on his way, i’ll call him to make sure.”

shit. shit. he forgot about movie night.

you pull out your phone, tapping quickly to find his contact and press your phone to your ear. jake panics, pulling his phone from his suit just as it starts to ring, and presses end as soon as he can reach the button.

you give him a puzzled look, and he huffs nervously. “sorry, scam calls.” he shoves his phone into his suit before you can see it.

“hm. it went straight to voicemail. that’s odd,” you muse, glancing at the ‘call ended’ screen.

“maybe he’s driving. yknow, gotta stay safe,” he bumbles, nerves flooding his system as he stands up and dusts off the back of his legs. “hey listen, its been great, but i just remembered i have to go-“

“wait, wait!” you jump up as well, grabbing onto his gloved hand. “can you stay for just a minute? i think jake would really love to meet you!”

“i really uh- its- its important- i should-“

“it’ll just be a second! i promise! don’t move!” you plead. you give his hand a squeeze, and before jake can stop you, you hop down the fire escape and scurry back into your apartment.

—🕷️🕸️🕷️—

jake is fucked. absolutely fucked.

as soon as he sees you disappear into your apartment to wait for, well, him, he slings himself down to an alley to ‘jake’ himself up.

luckily, he has spare clothes stored across the city in case of emergencies like this. he stuffs his hand through a hole in the bricks of an abandoned building and pulls out a backpack, and as quickly as he possibly can, he pulls his clothes on over his suit, shoves his mask in and zips it up. he ruffles his messy hair in an attempt to seem a more presentable type of messy, and sprints out into the street.

now trekking up the stairs toward your apartment door, he thinks there wasn’t even really a logical reason to do this. he could have just told you right then that it was him, but something inside him told him that wasn’t the right time or place.

stopping in front of your door, he prepares himself, catching his breath before he knocks.

you swing it open immediately, a huge smile on your face.

“jake! i have something to show- why are you so sweaty?”

“i uh- i was running late so i ran.” he fumbles for an excuse. he walks in and is about to kick off his shoes when you grab his arm, dragging him across the living room to your window.

“come with me first! i have something to show you!” you say, brimming with excitement.

“hold on- i need to-“

“hurry!” you squeal, and hop out the window to climb the ladder. jake internally groans, following after you.

he grabs the rungs and hoists himself up behind you. “can i tell you something first?” he calls upwards. “its important!”

“this is important too! he has to be somewhere!”

oh, so now you listen to that information.

when his head pops up above the ladder to see the expanse of the rooftop, you’re already looking around, confused.

“where did he-“

“why are we up here?”

“i’m looking for someone! he said he would stay for a second,” you whine.

he never actually agreed to that, but he’ll let it slide.

you grip the barrier of the roof and pull yourself up to stand on the ledge, putting your arms out to steady yourself as you survey the area.

“what are you doing!” jake shouts, running up to you and grabbing your waist to prevent you from falling. “you have terrible balance!”

“relax, i’m fine. maybe if i fall he’ll come back to swoop in and save me.”

and as if the universe took that as some sort of sick challenge, a huge gust of wind blows through, knocking your balance off. you tilt forward with a strained yelp, flailing your arms. jake tries to grip your belt loops but they slip from his fingers, and he lets out an exasperated yell.

bracing yourself for a horrendous fall, you let out a scream, squeezing your eyes shut.

but it never comes.

you’re suspended in the air, but there’s no rushing air, no sinking feeling in your gut, everything just.. stopped.

you pop an eye open, met with the rough red texture of the brick in front of you. you follow your arm that’s outstretched above you upward, expecting somehow to see jake’s grip wrapped around your wrist, but instead you see a bracelet of weaved white. you lock eyes with him, a terribly worried expression on his face, the same white around your wrist attached to the underside of his.

for the first time, it all clicks together.

the webs in his apartment. the way they have the same voice, same habits. the way the spider on the suit is jake’s favorite color. his change in demeanor these past few weeks. jake having a limp from the same leg spiderman had injured around the same time.

it all finally makes sense.

“you-.. you’re-..”

“surprise,” jake whispers, a small, guilty smile on his face.

“can you. pull me up, please?” you tremble.

“oh! yeah, sorry.” jake brings you in with ease, grabbing firmly onto your body until you’re sat on your knees on the safety of the roof. you lunge forward, trapping jake in a bone crushing hug. he feels that you’re still shaking, and wraps himself around you with equal fervor, holding your head to his shoulder and stroking your hair to soothe you.

how could you have been so stupid? so clueless? you had every single piece of the puzzle, yet you were so blind to the placements.

it hits you then, that you had confessed to him without knowing it.

jake pulls you back and holds onto your shoulders, scanning you for any injuries. “are you okay?”

when he locks eyes with you, he sees how flustered you look, the blush on your face, and he has to bite back a smile.

“well, this is a little awkward,” he chuckles.

“you’re such an idiot,” you scoff, a common phrase nowadays it seems, but he hears no real weight in your words.

“i should have known. no ones favorite ninja turtle is leonardo except yours.”

“don’t bring my boy into this.”

“why didn’t you tell me?”

“well i think spiderman already explained that,” he says with a shit eating grin.

you roll your eyes. “yeah, he told me quite a bit, actually. some pretty gushy stuff.” jake whines nervously, scratching the back of his neck.

“big mouth on that guy, huh.”

“jake.”

“hm?”

“i have something to tell you.”

he smiles shyly. “yeah?”

you grab jake by the zipper of his jacket, pulling you together to connect your lips in a kiss. his hands immediately find your waist to pull you closer, practically falling on top of him. he tilts his head to kiss you deeper. you sigh happily in tandem.

after a second your hands find the sides of his face and you pull away, giggling at how you both can’t stop smiling and its making it hard to continue.

“i love you.”

“i love you, too.”

you run your thumb across his bottom lip, admiring the contours of his face and how his goofy grin and lidded eyes are so full of warmth.

“don’t you have something to confess to me, too?”

“i still don’t like spiders.”

“jake!” you push him back by the chest and he laughs, wrapping his arms completely around your torso.

he wiggles his fingers up your spine in a crawling motion, making you shiver and swat him away in a fit of giggles. he leans in close to your ear, and whispers-

“i’m spiderman.”

[gaywineauntsstuff]

I love the idea of Dick being all the Batkid's favourite sibling but in violently different fonts.

Jason: Dick and Jay canonically have a pretty solid relationship but i'm partial to the Jason was around for Dick's rebellion stage and so Dick doesn't think he has to worry about the pedestal thing bc Jason has absolutely seen him violently hungover before he was legally allowed to drink font of this

So by the time Jason comes back and is no longer trying to murder Tim (except psychologically) Dick decides... Well he's evil sometimes but also I can finally tell someone all the Titans drama. So him and Jason meet up like once month if they're in the same city and get progressively drunker while shit talking their teams and Bruce.

Also I hate the Dick and Robin!Jason didn't get along. They absolutely did, Dick was like 0.5 seconds away from taking Jason to live with the titans permanently.

Tim: 'Oh Jason is Tims Robin, Oh Dick betrayed Tims trust.' in the name of the orange dude y'all elected twice W R O N G. Tim Drake used to watch VHS tapes of the flying Graysons routine. He wasn't even a batman Stan first. That came after he saw Robin do a quadruple summersault. Tim is a Dick Grayson fanboy first Person second. Like Tim canonically saw Jason die and went lmao skill issue, imagine not being like Dick Grayson i'm better. When Dick first started training him, he'd consistently excuse himself go to the other room, hyperventilate over Dick Grayson teaching him how to train surf. Dick is not just his idol he's also a pretty substantial part of Tim's support system. He calls Dick when he's going through something or is stuck on a case. And he knows that Dick will always have his back. They have like the unrealistic adorable sibling relationships from Tv that don't exist irl. Tim also does that awkward shuffle thing after fights bc they're still siblings and Dick just pretends the fight didn't happen until Tims calm again

Damian: You have to understand Damian thought he'd have to basically do the league all over again. He lands with Bruce and those ideas are soundly rejected and he now has no trust or respect and he has to adjust. And Bruce is doing his holier than thou, you should know better 10yro who literally was brainwashed as a child act, like Tim didn't have to pull him away from straight up becoming a villain and Dick didn't have to put him in his place with his fists a couple times a year (we love Bruce really). Then Bruce gets Time-streamed, Tim runs away and now the circus freak is BATMAN. Except the circus freak is also a sadistic bastard to criminals, despite being made out of marshmallows to you. Dick hangs people upside down off high buildings for information and cackles as Nightwing. He also listens to Damians worries and helps him deconstruct his bias view of the world. Dick canonically set the standard for child heroes and is among one of the most beloved and trusted heroes despite being marshmallowy and refusing to murder people. Dick is kinda like Damians stand in non pretentious moral compass until he learns his own one later on. Hence why Damian adores Dick Grayson more than anyone really.

in summary support my agenda that Dick and Jason are gossipy drinking buddies, Tim absolutely had a Dick Grayson Shrine as a child and Damian calls Dick to double check that he still cannot kill Timothy (its now entirely a joke.... mostly)

[smutstationchoochoo]

Desperate

COD Men x FemReader

Hear me out: a sex pollen fic where reader isn’t affected but he is and he is gone.

Word count: ~3.6k

A/N: It’s just the poorly written sex pollen drabble of my dreams, it’s fuck or die lads. Insert your favorite COD man here. Please forgive me for any spelling/grammar mistakes and my complete lack of knowledge regarding military things, all I know is that these men are hot and I love them.

Warnings: sex pollen, unprotected PIV (wrap it up), overstimulation, dubious consent (consent is sexy folks)

Banner credit: @cafekitsune

You all had been briefed at 0200. The flight to Berlin left at 0300 where the team would be infiltrating a terrorist hideout, a suspected manufacturing site for a new chemical agent. You were told that as long as you didn’t ingest it, you would be fine.

The fact that it had been made airborne was not in the fucking briefing.

The team had been split into pairs, you and he took the North side of the suspected warehouse. The size of it should have tipped you all off. Everything was running smoothly until 3 combatants had come from the door at the end of the corridor. He called for cover and ran ahead. You dropped two before he even got a stride in. The other he disarmed in seconds and then with a deafening crack, both men slammed through a door and into the resulting room. A brief struggle then silence. You heard him start to call the ok, his voice in the comm sounding clearer than earlier, then a noise, a pop, and the sound of air. You froze, watching a gas spill from the open door and dissipate immediately. Just when you started moving again, a growling, “Don’t,” tore through the comm. Then, the sound of ripping Velcro and something hard (his helmet you realized with a sickening drop) hitting the concrete floor echoed out to you. Soft murmurs that grew into angry outbursts of fuck fuck fuck transformed into one that became a groan of what sounded like complete and utter pain. You didn’t even have to think, the severity of the situation settled in. “It’s a gas,” you barked into the comms, “Northside hit, need medevac in 30, going dark.” You waited for confirmation, seconds after getting it and receiving news that the warehouse was almost cleared, you went to find him.

You knew what it did, you all did. Jokes had been made, smirks shared, but you all knew how bad it was. You weren’t even close to prepared. He was sitting against the far wall or rather pressed into it using it to keep his now shaking frame upright, gear strewn around the room, combatant on your immediate left with a mask (his mask, the masks you all were wearing just in fucking case) gripped in a dead hand, an empty canister mockingly sitting in the middle of the room. 

You gripped the combatant by his legs and dragged him to the hall, before slamming the door shut upon reentry and grabbing a near chair to jam the door. You immediately began stripping yourself of your outer tactical gear until you both matched in only your boots, pants, and base shirts and then you turned your attention to him. Now kneeling by his side you took him in, looking for any other injuries noting nothing serious. That almost made you laugh with relief until you saw the front of his pants and him frantically palming the growing outline. You swallowed and quickly looked at his face shocked back to the reality of the current situation. The usually stoic, always larger than life, incredibly strong man in front of you was reduced to tears dripping from his now blown and hazy eyes, falling down flushed cheeks and landing on the front of his shirt that clung to his hyperventilating chest. You knew he had been shot, stabbed often, and left for dead a time or two, but this…

Shiny and new neurotoxin, you remembered the brief, attacks the nervous system, causing the mark to feel intense arousal and as if they have been lit on fire, specially formulated not only to cause pain but a complete and utter breakdown of will as victims often experience hallucinations and loss of self. If left in the system, it raises the core temperature until convulsions set in, and then heart attack occurs. Do not touch it.

No one had to ask how it was worked out of the system. Then again, they all believed they were too smart to touch the shit. Couldn’t do much about breathing it in when your mask was ripped from your face though.

  Your hand pressed to his slick forehead now radiating heat, and feeling as if it could burn you like an open flame. At the touch of your blessedly cool hand, he hissed a low fuck through his gritted teeth, keening into your touch. You swallowed, hand tilting his cheek to look up at you when you asked, “Can I help?”  His hair was sticking up at all angles from the helmet being hastily pulled from his head, and he looked up at you and gave one weak nod, “Please.”

Upon looking at the desperation pooling in those dark eyes (those eyes you often were caught staring at) any small reservations evaporated from your body under his burning gaze. You swiftly reached out, mercifully helping him escape from the now too-tight pants, the bite of his zipper. The moment your skin brushed against the head of him he was bucking up against it. You had to reach the other hand out to steady yourself against his shoulder, another touch that jutted his hips and had him twitching into your grip.

“Is- is this helping?” you croaked out, struggling to swallow, struggling to contain the wave of arousal that was threatening to course through you. He nodded, chin slack against his chest as he watched your hand work against him, moving up and down against the veins seemingly trying to break through his skin. No thoughts went through his mind other than the knowledge that you were jerking him off and that it felt so good that he could cry in relief. But then something shuddered within him, something loud and fast like a wildfire, burning just as much, and hot thick ropes of cum spilled over your hand. He couldn’t even cry out, it happened so fast. His breath was coming out in loud pants, when a new thought, the thought that he had just come in maybe thirty seconds flashed through his mind but it was quickly replaced with the horrible realization that the feeling of being on fire wasn’t going away. It was getting worse, out of control, containment measures failed. At this, he let out a sob as his hips moved of their own volition into your still soothing grip. It wasn’t enough, he knew, you knew, it wasn’t enough.

 You stood, and he whimpered at the loss of your touch but all sound stopped in his throat when he watched you decisively unzip your pants and pull them down to your ankles underwear included, kicking off a boot, and one pant leg. When you straddled his lap he desperately pulled you down onto him, your exposed core grinding down where he wanted you, where he fucking needed you, that’s when he began to talk. Begging you to help him, saying that he’s sorry over and over, that he needs your help, incoherent babbling from a breaking mind, please it hurts so bad, I-I don’t, I can’t- fuck, I need you... All cool, calm, collectedness burnt to fucking ash. Just a man reduced to pure longing and want. A longing and want that might be what was threatening to kill him, not the toxin, just the build up over the days, weeks, months he had been around you threatening to crush him. He almost wants to die, this was never how it was supposed to be. He wanted it to be good for you, you deserve that, you deserve better, he could have given you better-

But now what was he? A heaving chest under a sweat soaked shirt beneath eyes that watch you like some feral animal. Hands wanting to claw at the clothing now so heavy, hot, and itchy against his burning skin, but instead were gripping onto your hips like it’s going to save him from burning to a crisp. The broken moans tearing their way from his throat when you line up his painfully hard cock to your entrance makes you throb, and then his choking cry as you slide down on him punches the air from your chest.

“Does this feel ok?” you panted out after a moment, struggling, trying not to drown in the pleasure of him stretching you, filling you. He couldn’t form the words, couldn’t even nod. His forehead falling to your shoulder in utter relief, mouth dropped open as he repeats your name over and over like an apology, a thanks, a goddamned prayer. How all he can do is sit there on the floor of some warehouse, back against a wall, the only thing resembling his usual strength is that ironclad hold he has on your hips as he helps you drag yourself up, then, accompanied by the tortuously obscene sounds of your wetness, back down. Brokenly pleading with you not to stop, don’t stop, fuck p-please don’t stop. You feel like molten heaven against his cock, your moans like angels (or devils, he’s too far gone to care at this point) singing through the blood rushing in his ears. One of your hands again steadies yourself on his shoulder, the other steadying him, an anchor point, with your achingly gentle hold on the nape of his damp neck (so gentle that it breaks his fucking heart, he wanted to give you more, you deserved more) as you ride him. Your hips rock once more, twice more, before his body seizes up with electricity that ricochets up his spinal cord and reverberates through his skull. His fingers dig into the soft skin of your hips, teeth grinding and eyes slamming shut, as he releases inside of you with a shattered cry. The sound of you gasping, now clutching, raking your fingers into him, has his hips continuing their rutting up into you, pushing his cum as deep as he can within your walls.

He stills for 10 seconds at most, panting breaths thunderous between you two, before pulling you into his chest, his hips slamming up into you, hard and hot as if he didn’t just fuck you until he could see every neuron firing behind his eyes. His hot open mouth finds your shocked one in a perfectly surprised “o,” more apologies pushing from his lungs and into yours between loud wet kisses as he listens (is blessed with thank you God) to you beginning to come apart. You couldn’t help it, as you ground down into his thrusts, even though you knew the threatening climax was going to be terrifying. Your breathing was ragged now as well, the air becoming harder and harder to drag into your lungs in between you cursing and moaning, and then- fucking hell- you’re at the precipice. Before you can even utter a syllable you are being flung over the edge. The pleasure rips through you, waves breaking against the rocky shore, with such intensity that it hurts, causing you to dig your nails into his skin, and bright spots to dance behind your closed eyes while the distant feeling of wetness registers from between you two. He explodes again with a gasp, feels you clench around him like a vice, his name, his real name, forcing its way from inside you and into his mouth with every pulse and it tastes so so good that he can’t stop, he never wants to stop, just filling you up until it drips from you, filling you with him because you’re his, his. Even when you both whimper and shudder with overstimulation, his arms shaking in their grip around you, he can only press his forehead to yours, rolling it desperately, as he begs for your forgiveness. I can’t stop, it won’t stop, I’ll make it good, please next time I’ll make it good.

“It is good,” you whisper to him with hitched breath from each thrust, trying to reassure him, “It’s ok, it’s ok.” You don’t know if he can hear you, his eyes are wild and don’t seem to even register that you are actually on top of him, that he’s inside of you, that he has made you yell out his name over and over and over. You don’t think he even knows what he is saying. Next time.

 His own voice comes to him from somewhere far away, through the flames licking at his mind, please- fuckin’ hell please, just a little more- I just need one more, I need you, please don’t stop, I don’t want to stop nearly unrecognizable as he comes inside you again and again and again.

It isn’t until the medevac came and he was sedated that what just happened began to sink in. For a week, a fucking week, he’s in critical condition. No one talks about it, at least not in the way you all did before this. You saved him, you’re told. You don’t want to think about it, if you think about it then you think about how good it felt, how fucked it is that it felt good, and how everything is gone. If you think about all he said, you’d overthink, give meaning where there was none. He probably won’t be able to look at you anymore. You went to see him that first day. You sat next to him for mere minutes before bolting, the fear of him waking up and looking at you with disgust, telling you to get out in that icy voice you knew so well, sent you running straight to the mats to train until you wanted to scream. That’s all you did now, and that was where you decided you would stay until you died. That is until someone came and found you, told you he was awake, and that he had asked for you. The whole walk to the infirmary had adrenaline coursing through you, you wanted to run, to fight, to freeze right there in the hall and never move another fucking muscle. The thought of losing him, him being there but not wanting to be near you anymore made you feel sick. It had been so long, so long of repressing those feelings that flared in your chest when he smiled at you during sparring, the feeling of him seated next to you on a flight, his eyes catching yours just so you could stay with him. Well, you thought with dripping ire, that had literally and figuratively been fucked now hadn’t it?  

You knocked, heard his gruff voice, and entered. You stopped dead in your tracks three steps into the room after mistakenly looking up and finding him staring at you from where he sat on the edge of the bed, already dressed, looking like he was about to head out on another call. You were desperately trying not to shake but your hands gave you away. You could take on a man twice your size without batting an eye but this?- you were terrified.

The moment you walked into the room, all his time that morning when he first woke thinking about what he would say to you, how he could face you, was knocked from his mind. You had saved his life. He never wanted that. He wanted to give it to you, it was yours after all. He didn’t know when it had become yours, every single part of him, but if he had to wager a guess it was the moment he found you in his life. And it might all be ruined.

The memories had started coming to him immediately after waking up, almost more clear and real now than in the moment.  It jolted him awake so hard that the attending ran into the room for fear that his hammering heart had in fact given out. Once his breathing had calmed a little, he tried to sift through the fog. His recall of the smell of you, the arousal dripping from between your legs, mixed with your sweat and the familiar scent of your grapefruit and ginger shampoo, nearly pulled a groan from his chest. The soft touch of your hands, cool and strong against the fire that spread through his blood, had brought him back. The feeling of you breaking, the soft whines, the way you said his name… the things he had said, he couldn’t just shut the fuck up could he?

He had to bring his hands up to cover his eyes, willing the images to go away, just for a moment, please, he just needed some time, if only he had time- next time. Next time, he had told you. A desperate promise, a reassurance, trying to tell you that it wasn’t just the chemical coursing through him, it wasn’t just his hijacked nervous system. Did she know? Did she understand? That’s when he asked for you, without thinking, just wanting to see you, to explain. He had never been good with words unless it was biting sarcasm across comms or coolly delivering ultimatums in an interrogation. Then he remembered, the thing that sent his heart barreling through his chest for the second time, the machine next to him screaming. It is good, you had said, it’s ok, it’s ok, you had whispered.  

He ripped the monitors off his chest, ignoring the doctor's protestations, found the clothes that had been brought in for him and got dressed. Now that you were standing here before him he was unsure. You looked scared, and he could count on one hand all the times he had seen you in such a state.

His staring was unnerving, more unnerving than if he had shouted, yelled, grabbed you, anything but this, this was fucking torture. You had to leave, just get off base, go somewhere, anywhere but here- the sudden sound of your name shook you from the reverie. The tone had your eyes finding his immediately.

He stayed seated, scared that if he stood, if he made his way to you, you would run, and you both knew that you were much quicker than him. If you ran, if you left, he would never catch up.  Only when his knuckles began to ache did he realize how tightly he was gripping the edge of the mattress in an effort to keep himself there. It was hard to look at you and not remember the way you had looked when you pressed your hand to his forehead, when you had thrown your head back in pleasure, when you had grabbed his face when he was too exhausted to continue but thankfully no longer felt like he was burning alive. It was hard to remember and not stride across the room and hold you. He took a breath and forced his shoulders to relax in a way that he had done so many times before.

“I-,” he started, his voice cutting through the room, his normal voice, the one you recognized as him and it set you slightly at ease from sheer familiarity, “I’m so sorry.” Now he had to turn his eyes downcast.

“What?” Your response, the shock in your voice, forced him to look at you again. Your hands itched at your sides, confusion rippling across your face.

His eyes narrowed, he knew you so well. Always blaming yourself. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, “I’m sorry that happened, I’m sorry you were put in that position,” the word choice made him nearly cringe. He continued, “I never-I didn’t want it to happen that way.”

Your brain jolted, standing there in shocked silence, his words thundering through your ears accompanied by the pleading of next time.

He pressed on, desperately trying, “I know you, you’re going to think this was your fault. It wasn’t. There was nothing either of us could do, thank you for your, uh, help. Just- fuck, please just say some-,”

Shock still swept through you, the words escaped your mouth before you could think, “Did you mean it?” You figured by the way he leaned back that he knew what you were talking about. Then he held out a hand, palm up, an offering. Before you knew it, you had crossed the room, putting your hand in his and letting it gently pull you between his legs. His giant frame meant even sitting on the gurney that his gaze was level with yours, and those eyes searched your own when one word sounded through the room.

“Yes.”

This word broke you. One fucking word, one word that answered every glance between you two, every smile shared, a word you brokenly whispered into the night when you had a hand between your legs thinking about him knowing you shouldn’t. You hadn’t cried all week, but now the giant tears rolling down your cheeks felt like a release. When his free hand, warm and rough, swiped them away you couldn’t help leaning into it, just as he had done. All tension, all fear, dissipated from the room. That hand continued to just below your ear, cupping your neck, and gently pulling you forward to press his head against yours, eyes shutting, just resting there against each other in the moment.

“What the fuck are we gonna do?” you sighed.

You could feel the smirk that you knew was slipping across his mouth.

“Well, I did say next time.”

This time when you rode him with the small bed creaking beneath the movements, he stopped you any time you tried to speed up (it was your turn to beg and plead), keeping you at a languid torturous pace. That way the bastard had all the time in the world to whisper into your mouth, letting you taste each word, all the things he would do to you next time and all the times after that.

Thank you so much for reading, please let me know what you think! :)

[httpsserene]

first off, CONGRATS ON 3k!!!! I’m so proud of you!!!! I have a couple requests pls don’t think you have to do all of them. My first one is from the kink list rating and it’s Daniel Ric, Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, Oscah Pastry, and Franco Colapnto with the orgasm control kink :)

#3k vday celly

🧽🪣 would you like a complimentary car wash? — send me any five (5) drivers and one (1) kink from this list, and i will rank the drivers in order of who i think is most to least likely to participate/avoid, or love/hate that kink !!! each driver will have a small blurb written xxx

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. tysm for the love ash !!! would've liked this to be out on monday but my flu has made me incredibly delusional :) anyways, you already know i'm going to do all of your requests ;p

⌕ 3k v-day celly nav | all 3k requests | main nav | table of contents ↻

𝐦𝐭𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐬𝐦 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤 fem!bipoc!reader x mv. 1 | dr. 3 | cl. 16 | fc. 43 | op. 81 cw under the cut.

explicit language. oral and vaginal sex. light bdsm & d/s dynamics. the mildest blasphemous phrase used at the end of charles' blurb.

𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭

Oscar knows that his quiet, polite, and kind personality tricked you into thinking he’d behave similarly in bed. It surprises him too; his desire—his ego, truthfully—growing uncharacteristically insatiable as he watches you sob and beg for a release you know he’s not going to allow. Is it the way your expression twists in frustration when he intentionally keeps his well-practiced fingers away from your clit? Is it the way your body trembles in mourning of the little death that disappears when he pulls his mouth away from devouring your pussy to paint the bronze skin of your inner thighs with the imprint of his teeth? He doesn’t know if it heightens his satisfaction, or if it becomes the entirety of his satisfaction. It matters little to him, he thinks, as he forcefully thrusts into you to feel your desperate walls squeeze and flutter tightly around him, to hear your gasping moans transform into needy whimpers. He pulls out on the precipice of your shared peak, and his guttural moan drowns out your shattered wail as he deprives you both. His dick throbs sharply as it bobs against his abdomen, a dribble of precum jutting from the slit against his sweat-slicked, pink-flushed skin. He continues to ignore the aching of his cock, leaning down to murmur his apology against your lips while he brushes away your tears with gentle thumbs. Oscar is genuinely apologetic for denying you in such a cruel manner, but he’s going to do it a couple more times before he lets either of you cum.

You’ve turned Charles into a masochist. When you made him suffer through a thirty-minute blowjob and didn’t let him cum until he almost hyperventilated—he thought it was a one-time thing. Two weeks after that, you woke him up with a handjob, releasing him as soon as his muscles started jumping, an obvious sign that he was nearing his climax, ignoring his brain screaming, “that’s hot.” He reached down, attempting to finish the job, but you slapped his hand away, tutting disapprovingly and telling him that you decide when he gets off. He nervously giggled the statement aside at first, thinking you were joking. In hindsight, he’s delighted to know that you were serious. He doesn’t know how long you’ve had his hands tied behind the back of the desk chair you pushed him down on, nor can he remember how many times you’ve brought him close to the edge before ripping it away. If it were up to him to choose when he gets to cum, he’d make himself wait until morning. But, it’s your decision. And, you remind him just how cruel you can be when you overwhelmingly focus your attention on the head of his cock, rapidly working him toward completion. You pull away at the last moment and through blurry eyes he sees your smile widening as the streaks of his spend shoot across his chest, the orgasm simultaneously unsatisfying and substance-less—he loves it. Charles chokes on his breath as he pleads for you to give him a real orgasm, his dick still erect and pulsating, begging you for more. He cries when you inform him that he doesn’t get to cum for another three days. He can’t suppress the desperation that starts to tingle at the base of his skull—but God, does it feel heavenly.

Daniel is aware that he plays too much, and you’ve told him so multiple times. He’s a jokester, his personality light-hearted and bright, always searching for opportunities to make you laugh. It seems like those traits were slightly mistranslated when it comes to how he acts in bed. He’s an unrelenting tease, his grin sharper and wider as he dangles your climax in front of you like a carrot tied to a stick. Something about watching you realize that he controls your pleasure is immensely gratifying. It helps that he knows you’re only pretending to hate when he edges you; you can’t hide how the dripping wetness of your cunt has stained his mouth with your flavor and how the dregs of anything he couldn’t greedily swallow puddled on the bed sheets beneath your ass. That doesn’t mean he likes it when you flip the script on him. He can admit that he finds it hot as hell when you use him for your satisfaction, but he thought he was having a stroke the first time you got yourself off by riding him and leaving him high and dry. Admittedly, he does understand that it made the handjob you gave him (not even five minutes later, by the way) exponentially better, but damn. You didn’t have to give him a taste of his own medicine if you wanted to retaliate against his endless teasing. Daniel’s fine with you occasionally edging him if he eventually gets to cum during one of the rounds you have; however, don’t even think about leaving him with blue balls for more than a few hours. He’s a sensitive man at his core—you’ll make him cry. You don’t want that, do you?

Max is certain that his purpose on Earth is to drive fast and to fulfill all of your intimate needs (sexual or not).  So, when you suggested trying out orgasm control, he agreed to give it a chance for you. And, to put it bluntly, he doesn’t get it. He’d rather have you screaming, sobbing, and shaking under him because he’s pushed you to the point of overstimulation from making you cum too many times and not too few times. He’s driven to satisfy you; he’s not motivated by torturing you with denial, he wants to hear you slur your words as you beg for him to give you a break when he’s fucked out the feeling from your legs and all rational thought out of your head. However, that doesn’t mean he has the same opinion when you’ve been acting bratty; edging you until you remember your manners sounds like the perfect punishment, in that case. Thankfully, he puts quite a lot of work in to make sure you don’t have the opportunity to be a brat—he happily spends most of his time pampering and treating you like a princess. If you really wanted Max to edge you or ruin your orgasms, he’d do it—but, personally, he thinks overwhelming you with pleasure is much more enjoyable for both you and him. He’s a service dom, not a monster.

Yeah, Franco is going to need you to leave your bullshit at the door. It makes absolutely zero sense to him; why should he waste his time holding back one orgasm when he can at least do it twice? Three times, if he’s horny enough. Four times, if you’re going to keep making eye contact with him. You get the point. It’s an insult when you really think about it: are you trying to say that he’s not capable of making you climax multiple times? Is that a challenge? That’s fine, he’ll prove it to you. The first round will be in the car, then against the front door, then on the kitchen island, then on the dining room table, then against the living room windows—fuck it, he’d find a way to fuck you on the ceiling. Franco’s young, he has the libido and stamina for multiple rounds of varying lengths. There’s no need to force each other to last longer when he has a battery in his back like The Energizer Bunny. It would seriously piss him off if you tried to kick him away from between your legs as he was about to make you cum on his tongue. He will sit up and cuss you out for it, but not for long—he has to return to finish his meal that you so rudely interrupted him from right as he was going to lick the plate clean.

𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭

© httpsserene — do not reupload. photos in header from pinterest. mdni divider by @cafekitsune.

[djcandiepaws]

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ "innocent"! yandere bf x reader

summary: you're about to go out with your girlfriends but you can't find your fave sweater but you find something much worse instead cw: dead body, implied kidnapping

God, where is it? You looked everywhere for it yet couldn’t find it. You looked under your bed, your drawers, your closet, you even looked in the dirty clothes hamper yet you still couldn’t find it.

You promised your friends you’d go out with them today since you all have been granted a break from your jobs. However, you can’t seem to find your favorite sweater. It’s a simple white sweater and it’s simplicity is what makes it your favorite.

You know what, you’re gonna search in your boyfriend’s closet. You remember that he explicitly told you days before that he doesn’t feel comfortable with you looking through his closet and that he would appreciate it if you avoided doing so. But it’s an emergency!

BUT these past few weeks, one could argue a month or so, you’ve been stranded with work. It seems like everyday your boss is demanding a new project to be completed, new papers to fill and file in, doing all that before the deadline is due, and all that for a slightly above average salary.

It’s been so exhausting, but you finally get a break and obviously you want to spend it with your favorite girls in the whole world! So with all this reasoning, you open the closet doors.

And as soon as you you're hit with a rotting smell. Like rotten meat or something. You try to brush it aside and look for your sweater. Which, probably smells like rotting too because of how strong this smell is. Nonetheless, you still want it because at least you can have closure for where it's at!

You see a bag at the top of the closet and get on your tippy toes to grab it, maybe your sweater is inside?

Then came crashing down not only the bag but a shoebox. You know you shouldn't be snooping around in your boyfriend's stuff but it's okay, you're his girlfriend, it's not like you'll judge him for anything! His secret will be safe with you.

You get on your knees and open the bag and look! It's your sweater! But as you continue dragging it out the bag you find that it's absolutely lathered in blood. Huh, that's weird. Even with the sweater out of the plastic bag there something very heavy in there. You reach to touch it and ew!.. Why is it strangely squishy? Whatever, you continuing pulling it out and when it's fully out you can't believe your eyes. What the fuck? It's a head. This has to be some kind of sick joke.

You just sit there for a few moments just staring at it with tears in your eyes. Honestly, you're waiting for someone to, I don't know, suddenly jump out from a hiding spot and say "It's a prank!"— But it never happens.

Upon further inspection, oh my god.. is that your co-worker..?

So this person, most likely your co-worker, is dead.. And in your house? The more you start filling in the gaps the more you come to a conclusion you don't like. You start hyperventilating. This can't be real. This has to be some kind of prank, or an actual reasonable explanation for this.

And then a sudden 'pang!' strikes your head and your body collapses. While your consciousness is fading into black you hear a faint voice speaking.

"I'm sorry, my love. I hope you understand that I did this all for you."

[theodorenmyth]

hi! not sure if soulmates counts as a weird au, but if you’re willing: would you write mattheodore + m!reader where matt and theo are in an established relationship as soulmates then discover you are also their soulmate? maybe people are like how tf do you have two soulmates???

fluff/smut/angst/whatever is good. if not, no problem! thanks

Three Threads of Love

Pairings ; Mattheo Riddle x m!reader x Theodore Nott

Summary ; You wake up with a dark green streak in your hair—proof that you’re soulmates with Mattheo Riddle and Theodore Nott. You try hiding, running, and even dyeing your hair, but they figure it out. After a dramatic meltdown (and an attempted escape), Mattheo and Theodore kidnap you with love—because, like it or not, you’re theirs now.

A/n ; this was so funny in my head while I was imagining this, enjoy!!

Warnings ; none

Word count ; 5.8k+

Soulmates.

The word alone was enough to make your stomach churn—not in disgust, but in reluctant acceptance of a fate that had never been yours.

Everyone at Hogwarts had some kind of soulmate mark. It wasn’t always instant, but by the time you reached your fifth year, you were bound to see at least something. A change in eye color, a faint tattoo-like symbol on the wrist, a string that tied you to another person, or the most dramatic of all—your hair turning the same shade as your soulmate’s.

You had seen it happen all around you.

It was beautiful. It was poetic. It was tragic.

And yet, it had never happened to you.

No colors. No scars. No strings. Nothing.

You were simply you, Y/N L/N, the single yet handsome and endearingly adorable Hufflepuff. The boy who didn’t have a soulmate mark.

At first, people assumed it would come later, that maybe you were a late bloomer. But when seventh year rolled around and you were still untouched by fate, the whispers started.

"What if he doesn’t have one?"

"Does the universe even allow that?"

"Oh, Merlin, imagine being born single. That’s actually tragic."

Even your friends—Cedric, Susan, and the rest of the Hufflepuff gang—joked about it. Not cruelly, but in a way that made you feel like some kind of rare specimen.

"Maybe you’re the universe’s loophole," Cedric had said once, slapping your back in amusement. "The one person meant to roam free."

You had laughed it off. Smiled. Accepted it. Because what else were you supposed to do?

There was no mark.

No connection.

No destined love waiting for you at the other end of a thread.

You were simply alone.

And you had made your peace with that.

Until, of course, fate decided to fuck you over.

─────────

You had always been a heavy sleeper.

So, naturally, it took something extraordinary to wake you up before the sun was even fully up.

This morning, that extraordinary thing was your own shriek.

You had barely cracked your eyes open when something felt off. Like, in-your-bones, gut-wrenching off. It wasn’t a feeling you could pinpoint, but there was a strange tingling in your scalp that made you sit up, groggy and disoriented.

And then you saw it.

A single lock of hair—once your usual shade—was now a deep, almost velvety dark green.

You stared.

It stared back.

And that was when the panic hit.

“AAAAAAAHHHHHH!”

Cedric shot up from his own bed like he’d been hexed. “What the fuck?!”

“MY HAIR! MY FUCKING HAIR, CEDRIC!” You grabbed a strand and shoved it in his barely-awake face, eyes wild. “LOOK AT IT!”

Cedric blinked at you, then at your hair, then back at you. “…What am I looking at?”

“It’s green!” You nearly hyperventilated, clutching at your head like you could somehow shake the color out. “It’s not supposed to be green!”

Cedric squinted at the strand, realization dawning on his half-conscious face. “Wait. Wait. Oh, shit.”

You flopped back onto your bed, groaning dramatically. “Oh shit is right! I went my whole life thinking I didn’t have a soulmate, and now I wake up in seventh year with a bloody green streak in my hair?! Who the hell even has green hair?!”

Cedric was still staring at you, now fully awake and fully bewildered. “That—That means something, doesn’t it?”

“No, Cedric, it means nothing—I just suddenly decided to cosplay as a Slytherin overnight.”

“I knew you were hiding a Malfoy obsession.”

“Not the time.”

Cedric bit back a grin before running a hand through his own hair. “Okay. Alright. Breathe. Let’s think about this logically.”

You sat up again, dragging your hands down your face. “Logically? Logically, the only people in this damn school with this specific color of green hair are—”

And then it hit you.

Like an actual bludger to the skull.

Your entire body went stiff. Your brain blanked out.

Because there were only two people you had ever seen with this exact shade of dark green in their hair.

Mattheo Riddle.

Theodore Nott.

“Oh,” you whispered.

Cedric, ever the genius, saw the look on your face and immediately put two and two together. His jaw dropped. “Ohhhhhh.”

Your hands started shaking. “No. No way. That—That can’t be right.”

Cedric was already grinning like a madman. “It is right.”

“I—I don’t have a soulmate!”

“Well, you do now.”

You felt lightheaded. “No. No, this is a mistake. They’re already soulmates. Everyone knows they’re soulmates. You can’t have two. That’s not a thing!”

Cedric raised an eyebrow. “Tell that to your hair.”

You threw a pillow at him.

─────────

Meanwhile…

Across the castle, in the depths of the Slytherin dorms, Mattheo sat up so fast he nearly knocked Theodore off the bed.

“What the fuck—”

Theodore groaned, rubbing his eyes. “Mattheo, if you woke me up to tell me about your dream where you hexed Potter’s eyebrows off again—”

Mattheo wasn’t listening. He was too busy staring at the faint golden shimmer across Theo’s knuckles.

The same shimmer was now visible on his own wrist.

And they both knew what it meant.

Someone else had just been tethered to them.

“…Oh, fuck,” Theodore whispered.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

You were not panicking.

You were perfectly calm.

If anyone asked, you were just casually wearing a hoodie with the hood up in the middle of breakfast, in a warm castle, surrounded by friends who knew you never wore a hood indoors.

Absolutely nothing suspicious about that.

…Except, of course, that you were suspicious. Very suspicious.

Which was why, when you slid into your usual spot at the Hufflepuff table, hands tucked into the sleeves of your oversized sweater, you were grinning a little too wide.

"Morning," Cedric greeted, shooting you a knowing glance as he buttered his toast.

"Morning!" you chirped back, voice an octave higher than normal.

Immediately, Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott—who had been talking about some Charms essay—turned to look at you.

Both of them frowned.

"You’re being weird," Susan said flatly.

Your grin widened unnaturally, almost manic. "Me? Weird? Noooo."

Hannah squinted at you. "Why are you wearing a hood?"

"Oh! This?" You tugged at the fabric like you had just remembered it was on your head. "Uh—new fashion statement."

Susan exchanged a glance with Hannah before looking back at you. "Fashion statement?"

"Yup!" You nodded way too fast. "I decided to—uh, embrace the mystery, you know? Keep people on their toes! Make ‘em wonder what’s under here. It’s all the rage in—uh, France."

"France," Hannah repeated, deadpan.

"Yup!"

Susan folded her arms. "Y/N."

You laughed. "Yes, dear friend of mine?"

"You hate having anything on your head. You complain about hats. You threw a fit last winter when we made you wear a beanie to Hogsmeade."

"Ah! Yes, well, character development! Growth! The arc of my maturity—"

"Y/N."

You flinched at the tone.

Damn Hufflepuffs and their terrifying ability to detect bullshit.

Hannah narrowed her eyes, tapping her fingers against the table. "Did Peeves glue something to your head again?"

"No!"

"Did you fail a spell and accidentally dye your hair pink?"

"Of course not!"

"Did a bird poop on your head?"

"What? No!"

"Then why are you hiding your hair?"

Your eyes darted across the Great Hall, looking anywhere but at them. "Oh! Look! Porridge!" You grabbed a spoon, stuffing a massive bite into your mouth, barely even tasting it.

Susan and Hannah exchanged another look, suspicion written all over their faces.

Cedric, the only one who actually knew what was going on, simply took a sip of his pumpkin juice, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

"You’re lying," Susan declared.

Your spoon froze halfway to your mouth. "I—"

"You are lying!" Hannah gasped.

"I am NOT—!"

"You are literally grinning like someone who just got caught sneaking into the Restricted Section!"

"That is absurd!" You let out a completely unnatural laugh, shifting in your seat. "I am merely a man who enjoys the simple pleasures of life, such as porridge and— OH LOOK, A WINDOW."

You twisted your body to face the stained glass like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

Unfortunately, this only made you look even more suspicious.

"Y/N," Susan started, voice low and accusing. "What did you do?"

"NOTHING!"

"Then why do you look like you’re about to bolt out of the room?"

"I just have a lot of energy this morning!" You were still grinning, voice high and unnatural. "You know, good sleep, nice weather—"

"You slept terribly and it’s raining outside."

"A fine drizzle!"

"You hate the rain!"

"I have learned to love it!"

"Y/N."

You shoved another spoonful of porridge into your mouth, avoiding eye contact.

────────────

At the Slytherin Table

"Alright, spill," Pansy Parkinson demanded the second Mattheo and Theodore sat down.

Astoria Greengrass, seated beside her, gave a more subtle approach, raising a perfectly shaped brow. "Something happened. I can feel it."

Draco Malfoy, sipping his tea, barely looked up. "They probably got into a fight. Again."

Blaise Zabini, on the other hand, leaned in with genuine curiosity. "No, they look… weird. Like, different weird. You two aren’t possessed, are you?"

Lorenzo Berkshire, who had been half-asleep against Draco’s shoulder, finally stirred. "If they are, can we exorcise them after breakfast?"

Mattheo rolled his eyes. "We’re not possessed, Lorenzo."

"Could’ve fooled me."

Theodore, who had been staring at the shimmering mark on his knuckles all morning, finally spoke. "Someone’s been tethered to us."

Silence.

Then—

"I’m sorry, what?" Pansy practically screeched.

Draco choked on his tea.

Blaise blinked in pure disbelief. "How?"

"That’s not possible," Astoria added, looking at them like they had both grown second heads. "You two are already bonded."

Mattheo tapped the golden shimmer across his wrist, the mark still faint but very real. "Yeah, well. Tell that to fate."

"This is insane," Pansy said, eyes wide. "People don’t get two soulmates. That’s—That’s like—"

"Unheard of," Astoria finished, still staring at their marks.

Draco, for once, looked genuinely intrigued. "Have you figured out who it is?"

"Not yet," Theodore muttered, though his gaze flickered across the Great Hall.

"Whoever it is," Mattheo said, smirking slightly, "they’re probably freaking out right now."

Theodore huffed. "You would find this amusing."

"Oh, come on, Theo. Think about it." Mattheo propped his chin on his hand, eyes glinting with amusement. "Some poor bastard woke up this morning with a soulmate mark linking them to us. That’s gotta be terrifying."

"You are terrifying," Blaise agreed.

Mattheo winked. "Why, thank you."

As the conversation continued, Theodore let his gaze wander again, scanning the room.

And then—

There.

At the Hufflepuff table.

A figure slouched in their seat, hood pulled up, looking like they were actively trying to disappear.

Theodore’s lips parted slightly.

Mattheo noticed, following his line of sight—

And promptly grinned.

"Oh. Ohhhhhh."

Draco noticed too, and his brows shot up. "Wait. L/N?"

Pansy nearly dropped her goblet. "You’re joking."

Astoria let out a soft, surprised laugh. "Oh, this is going to be interesting."

Blaise, meanwhile, was just staring at you in utter disbelief. "Him? The guy who’s never had a soulmate mark? The one everyone thought was doomed to be single forever?"

Lorenzo yawned, rubbing his eyes. "I bet he’s panicking."

Mattheo smirked. "Oh, definitely."

Theodore, watching you sink lower into your hoodie, exhaled deeply. "We should talk to him."

Mattheo cracked his knuckles, eyes gleaming. "Absolutely."

─���──────────

Back at the Hufflepuff Table

You had a bad feeling.

A very bad feeling.

Because the moment you dared to glance up, you found two pairs of eyes locked onto you from across the hall—one dark and intense, the other sharp and calculating.

Mattheo and Theodore.

Staring at you like they had just figured out exactly who their third soulmate was.

You gulped.

Cedric, noticing your expression, leaned in. "They know, don’t they?"

You swallowed thickly. "They definitely know."

Susan, still confused, followed your gaze—only to see two of the most dangerous Slytherins in the school actively plotting your demise with their eyes.

"...Y/N," she said slowly. "What did you do?"

You groaned, shoving your face into your hands. "I think I got soulmated."

Cedric grinned. "Told you fate wasn’t done with you yet."

"Shut up, Diggory."

But deep down, as panic turned into something dangerously close to excitement, you couldn't help but wonder

What the hell were Mattheo Riddle and Theodore Nott going to do about this?

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

Everything was fine.

You were fine.

You were totally fine.

Which was why you were currently walking through the courtyard with your friends, laughing along to one of Cedric’s stories while keeping a firm grip on the hood of your oversized sweater.

Just in case.

Because if anyone so much as glimpsed your hair—if anyone saw that stupidly obvious green streak that had appeared overnight—your life would be over.

Dead. Gone. Vanished.

The headlines would read: Y/N L/N, Hufflepuff Extraordinaire, Found Dead Due to Pure, Unfiltered Embarrassment.

Susan and Hannah still hadn’t stopped being suspicious, but you had managed to redirect most of their attention onto a very detailed discussion about which professor was the scariest.

"McGonagall."

"No way, Snape."

"Flitwick."

"…Flitwick?"

"You’ve never seen him angry. I have. It was horrifying."

You were just starting to think you’d actually get through the day undetected when the absolute worst thing possible happened.

Flint.

Marcus fucking Flint.

One of the dumbest, most obnoxious Slytherins in existence.

You didn’t even see him coming.

One second, you were minding your business, strolling along, successfully avoiding any and all suspicious activity.

The next?

A rough hand yanked the hood off your head.

"Oi, L/N, what are you hiding—"

Silence.

The courtyard froze.

You felt a chill run down your spine.

Oh, no.

Your friends stared.

The Hufflepuffs around you stared.

The entire courtyard stared.

Because right there, in broad daylight, your previously normal hair was now a very, very noticeable shade of blonde—except for the bold dark green streak running through it.

Your soulmark.

That exact shade of dark green.

Slytherin green.

Mattheo-and-Theodore green.

Susan's jaw dropped.

Hannah gasped.

Cedric, to his credit, didn’t look that surprised—just vaguely amused.

But Flint?

Flint howled with laughter. "OH, THIS IS RICH! L/N’S BEEN SOULMATED TO A SLYTHERIN—"

You did not let him finish.

Nope.

Absolutely NOT.

Instead, fueled by pure, raw panic, you pulled out your wand, muttered something under your breath—

And disapparated.

One second, you were in the courtyard, standing in front of way too many people.

The next, you were gone.

Vanished.

Just poof.

─────────

Hufflepuff Dormitory, Five Minutes Later

You were not hyperventilating.

Okay, you were, but no one needed to know that.

You were pacing back and forth in your dorm, hands buried in your traitorous hair, breathing way too fast.

"This is bad. This is so bad. This is—FUCK—this is really bad—"

Cedric walked in, looking entirely unsurprised to find you in full meltdown mode. "You vanished in front of half the school."

"Yes, Cedric, I am aware."

He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "So, what’s your plan?"

"My plan?" You let out a deranged laugh, spinning to face him. "My plan is to fake my death, move to a small cottage in the woods, and never be seen again."

"That’s not a plan," he pointed out, far too calmly.

"It is if you commit."

"Y/N."

"What?"

"You could just talk to them."

You stopped pacing to glare at him. "Oh, wow, what an idea, Cedric. Talking. Genius. Brilliant. Too bad I have crippling anxiety and would rather gouge my eyes out."

Cedric sighed. "Okay, so what are you going to do?"

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

And then—

An idea.

A glorious, absolutely stupid idea.

You turned to your trunk, rummaging through it until you found your wand and one of your old spellbooks.

Cedric raised a brow. "Y/N…?"

You flipped through the pages frantically. "There’s a hair-dyeing spell in here somewhere—I know there is—aha!"

Your finger landed on the page.

"Here! This! Temporary. Quick. Lasts about a day. Perfect."

Cedric blinked. "You’re going to—what? Hide it?"

"Yes."

"With a spell that lasts one day?"

"YES."

He stared at you.

Then sighed. "I don’t know why I expected anything else."

─────────

Back in the Great Hall

While you were busy spiraling, the entire school was losing its collective shit.

The moment you vanished, the courtyard had erupted.

The whispers spread fast.

And within minutes, the whole castle knew:

You, the beloved Hufflepuff, notorious single person, widely believed to be soulmate-less—was actually tethered to two of Slytherin’s most infamous students.

"You have got to be joking."

Pansy, still sitting at the Slytherin table, was staring at Mattheo and Theodore.

"He literally teleported away," Draco said, sipping his tea. "That’s how panicked he was."

Lorenzo whistled. "Damn. That’s impressive."

"We need to talk to him," Theodore said, his normally calm demeanor just slightly off-kilter.

Mattheo was already grinning. "Oh, definitely."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Well, I hope you two have a good plan, because Y/N is probably halfway to Albania by now."

Mattheo just cracked his knuckles. "Don’t worry, Pans. We’ll find him."

And when they did?

You were not getting away.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

You woke up the next morning with a single, hopeful thought:

Maybe it was all a dream.

Maybe your hair was still normal. Maybe you hadn’t accidentally revealed your soulmark to half the school. Maybe you hadn’t literally disapparated in front of everyone like a fucking lunatic.

Maybe.

You slowly reached for your wand on your nightstand, hesitated, then conjured a mirror in your shaking hand.

Then, you looked.

Your heart sank.

The spell had worn off.

The bright green streak was back, glaringly obvious against your blonde hair.

You let out a slow, defeated sigh.

"Fuck."

"Still there?"

You flinched so hard you nearly fell out of bed. "CEDRIC—"

"Sorry," he said, entirely not sorry as he leaned against the doorway. "But considering you screamed like a banshee yesterday, I figured I should check in before you self-combust."

You groaned, pressing your hands to your face. "This is so bad."

"Oh, definitely."

"Cedric."

"What? You want me to lie to you?"

"Yes."

"Fine," he said, deadpan. "It’s completely fine. No one noticed. The entire school is not talking about it. Also, you definitely didn’t magically vanish in front of fifty people."

You glared at him through your fingers. "You’re the worst."

"I am the best. Now get dressed."

"Why?"

"Because if you hide in here forever, Mattheo and Theodore will find you eventually, and you don’t want to know what their reaction will be if you avoid them all day."

You blanched. "Oh, fuck, you’re right."

"Obviously."

"I need to hide."

"No, you need to face them."

"Or I could hide."

"Y/N."

"Cedric."

"I swear to Merlin, if you don’t—"

But you were already flipping through your spellbook again.

"There! Temporary hair-color alteration! Lasts three hours—"

Cedric sighed so hard it sounded like he aged five years. "You’re stalling."

"I like stalling."

"It’s only going to get worse if you don’t talk to them."

"Maybe I want it to get worse."

"You don’t."

You ignored him, casting the spell and watching with relief as the streak disappeared, replaced with your natural hair color.

Cedric just shook his head. "You’re an idiot."

"And yet, a smart idiot, because no one will know—"

─────────

The Great Hall

You walked into breakfast with false confidence.

You were fine.

Your hair looked normal.

Everything was fine.

You sat down at the Hufflepuff table, flashing an overly large grin at your friends. "Morning, everyone!"

"Morning—"

"Why are you so chipper?" Susan asked immediately.

You blinked. "What? No reason."

Hannah squinted. "You’re acting weird."

"Weird? Me? That’s crazy talk!" You laughed, but it was too high-pitched, too forced. "I’m totally normal! Nothing to see here!"

Cedric, sitting beside you, sighed.

Susan’s eyes narrowed. "And why are you still wearing that huge hoodie?"

"Because I like it."

"It’s eighty degrees outside."

"I really like it."

"Y/N."

"What?"

"What are you hiding?"

"Nothing!" You shot her another wild grin, your eyes darting across the room.

Unfortunately, your eyes immediately locked onto the Slytherin table.

More unfortunately?

Mattheo and Theodore were already staring at you.

Your breath hitched.

They knew.

You didn’t know how they knew, but they definitely knew.

Mattheo was grinning, sharp and predatory, like he was waiting for you to run.

Theodore was watching you with his usual unreadable expression—calm, controlled, but his gaze felt heavy, like he could see right through you.

You snapped your head back around, facing your plate with great intensity.

Don’t panic. Stay calm. They’re just people. They’re just—

"Oh, my Gods, you’re definitely hiding something."

You nearly choked on your pumpkin juice. "NO, I’M NOT."

"You so are," Susan said, pointing an accusatory finger. "Your eyes are darting all over the place and you’re grinning like an absolute maniac—"

"That’s just my face—"

"You’ve got that ‘I just committed arson’ look again."

"I do not—"

"Yes, you do."

"No, I—"

"Oh, for fuck’s sake, just tell us already—"

And then—

A horrible, terrible, awful voice spoke up from behind you.

"What’s wrong, L/N? Something you don’t want people to see?"

Your stomach dropped.

Flint.

Again.

And before you could even react.

He yanked your hood down.

Again.

Your heart stopped.

Because this time?

Your fucking hair wasn’t hidden.

The room fell silent.

And just like yesterday—

Every single person in the Great Hall stared.

Your brain completely short-circuited.

"Oh," Blaise said from the Slytherin table, his eyes widening. "Holy shit."

"Well," Pansy muttered, staring. "That explains a lot."

"Oh, wow," Lorenzo added, blinking. "That’s…kind of hilarious."

Draco just sipped his tea, unbothered. "Knew it."

Your breathing turned shallow.

"Welp," you said, voice higher than normal. "Guess that’s my cue to—"

You didn’t even finish your sentence before casting another disillusionment spell—

And disappearing.

Again.

Leaving the entire Great Hall in absolute chaos.

And at the Slytherin table, Mattheo and Theodore just exchanged a look.

Then, simultaneously, they stood up.

It was time to find you.

And this time?

You weren’t getting away.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ───

You had exactly two thoughts as you sprinted back to your dorm at breakneck speed:

1. Flint is a dead man walking.

2. I am so, so, so utterly, catastrophically fucked.

Your heart was hammering in your chest as you practically threw yourself through the entrance of the Hufflepuff common room, ignoring the confused stares of your housemates. You raced up the dormitory stairs, slammed the door behind you, and immediately started hyperventilating.

Think. Think. THINK.

Your cover was blown. Your very obvious, very incriminating soulmate mark had been exposed to the entire school. And, worst of all—

Mattheo and Theodore had seen it.

And they were going to find you.

"Shit, shit, shit," you muttered, pacing like a panicked rodent caught in a trap. "Okay. Okay, Y/N, you can fix this. You just need to—"

You didn’t even know what you needed to do. Hide? Run? Fake your own death?

"Mate."

You whipped around to see Cedric leaning against the doorframe with the most done expression you’d ever seen on his face.

"You cannot be serious."

"Oh, I am so serious," you hissed, wild-eyed. "This is life and death, Diggory!"

"No," he corrected, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is you being insanely dramatic about the inevitable."

"There is nothing inevitable about this," you shot back. "I still have time to flee the country—"

"You do not have time to flee the country," he groaned. "And even if you did, Mattheo and Theodore would just hunt you down."

You flinched. "That’s exactly what I’m afraid of."

Cedric just sighed and crossed his arms. "You do realize that the whole point of soulmates is that you’re meant to be together, right?"

"Yes, well, maybe fate should have consulted me first, because I was not prepared for this," you muttered, gripping your hair. "I mean—two? Who the fuck gets two soulmates?!"

"Apparently, you."

"That’s not helpful, Diggory."

"It wasn’t meant to be helpful," he deadpanned.

You groaned again, throwing yourself onto your bed and burying your face in a pillow. "This is a nightmare."

"This is hilarious," Cedric corrected. "And I would kill to see Mattheo and Theodore’s reaction right now."

At that exact moment—

Someone knocked on the dormitory door.

Your entire body went rigid.

Cedric’s eyebrows raised. "That was fast."

You slowly lifted your head from your pillow. "No. No, no, no, no. That is not them. That could be anyone."

Another knock.

This time, louder.

Your soul left your body.

Cedric smirked. "You gonna answer that, or should I?"

"Neither," you whispered in abject horror. "We ignore it. We pretend we’re dead."

"Pretty sure they won’t buy that."

"Well, I’m willing to test that theory—"

"Y/N."

You froze.

Because this time, it wasn’t a knock.

It was a voice.

A deep, smooth, terrifyingly familiar voice.

"Open the door."

Mattheo.

You squeaked.

"We know you’re in there," another voice added, calm and even.

Theodore.

Cedric grinned. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

You whipped around, eyes wild. "CEDRIC, DO NOT OPEN THAT—"

But the bastard had already swung the door open.

You felt your soul exit your body.

Because standing in the doorway, looking directly at you, were Mattheo Riddle and Theodore Nott.

And they looked very, very determined.

"Hi, boys," Cedric greeted cheerfully. "Come to collect your runaway soulmate?"

Mattheo smirked. "Oh, absolutely."

Theodore just tilted his head, eyes locked onto you. "You have nowhere to run now, Y/N."

You laughed nervously, scooting backward on your bed. "Okay, okay, let’s just—relax, yeah? Let’s be rational about this—"

Mattheo took a single step forward.

You yelped and scrambled off the bed. "I’m very flattered—honored, even—but I think there’s been a terrible mistake—"

"Oh, there’s no mistake," Theodore interrupted, his voice soft but firm. "You are ours."

Your breath hitched.

Mattheo grinned, dangerous and amused. "And we’re not letting you run anymore, sweetheart."

You felt your entire nervous system short-circuit.

And Cedric?

He just sat back, crossed his arms, and grinned like the smug asshole he was.

"Oh, this is so much better than I imagined."

You were pretty sure your entire nervous system had just crashed and rebooted.

Because Mattheo Riddle and Theodore Nott were standing right there—inside your dormitory—blocking the only exit—and looking at you like you were a cornered rabbit.

Which, to be fair, you were.

You were already mentally preparing your last words, calculating how long it would take to jump out the window and debating whether or not you could survive the fall.

"Y/N," Theodore said calmly, taking a slow step forward. "We just want to talk."

"Do you?" you squeaked, pressing yourself against the nearest desk as if it would swallow you whole and save you from this nightmare. "Because I feel like this is less of a talking situation and more of a trapping me in my own dormitory situation."

Mattheo grinned, dark eyes glittering with amusement. "You say ‘trapping’ like we’re holding you at wandpoint, sweetheart."

"Emotionally, you are!"

Theodore sighed. "Why are you running from us?"

"Uh—self-preservation?"

Mattheo snorted. "Dramatic much?"

"YOU SAY THAT LIKE THIS ISN’T A VERY SERIOUS SITUATION!" You flailed your arms wildly, your breathing coming out erratic as your brain scrambled for an escape plan. "I WOKE UP WITH A SOULMATE MARK! NOT ONE! BUT TWO! THAT’S NOT NORMAL! I’M NOT NORMAL! MY LIFE IS OVER!"

"You’re being a little theatrical," Theodore muttered.

"THEATRICAL?" you shrieked, gesturing at your hair like it had personally betrayed you. "I—LOOK AT THIS! I LOOK LIKE A REJECTED HOUSE ELF!"

Mattheo cackled. "Merlin, I love this guy."

"NO YOU DON’T!" You spun on your heel, calculating your chances of breaking through the door and making a run for it. Spoiler alert: Not good.

Theodore sighed, rubbing his temples. "Y/N, we are literally standing here trying to talk to you. You are making this way harder than it needs to be."

"I’M MAKING IT HARDER?" You gasped, putting a hand to your chest like you were about to have a Victorian-era fainting spell. "Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize waking up with my entire destiny rewritten required a casual conversation over tea and biscuits!"

Mattheo smirked. "You say that like it’s a bad thing."

"It is a terrifying thing!" you corrected. "You two have been together for years! And now—now I just suddenly appear in the equation?!"

"You didn’t just appear," Theodore said, calm and steady as ever. "You were always meant to be a part of this, Y/N."

"THAT SOUNDS LIKE A LOAD OF COSMIC BULLSHIT!"

You twisted your body, suddenly darting to the left—

—only for strong arms to wrap around your waist and yank you backwards before you even got the chance to move three feet.

"Oh you little shit—" Mattheo laughed, tightening his grip as you kicked and flailed like a deranged cat. "Did you just try to run?"

"CEDRIC DIGGORY, YOU HELP ME RIGHT THIS INSTANT!" you bellowed, desperately reaching out toward your dormmate, who was watching the entire scene unfold from his bed with an expression of sheer amusement.

Cedric raised an eyebrow, unbothered. "Nah, I think I’ll sit this one out."

"TRAITOR!"

"Oh, calm down, sweetheart," Mattheo grinned, leaning down to murmur in your ear. "You act like we’re about to kidnap you."

"YOU MIGHT AS WELL BE!"

"You are so dramatic," Theodore muttered.

"THIS IS A JUSTIFIED REACTION!"

"You’re flailing like a fish," Mattheo added. "It’s kinda adorable."

"STOP CALLING ME ADORABLE, I AM STRUGGLING FOR MY LIFE!"

"Oh my god," Theodore sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Y/N, just breathe. You’re not dying. You’re not being held hostage. You’re just ours now. That’s all."

"THAT’S ALL?!" You gaped, struggling even harder. "‘That’s all’?! You’re acting like you just told me my schedule has changed, not that my entire FATE HAS BEEN TIED TO TWO OF THE MOST TERRIFYING SLYTHERINS IN EXISTENCE!"

Mattheo smirked. "Terrifying, huh? I like that."

"SHUT UP, RIDDLE!"

"You know," Cedric interrupted, tilting his head thoughtfully, "for someone who’s been single his whole life, you’re really bad at handling affection."

"I HAVE NEVER EXPERIENCED AFFECTION BEFORE, CEDRIC! THIS IS UNPRECEDENTED TERRITORY!"

"So what I’m hearing is," Mattheo grinned, "we just need to get you used to it."

"NO—"

Before you could scream in protest, Mattheo spun you around, forcing you to face them as Theodore took a step closer, his gaze softer now.

"Y/N," he said, firm yet gentle, "you are ours. Whether you accept it now or later, that fact won’t change. You belong with us."

"That sounds dangerously like a threat," you muttered.

Mattheo chuckled, tilting his head. "More like a promise."

Your stupid, traitorous heart stuttered at the way they were both looking at you.

You took a deep breath.

Then promptly threw yourself onto the floor.

Mattheo blinked. "Did he just—?"

Theodore sighed deeply. "Yes. He did."

Cedric snorted. "Oh, this is gold."

"I’M DEAD!" you announced from the floor, sprawled out dramatically. "You cannot claim me if I'm dead!"

Mattheo just laughed. "Oh, darling, you have no idea what you’ve just gotten yourself into."

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

You were still on the floor, arms spread out like a tragic hero, contemplating your life choices as Mattheo and Theodore stared down at you.

Mattheo was smirking, his arms crossed, while Theodore looked half-amused, half-exhausted, like he had already aged ten years dealing with your antics.

"Y/N," Theodore sighed. "You cannot just lay there and pretend you’re dead."

"Watch me," you muttered.

"You are so painfully dramatic," Mattheo cackled, nudging your leg with his foot. "C’mon, sweetheart. Get up before someone steps on you."

"I am the floor now. The floor and I are one. I have embraced my fate."

Cedric, still sitting comfortably on his bed, chuckled. "So, is this just how you’re planning to handle your entire soulmate situation? Just...playing dead?"

"YES!"

"That’s not a bad plan," Mattheo mused, stroking his chin. "Bit flawed though. ‘Cause y’know, we’re not leaving you alone, sweetheart."

"You say that like it’s a good thing!"

"It is," Theodore said, deadpan. "And you’re going to have to accept it eventually."

You made a pained noise, covering your face with your hands. "I don’t know how to be a soulmate! I’ve been single my whole life! I was mentally prepared to be a lone wolf forever! The universe did not prepare me for two soulmates, let alone you two!"

"So what you’re saying is," Mattheo grinned, "you were ready to be miserable forever, but now that you actually have soulmates, you’re just freaking out instead."

"YES!"

Theodore let out a long, suffering sigh, like he was praying for patience. "Y/N, you’re acting like we’re asking you to perform some kind of ancient ritual. You’re our soulmate. That’s it. You don’t have to ‘be’ anything except yourself."

You peeked at him between your fingers. "But you two already have each other. What if I just—mess everything up?"

At that, Mattheo’s smirk softened, and Theodore’s eyes turned gentler.

"You won’t," Theodore said, calm and steady, like he was stating a fact rather than a hope.

"We wouldn’t be bonded to you if you weren’t meant to be ours," Mattheo added. "The universe is a bitch, but it’s not wrong."

You groaned, kicking your legs against the floor like a toddler. "You guys are making this too real! Let me have my panic, dammit!"

Mattheo laughed, and before you could protest, he scooped you up off the ground, hauling you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

"WHAT THE HELL, RIDDLE? PUT ME DOWN!"

"Nah," Mattheo grinned. "You had your fun. Now it’s our turn."

"THIS IS LITERAL KIDNAPPING!"

"Nope, just soulmate bonding," Theodore said smoothly, walking beside Mattheo as if this was completely normal. "And considering how much you’ve avoided us, we have a lot to catch up on."

"CEDRIC, CALL THE MINISTRY! I’M BEING TAKEN!"

Cedric just grinned, waving lazily. "Have fun, Y/N."

"YOU’RE THE WORST, DIGGORY!"

"Love you too, mate!"

You screamed dramatically, kicking your feet, but Mattheo just laughed, tightening his hold on you like he was never letting go.

And the worst part?

Despite all your protests—despite your chaotic, overdramatic panic—

There was a small, traitorous part of you that didn’t want him to.

[aurorawritestoescape]

STOLEN LUNCH

Dave York x f!reader || 800 words

Summary: Dave steals your lunch.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, lil bit of fluff, enemies to lovers with possible history, mean but sweet Dave idk, spitting?, pussy pronouns ofc, public but not caught, rough sex, unprotected piv, creampie.

a/n: I got inspired by this poll by @sin-djarin and @sizzlingcloudmentality ‘s thoughts about Dave and wrote this little naughty thing. Thank you, Becca and Daphne!💞 barely edited, kisses to @milla-frenchy for looking it over😘 I hope you’ll enjoy this drabble <3 dividers by @/saradika-graphics

MASTERLIST

“Not again!” You growl and shut the lunchroom fridge with a loud thump, making the poor thing shake and clank.

You turn around on your heels and stare at the culprit of your anger.

Dave is leaning against the counter, holding YOUR turkey sandwich in his giant hand and chewing, his clean-shaved jaw shifting languidly.

“What’s your fucking problem?” You hiss, stomping closer to him, an image of fury and rage- your brows furrowed, your fists clenched.

Dave seems to give zero fucks. He looks relaxed, pleased even, as he’s destroying your lunch. The lunch he’s stolen from you. Again.

“The turkey’s dry. ‘s disgusting.”

“You don’t look disgusted,” you spit back at the man, hyperventilating from anger.

“‘s cause I’m looking at you, kitten. It helps.”

Your breath hitches but you try to fight the way your heart flutters and your pussy clenches at his flirting.

Instead you roll your eyes and step closer to him, lowering your voice as you speak,

“What if I told you that I spat in the middle of this damn sandwich as I was making it, huh?”

You sneer at him, thinking that you might have won this one.

Dave’s brows shoot up and he looks at the half eaten sandwich in his giant paw and then at you.

You widen your eyes and nod a few times, signaling him that you’re not joking.

Dave’s dark eyes are set on yours, they’re challenging you, as he brings the sandwich to his lips and takes a huge bite. He starts chewing and then moans. The fucker moans.

Your face softens, your anger evaporates and something warm and wet fills your core. A bite of your lip and your heart eyes are clear signs of your surrender. You’ve lost. Again.

His thick fingers grab the back of your neck and he pushes you forward, bending you over the copier.

“Dave,” you whine, as he pulls your skirt up and your tights and panties down. “Someone might come in.”

“So?”

You hear his nonchalant voice behind you, the clanking of his belt, the rustling of his clothes, and then his hot cock lands heavy on your asscheek.

”Keep still, kitten, or it’ll hurt.”

You mewl and relax your muscles, knowing that it’s coming. He pushes his length in without hesitation, taking and stretching you in one go, and you bite your palm that’s covering your whimpering mouth, when his tip hits your cervix.

“Yeahhh, that’s it. You suck at cooking but this cunt…Fuck, she’s the best.”

“Fuck youuu…” Your groan turns into a moan as Dave starts fucking you raw, his thrusts slow at first, but he picks up the pace fast, and the sounds of skin-on-skin slapping fill the little room.

For a few moments it’s nothing but lustful growls and moans, until he grabs your shoulders and pulls you to his firm chest, his hot palm around your neck, his fingers bruising your soft hip.

Dave groans in your ear, fanning your cheek with his wet breath,

“How’s that feel, kitten? I took your lunch, now I’m taking your pussy. What else are you gonna give me on a silver platter, huh? What if I steal that big client of yours?”

“I hate you,” you croak, wiggling in his arms, but both of you know it’s just a play. You wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but here, pierced by his stiff cock, in the tiny room that smells like sex and desire. Dave tightens his grip on your body and whispers against your temple,

“I won’t if you kiss me right now.”

You hear softness in his voice and you turn your head to gawk at him.

His eyes are blown out, shiny with lust and want, but there’s something else behind them. Something vulnerable and real.

“Turn me around.” Your voice is barely audible, unsure, but he hears you.

He pulls out and you hiss but then moan, as he spins you around and his lips crash against yours, his eager tongue sliding into your mouth.

Not breaking the kiss, Dave lifts you up, and you grab onto him for dear life, as he pushes his length back into your pussy.

He makes you come, moving you up and down his thumping cock, bruising your lips with kisses, leaving hickeys on your delicate skin, and then spills his hot load inside you, his face buried in your neck.

You’re fixing your clothes, both breathing heavily, when he asks,

“How about I steal your dessert at a restaurant tonight?”

“You’re such an asshole,” you throw at him with a smile and walk out of the door.

You can’t wait for the evening to come.

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic!

MASTERLIST

Tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk @pascaltesaye @fruityreads @itwasntimethatdidit40 @meetmeatyourworst @callmebyyournick-name

Tagging @bergamote-catsandbooks bc of their comment 🌸

[henry7931]

Adventures In Babysitting Spinoff: Billy’s College Adventures Part 1

It’s been 10 years since Billy’s adventures with Leo.

Billy:

Hi, I’m Billy. I think most of you are familiar with me although it’s been a hot minute. But let me catch you up. I’m now in college and doing pretty well on the most part. I guess you can say I live a somewhat ordinary life (outside of my powers of course). I live 10 hours away from my hometown now and it’s been a little bit of a challenge for me. I have little to no friends here which is my fault. I don’t really go out to parties. I’m a good student which I great and all… I’m just bored! Mainly because I promised both of my dads that I wouldn’t use my powers here. Bleh!

I realize that my abilities can seem a bit… I don’t know odd. But they feel like such a big part of me. Not only that but I also figured out how to expand them! I recently discovered before college that not only can I swap bodies with someone but I can also swap two individuals without swapping myself. Pretty cool right?

Sigh… I just can’t use them.

I don’t think anyone else has my ability. I’ve been trying for years, doing countless research on my computer to see if I’m the only person on earth who can swap with someone. And it might just be me.

Well… that statement was true until something crazy happened.

The other day I’m sitting in my Chemistry class trying my hardest to not fall asleep during our lecture. After about 30 minutes in, I got up to use the restroom hoping I’d wake up a bit.

As I’m heading down the hallway, I hear two voices panicking.

They come around the corner and it’s a guy around my age along with someone I’d assume to be a professor. I quickly hid behind a door leaving it open just enough so I can see what’s going on.

“Professor William! What did you do to us?,” says the older guy.

“Jeremy! You think I did this? You think i want to he you??!? I’m trying not to have a panic attack. This is unheard of… two people somehow becoming eachother. This has to be a dream! I have to be sleeping right now! Wake up! Wake up!,” says the young college student who starts slapping himself in the face over and over again.

“Stop slapping my face!,” says the professor grabbing the students hand.

“Oh god! This isn’t a dream!”

“Yeah No shit! Now can you pull yourself together, people are going to think Im crazy!!”

This has to be a joke… there is no way someone else has the same powers as me. Especially someone who goes to school with me.

I look around trying to see if anyone else was around them.

No one is in the hallway…

I look back at the college student and the professor. The professor inside of the college student is hyperventilating while the other is pacing back and forth.

I thought to myself, I know I’m not supposed to use my powers here… but this maybe the one exception.

I switch them back.

“Holy shit! Professor Williams! I’m me!!”

Professor Williams looks down at his body with disbelief.

“This… how did we… oh god, let’s just get out of here. I have a lesson here shortly. Make sure you bring your report back to me Monday, okay?”

“Sure thing!”

As both of them leave, I see a tall figure with a hoodie on dart for the door.

“Hey! Come back!,” I say running after them.

They keep running and I chase after them. They head outside and by the time I get to the door, a giant shuffle of people were all outside. I looked around for the hoodie but whoever that was— wasn’t anywhere to be found.

After class, I head back to my place. I laid back in bed thinking about the possibility that someone else near me had my powers.

I feel excited from the thought that I’m not the only one. But then another thought hit me— why would they swap that guy and his professor?

Was it just to be devious? Or did they have a good reason?

Listen, I’ve been guilty of swapping my family, Leo, his friends around… hell I one time swapped bodies with a teacher just to get out of a final.

But swapping those two people felt like they did it with intent. Wait… did they know that I swapped them back? Did I just accidentally outed myself?

Fuckkkk…

I grab my phone and start texting Leo. Yes, I still talk to Leo. He said we can keep friends as long as I don’t steal his body again.

I try calling him but it just goes to voicemail.

“Hey I think I messed up. Call me when you get a second.”

Ugh… I’m sure Leo is doing something too cool with his fiancé. He met some guy and he’s head over heels for him. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for Leo. Just a little bitter is all.

A few minutes pass and I close my eyes for a second.

When I open my eyes back up, I feel almost disoriented. It’s dark outside which means I must have fell asleep for hours…

It takes me a second but I suddenly realize that I’m no longer in my room… actually I don’t know where the hell I am.

I stumble around the darkness until I find a phone. The unlocks from face recognition and I immediately open up the camera.

“What the fuck?”

Who am I???

Meanwhile…

Samuel:

*Billy’s phone rings in the distance, it’s a call from Leo*

“Hello?…Oh hey… yeah. Nothing much, just chilling here— What? My text? That’s right! No I’m all good, sorry about that… didn’t mean to panic you. I know! But can I like call you back? Okay, great. Thanks!”

Geez! One second in this guy’s body and I’m already having to pretend to him!

Billy… huh… you’re a pretty good looking guy Billy. My names Samuel and we’re about to get closer than ever lol.

I tug off Billy’s socks and prop up his feet. Damn, he has some sexy ass toes.

I’m sure he’ll be here soon in my body. It’s funny, I knew of the existence of other swappers. But I never thought in a million years one would be so dumb to make it so obvious. I mean it was one thing when he swapped those guys back but then follow me? What an idiot!

I unbutton Billy’s pants and reach into his pants.

“Mhmmm…”

Man! Touching another guys junk never gets old! And he’s cute?!? This is about to be fun!