#shit they probably were in a fight club

[frog-0n-a-l0g]

Darlin at the summit DEF has a thigh knife holster. Doesn’t matter if they wear a dress or pants that hoe stays STRAPPED

[feroluce]

Connecting dots tonight (didn't connect shit, I've connected them, etc) because of this post about item descriptions to do with Sampo I saw a few days ago and! I feel like there are so many interesting things that could be implied from this!! Because the recipe for the High-Tech Protective Gear is given to you by Bronya (before the IPC invaded Belobog!), who says this little interesting tidbit about it:

This is an item from before the Eternal Freeze, 700 years ago. Even to the rest of the universe, it would be SORELY outdated. It cannot be made in Belobog anymore due to the loss of entire eras. It is effectively useless; this recipe had to be somewhere gathering dust, kept around solely for archival purposes. There is no reason for Sampo to know about this item or have any idea how it works and yet. AND YET. He's just running around selling knock offs!!

He shouldn't even know how to make these, but the fact that he does means Sampo either

had the blueprints from off-world before he came to Belobog (most likely but also most boring answer)

broke into Qlipoth Fort and copied down the blueprints (completely plausible - he's possibly shown doing exactly that in his splash art)

found another copy out in the ruins of the old world (also completely plausible - Sampo is astoundingly resilient against both the Fragmentum and the cold, as noted by Lynx haha)

Meanwhile, the Inferior Protective Gear recipe comes from an NPC in the underground, and when she gives it to you, she talks about building robots and the robot fighting scene sorry about the quality I didn't have screenshots for her dialogue so I had to use wiki

Which makes me feel like it's safe to say that the inferior gear is mostly being used in the underground, especially by the vagrants and their robots for fights, because...well, who else would use it? Cocolia has made it illegal to explore too far into the Snow Plains, and besides, it's way too dangerous for most civilians even WITH gear. The Silvermane Guards are funded by official sources, they have no reason to rely on Sampo for armor. So it makes sense for an underground mechanic to know the recipe; there's probably not as much market for it up in the overworld.

And if you look at the descriptions, you can see why this probably wasn't something that could be made in Belobog anymore; it requires a charging system of some sort.

We know it's not a problem with the basic materials because all three ingredients can be found right in the administrative district. But the underground only has two of them; somehow, despite being in the planet's crust, and literally crawling with robots...there is no metal down there. It isn't found anywhere, sold by anyone, or dropped by anything. And metal just so happens to be the one ingredient Sampo replaces in his knock off version.

The Inferior Gear uses trash instead, something which, going by the words of that same mechanic, is MORE than abundant in the underground- any good quality parts are extremely difficult to come by down there.

Anyway, all his shadiness aside, I love the implication that Sampo is smart enough to be able to take this item that no one else on the planet probably knows anything about, and was able to figure out what he could replace, and how, and with what, in order to make it easily accessible to the people of the underground, even without access to overworld resources. Because his version DOES work! It literally gives you the exact same amount of defense boost as the IPC one!

Someone should absolutely still knock him around for it, though, world's most slappable face fr fjkdsjfdkjafk

[iamtylersperfecthand]

another thing I wanted to convey in my last post but kinda got away from was just how Tyler/the narrator’s background of financial security and socioeconomic privilege insulates them to the point that roleplaying poverty is their path to “enlightenment.” and while giving up your worldly pleasures/possessions to become enlightened and understand the experience of those less privileged than you is a common philosophy (especially big in hinduism and similar religions), Tyler/the narrator are obviously not engaging in this practice at all.

on a surface level, squatting in a structurally unsound house ≠ experiencing poverty, especially when they still have multiple white collar jobs keeping them fed and without the corrosive stress of financial insecurity (which, if we’re being honest, would definitely scare the narrator back into corporate submission).

beyond that though, despite all of Tyler’s taoist-adjacent philosophies, the goal of their povertycore is just total self-centered alienation from society so that they’ll be disconnected enough from other people and physically uncomfortable enough to accept domestic terrorism as the best answer to their problems. this is not a mindset exclusive to those with money and white collar jobs, but the fact that Tyler is trying specifically to reach that population makes it the focus of the story and reveals a lot about his understanding of middle class guilt/self-pity/fragility. poor people are obviously still susceptible to propaganda and the desire to hurt those that keep them poor, but dedicating time and energy to something like fight club requires that the participants have the time and energy in the first place. if you’re working constantly and living paycheck to paycheck, you’re a lot less likely to have time for and interest in fight club (especially since a lot of wage jobs will penalize you for coming in looking disheveled or having to take time off for medical reasons like injuries). again, this definitely doesn’t apply to all poor people, but there is a reason Tyler primarily targets the middle class.

tldr: even tho fight club and its goals can appeal to people of any financial status, it’s still important to highlight Tyler/the narrator’s own socioeconomic privilege being both wildly hypocritical to what they preach and also a factor in fight club’s structure

[misserabella]

come over

abby anderson x fem! reader

pt2

summary; strangely enough, your number one enemy since kindergarten and captain of the basketball club of your college calls you up one night begging you to come over to her dorm room. after knocking on her door, things will take a turn that you would have never expected.

CW;; +18 content! minors dni!, cursing, dirty talk, nipple play, bullying and fights, teasing, oral sex (r receiving), strap on use (r receiving), abby calls the strap her cock, jealousy, possessiveness, dacryphilia, overstimulation, squirting, spanking, finger fucking, hair pulling, praising, degradation, multiple orgasms… MINORS DNI!!!

Please, under no circumstances, repost my work on any other sites. I do not consent to anyone taking my work and posting it as their own.

You were having a really bad day. Not bad, horrible.

First of all, your alarm didn’t go off for some stupid reason and caused you to 1. getting late to school and 2. getting your teacher to lower your grade just because he’s a goddamn asshole that hates you.

Second of all, you’d forgotten your lunch and your wallet, so you were now starving unable to buy anything to eat (thank god one of your friends had shared with you her sandwich or else you would be dead by now). And third of all…

“And what do we have here?”

Her.

You rolled your eyes, feeling your skin heating up and your insides turning with disgust and anger as you turned around to face the most annoying fucking person you’ve ever met.

“Give it back, Anderson.”

Abigail Anderson, the name that would appear on your worst nightmares, the monster under your bed, the last person you’d ever want to live through the end of the world with... Your enmity had been going strong since kindergarten, when she had picked on you for your looks since day one just because. Then, she started to tell her friends and those around you to not go near you or else they’d catch lice.

She needed to be on top of you all the time; if there was a race on P.E, she’d make you trip with her foot to get you on your knees and win (leaving you all bloody and injured), if there were presentations to be made in front of the whole class she’d crack up jokes to make everyone laugh at you, giving you quite the public anxiety and if you somewhat got to win her in anything (probably at grades) she’d go nuts and get so pissed that she’d make your life impossible for the next few months by trashing your locker, ‘accidentally’ throwing her drinks all over you, telling the teachers that she saw you cheating…

It only got worse when you found your best friend: Ellie Williams. You became inseparable in high school. And she made your life impossible.

You stapled a poster at the university’s ‘news wall’. It was Ellie’s, she was about to go on a tour and had asked you if it would be okay to hang some posters to let everyone know. Through the years, The Fireflies had gained fame and a lot of followers.

“The freak is going on a tour?” she scoffed, raising her eyebrows. “Disgusting. She really thinks she’s gonna become a superstar or some shit…”

You fisted your hands, your heart being squished under the nickname that your friend had had to grow up with just because she liked things the others didn’t.

“Don’t call her that.” you said, your eyes straight into hers.

“ ‘Freak’?” she teased you, swaying away the poster when you tried and take it back. “What do you want me to call her then, hm? Delusional, maybe.” she thought out loud, when she noticed your furious expression, she simply shrugged. “Just stating facts.” the people around you had gathered to listen to your bickering. It was a daily coincidence now, Anderson being always the one looking for trouble. Some of them laughed at her words… Jerks. Just like her.

“You know what, Anderson? Sure, call her whatever you want.” you said, ripping from his hands the poster. “But I assure you, that you’ll never be not an inch of a girl that she is. All that height and still no brains. ” that made the crowd burst out in laughter. You were filled with proudness when you noticed her jaw tightening and her body going stiff. You were no outcast now, you were popular to be honest, and everybody knew the two of you since Anderson was the basketball team captain and you the cheerleader team captain. It was hell on the games, each of you always fighting each other off. But your teammates had grown so accustomed to it that they just laughed at your little fights. “So go ahead and run your mouth, ‘cause I’m sure yours will never get to places hers have never been.” you leaned in. “And hold your tongue, ‘cause Ellie knows how to use hers really well.” you whispered inches away from her face, giving her a wink before stapling the poster to the board and leaving her behind with tightened fists and heated cheeks.

It was a big day for you and your team, and you didn’t have time for play dates.

—

“y/n!” your eyes shone when to your ears the familiar sound of your best friend’s voice ringed.

You turned around, with your pompoms in hand and high ponytail, your college’s cheerleader uniform shining due to the lights that lightened the whole basketball court.

“Els!” you smiled, so bright that almost blinded, running and jumping on your friend’s arms, who easily caught you and squeezed you in a tight hug. “You made it!” you laughed as she twirled you around.

“Of course I made it, it’s your big night after all. Although I still don’t get this basketball and cheering thing…” she left a sweet peck on your cheek. “But look at you all dolled up! Is it for me?” she winked, leaning just the slightest in, enough for her to whisper on your ear.

You laughed, playfully pushing at her chest. “Of course Ellie, you know I’m all yours.” you winked back, making her let out a quick laughter.

“I really need to put a ring on you, Ms. Williams.” she pointed at you as the music that let the public know that the match was about to start started to play through the speakers and she backed off to the stairs to sit and leave you to your cheerleading.

“I’ll be waiting on it, Ms. Williams!” she sent you a flying kiss that only made you giggle and roll your eyes. You loved Ellie, she always found a way to make you laugh and that’s something that you truly appreciated. She was the only one that truly got you.

You turned around to call for your teammates, your smile fading as fast as your eyes bumped against those blue ones that you do well knew at this rate.

Anderson looked at you with such a pissed expression… Water bottle tightly clutched in one of her hands, about to burst. She let it fall to the ground along with the towel that stood on her shoulders when her coach called out for her with his whistle, giving Ellie, who was on the first step on your back a death glare as she ran to the center of the court to shake hands with the other team captain.

What the…

“Girls come on!!” you called for the cheerleaders on your team as you still looked at the stiff body of your incarnated hell. What the fuck is wrong with her?

“Assume positions!”

Not my problem.

You shrugged it off and started to cheer for your team along with the public that had come to watch the match, most of them students from both colleges. And through all of it, you tried and ignore the harsh eyes that bore holes on the back of your neck, even if your skin felt like being on fire.

…

It was late at night in your dorm room, your roommate having left to stay at her girlfriend’s house since it was Friday. You were snacking on some candy and chips as you watched your favorite show, Teen Wolf, along with Ellie, who had sneaked to your bedroom, laying in your bed fully covered and with your pjs on. After the game, which you sadly had lost, you had watched as a very infuriated Abby walked out of the court and the gym, not without giving you and Ellie, who was hugging you and congratulating you for your efforts regardless of the result of the match, a pretty harsh glare that clearly said ‘fuck you two.’

Jeez, you didn’t know what has gotten her so riled up that afternoon but you surely hoped for her to go and drown her sorrows somewhere as quietly as possible and leave you alone.

“Hell yeah!” you cheered to the power couple as they shared their first kiss, almost jumping and throwing all your chips around and on your best friend when Isaac and Allison finally shared their first kiss.

“Ugh. Really Allison?! I was expecting better from you.” the auburn haired guitarist gasped, acting hurt at the ‘betrayal’. She was team Scott. Which was obviously stupid since he now liked Kira.

“What are you talking about?! Scott has moved on, doesn’t she have the right to do so too?” Ellie gave you a side glance as in a ‘no’, but she quickly laughed when you hit her shoulder with a ‘hey!’.

Your attention was completely on the screen when your phone started buzzing on your side table. You took a new bite at your candy as you reached for it, still not focusing on it as you took. the call. It was probably your roommate calling to check in.

“Hello?” you talked into the line, waiting for a few seconds for an answer that never came. You checked the screen, ‘Unknown number’ showing on its center. You furrowed your eyebrows “Hello? Who’s this?” Ellie paused the series and rose to sit up on your bed along with you, mouthing a ‘who’s it?’. You simply shrugged and mouthed back a ‘no idea’. The sudden appearance of a sharp and heavy breathing caught you off ward for a couple of seconds before you rolled your eyes.

“Are you serious?” you huffed, thinking it was a stupid phone call. “We're in college, how about we stop playing Scream and start being more matures?” you said, and just as you were about to hang up, a rather familiar voice croaked out:

“y/n."

You froze, your breath hitching as your brain tried to convince itself that you had heard right “Anderson?” you were in shock for a couple of seconds, Ellie furrowed his eyebrows and looked at you in utter disbelief. When the casual anger grew inside you with just the mention of her name appeared you snapped at her. “Do you know what hour it is… No. Why the fuck are you calling me in first place?” you rolled your eyes. For just a couple of hours that you were enjoying yourself with your best friend, of course she had to come and ruin it. She always does and always will.

She was silent for an instant before her voice breaks out in a whimper that makes your stomach flip.

“Please.”

“W…What?” your eyebrows were knitted together so hard it was painful. Ellie just hits you in the arm, silently asking you to tell her what’s going on. You just swatted her hand away and lift a finger to quiet her.

“Please.” she repeated.

“Are you drunk or something? You should-“ you started, but she was quick to cut you off.

“y/n…” that was something different. The way your name fell from her lips in such need, hunger… “Come over. Please come over. I need you so bad…”

“I-“

“y/n, what is it?” Ellie spoke up, and you could hear the tension from the other part of the line rise.

“Fuck. Is Williams there with you?” Abby affirmed more than asked.

“y/n!” Ellie asked again.

“y/n.” but the voice of Anderson on the other line had you too out of focus. The way you could hear the begging on her tone, the need…

You didn’t know what had gotten over you, but you found yourself quick on your feet to grab your dorm keys.

“Wait for me.”

Ellie stood up as well and watch you hang up and made your way out of your room after putting on a pair of shoes.

“Where are you going?” Ellie inquired, completely and utterly lost. “You’re leaving?”

“I’ll be right back, I promise. I think there’s something wrong with Anderson. You can continue with the serie and use my bed, alright?” you quickly muttered, and when you caught her stepping closer and raising her hand to say something and find out whatever the hell was going on, you closed the door on her face.

You made your way over to her room’s wing, having been there before to parties and so. And before you knew it, you had knocked on her door. You didn’t have to wait a long time before she appeared on its threshold, her normally perfectly combed and braided hair being a mess, shirtless and with only a pair of sweats and a sports bra on. She looked like a mess, with red cheeks, swollen bitten lips, glassed eyes and shaky breathing.

“Anderson, what the hell are you…” a scream almost got ripped out of you at the harsh yank that took place on your arm. Before you knew it you had been pulled inside and smashed against the now closed door of her room, her body towering over yours and her breath caressing your face.

Fuck. You’ve never been this close before.

“You’re driving me insane.” she said, one of her hands cupping your cheek, dark shiny eyes connecting with yours before they’d drift back to your lips. “I’ve been thinking about what you told me all day. Knowing that Williams got to touch you, taste you… Is killing me. And her being in your room? Having you in her arms? Thinking about her just touching you is… Fuck.” you chocked. You didn’t understand. Wasn’t she supposed to hate you? Despise you? Then why…? “I can’t stop imagining her kissing you, holding you…” her thumb pressed over your bottom lip, tugging on it, admiring. “You were supposed to pay attention to me. You were supposed to think about me.” your heart was thumping against your ribs, and you felt like dying when she harshly kissed you. It was fast, and angry. Her tongue was quick to push inside your mouth, your teeth clashing and your body being pulled against her. You whimpered, your hands finding her hair as you pulled her closer. You’d never felt this way. How your whole body seemed to combust, the shaking of your limbs, the thumping of your heart…

But what was going on? ‘Pay attention to her’? ‘Think of her’? What was that supposed to mean? Had Anderson always treat you badly to get your attention? To get under your skin one way or another?

You were burning, so badly that she felt like snow.

“Fuck.” she muttered as she pulled away. “Been dreaming of doing that since the first time you yelled at me.” you whimpered when her warm hands took a harsh hold of your waist, pulling you against her close and tight enough for you to feel her body heat, her hard nipples through her bra.

Her mouth was back on yours, and your whole world was spinning. Her hair on your hands, her gasps against your lips, her pine scent…

“Yeah, that’s right.” she muttered, a little smirk showing in her factions when she noticed your dazed and unfocused eyes. “Focus on me. Just me.” she whispered on your ear before her lips latched to your neck, sucking on your skin hard enough to mark you up. You moaned, her hands sneaking inside your pj’s shirt and slowly making its way upwards, towards your chest.

“Fuck, Anderson.” you gasped when her warm hands took your tits, massaging them and rolling your nipples in between her fingers as she pressed a leg in between your legs, making your aching pussy brush against the lean muscle of her thigh.

“Abby.” she corrected. “It’s Abby for you, baby.”

“Abby.” you moaned when she pushed upwards with her leg, helping you ride it.

“That’s right. But you need to say it a little bit louder, hm? Need to let everybody know that it’s me who you are moaning for.” you whimpered at her words, her large hands leaving your chest to take your hips and pick you up to make her way to her king size bed. She lifted you so easily it was dizzying, the muscles of her arms popping

You felt almost crushed against the duvet when she pinned you down to it underneath her weight. Almost, ‘cause right at that exact moment, you just wished she could be closer, she could be harsher, smush you against the bed and fuck you senseless ‘till you are nothing more than a babbling mess.

“That’s right.” she smirked when you pulled her closer, choked when her hands were once again pulling your top up slowly. “Fuck. You drive me insane.” she muttered when your chest was fully uncovered. “Fucking beautiful.” you moaned when her mouth left wet kisses on your chest. Her tongue circled your nipples as one of her hands made its way to the seam of your pajama pants and panties, which stood completely soaked in arousal.

“Abby.” you cried out when her fingers caressed you from over the lace of your underwear, chuckling at the wetness of them.

“You are so wet for me already, such a good girl…” you almost whimpered, your cheeks blushing at the praise, something that didn’t go unnoticed. “You liked that, hm? Like to be my good little girl?” you nodded, your legs shaking when she finally pushed down your underwear and pjs to touch you. You gasped when her rough and thick fingers pressed against your core, sliding through your folds, pooled in your arousal. “So fucking wet.” she cursed as she circled your clit, making you moan. Her touch was electrifying. “Is all of this for me?” you once again nodded. “I need to hear your pretty voice. Speak up for me, sweetheart.”

“Yes… It’s all for you.” you managed to sputter out.

“Mmh…” she hummed happily with the answer, smirking when you let out a loud moan as she pushed her middle finger inside of you, instantly hitting that spongy spot that could make you come over and over again. “Then I guess that if it’s all for me… I could have a taste. Isn’t that right?” your eyes rolled to the back of your head when you suddenly felt her tongue around your clit at the same time as she thrusted her finger in and out of you, slowly enough to have you gripping at her hair and bucking your hips in search of more.

She complied, starting to eat you out like a woman starved. And she kind of was, having been craving you for years and years… She craved you, needed you so badly that her composure had plummeted once you’ve told her that Ellie had touched you, kissed you, tasted you first…

She wanted you. Wanted you to be solely and completely hers.

“Ah, Abby, shit…” you were so sensitive. More than usually. Was it because Abby was too good at eating you out or because it was Abby who was eating you out?

“Louder, baby. I need you to be louder for me.” she said before going back to you, her tongue lapping up at your juices and adding another finger. Their thickness made you cry out her name loud enough for the whole floor to hear. You just hoped that there was no teacher doing the check-ins that night or you’d be screwed.

“Abby, I’m… I’m gonna…” your grip tightened on her hair.

“You’re gonna come? Gonna come on my face, hm?” she curved her fingers upwards, relentlessly hitting your g spot over and over again, pulling you closer to your orgasm. “Go ahead, come for me. Let me have it.”

She didn’t need to say it twice. With her tongue back circling your clit, you moaned as you came, harsh, on her tongue, her helping you to extend you climax by thrusting in and out her fingers whilst lapping at your release, drinking everything you had to offer in between moans and hums.

When she let go of you, licking her two fingers clean, you were a flustered mess; with your hair sticking everywhere, red cheeks, swollen lips and glossy eyes. And she wasn’t that different from you, with her chin and red puffy lips shiny with your juices, her cheeks were flushed and her hair a beautiful blonde mess that you had created in between tugs and caresses. She looked beautiful, so beautiful that you couldn’t help dragging her towards you to taste yourself off of her lips, one of your hands finding her aching pussy, soaking her panties. She groaned in your mouth, pulling from your hair to part ways.

“Abby…” you cried out, your eyes half-lidded with need, your pussy aching for her.

“What is it, hm?” oh but she already knew… “Haven’t you had enough already? I gave you my fingers and my mouth, is that not enough for you? What a needy slut…” you moaned at her harsh tone and degradation, the contrast with the recent praise making your skin burn and your body cry for her. You needed her so badly… So much that you swore you could die. “Want me to fuck you, hm? Want me to make you cum all over my cock? Have you all brainless as I use you?”

“Yes please Abby, please, I want it.”

“So pretty begging for me, do you want it that bad?” you nodded, squirming under her touch and whimpering when she gave your thigh a harsh slap. “Can’t hear you, beautiful.”

“Yes.” you cried out, loving how harsh she was treating you, loving the idea that she would use you just for her pleasure.

“Then say it. Beg me to fuck you.” another spank.

“Please Abby, I want you to make me cum all over your cock, please, please, please… I need it. I need you.” tears swelled in your eyes as you stuttered.

“Good girl. Wasn’t that hard, was it?” she said with a smirk, quickly shoving his sweats and underwear down her thighs to discard them aside and reach out for her drawers, pulling out her strap. You almost choked at the size. You couldn’t take that.

It was huge. So thick and large that you knew that she’d tear you apart, stretch you out so good that would leave you sobbing and drooling against her pillow as she fucked into you over and over again.

“What? Bigger than William’s?” she teased you as she towered over you, strapping it to her waist. You would have answered if you weren’t too focused on the pink of its head and on the veins of its sides. On her pussy too. “You’re staring, pretty girl.” you blushed, looking away and into her eyes.

“Shut the fuck up and fuck me, Abby.” you snapped, and she groaned, once again pinning you underneath her and kissing you feverishly. You parted your legs for her to position herself in between them.

“There it is. That fucking mouth of yours. How about I fuck the attitude out of you, hm?” you gasped on her mouth when you felt the head of the strap play with your cunt, slowly dragging up and down in between your slicked folds to lube it up, teasing you at your entrance, pushing just the slightest against it. You were so fucking wet… More than you had ever been before.

“Fuck Abby, please…” you whimpered, your hips thrusting against the tip of her cock. You needed it inside.

Your nails found her back as she finally, after hearing your pleads and begging, aligned herself and started to push the tip of her cock inside, leaving you breathless at the stretch.

“Shhh, it’s okay.” she hushed you as you whimpered with every inch. “You are gonna do good for me, isn't that right baby? You are gonna take it, gonna take my cock and cum on it over and over again, right?” you nodded, sinking your nails deeper in her skin, deep enough to make her bleed. But Abby didn’t care, ‘cause she was finally making you hers, and you were so goddamn tight she was losing her mind. She couldn’t even pull backwards at the clenching of your walls.

You were crying of pleasure and due to the overwhelming sensation of her huge cock when she finally had settled herself fully inside, the tip reaching places you’d never dreamed of, the girth stretching your walls so good it was almost painful. Almost.

"Fuck. Look at you. Already crying and I haven't begun to fuck you yet.” you moaned when she started to slowly fuck into you, so deep that you were going crazy. You needed more, so much more. “Shit, you’re so fucking wet.”

“More. Please Abby, more.” you called out for her, your whimpers filling the room more and more as she started to move faster and faster.

“Yeah, that’s right. Fucking take it.” she groaned, lost on how good you felt. She never wanted to leave. Never wanted to stop feeling you this close. “Such a good girl.”

You moaned, your eyes turning white at the pleasure. This was like nothing you had experienced before.

“Tell me, did Williams fucked you this good, huh?” she asked, taking your cheeks with her right hand as she rolled your clit with her left to make you look at her. “Did she make you drool? Made you cry?”

You shook your head, but she wasn’t happy with that.

“Say it. Say that no one’s has fucked you like me. Say it, baby. Use that pretty mouth of yours.”

“No one has ever… ever fucked me like you.” you somehow achieved to say in between moans and gasps.

“That’s right. Look at you, your pussy is taking me so good… Sucking me in as if you don’t want me to leave.”

Suddenly you were in all fours, your chest against the mattress as she pounded inside of you harder and harder, so hard that you could feel her in your cervix, hitting your sweet spot over and over again.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…” you cried out, drooling on her pillow, tears spilling due to how good she was making you feel.

Her hands found your hips, pulling you against her hips with every hard thrust, leaving you breathless.

You were a babbling and moaning mess, incapable to form any words, even her name.

“Look at you, so cock drunk you can’t even speak.” she said, and moaned when the strap rubbed perfectly her puffy clit. “Such a slut.” you whimpered when she gave you a harsh slap on your ass, her eyes focusing on how her dick disappeared in and out of your pussy, which now seemed to be molding around her and just her.

“Abby…” you dragged the ‘y’ as she sped up, fucking you brainless, calling her name over and over again.

She could feel the way you started to clench around the silicone. The wet noises of your juices and her thrusts filled the room with your high pitched moans. You were close. So fucking close…

“Abby, I’m gonna cum… I’m gonna…” your voice was so fucked up due to your screams that you swore you’d have a sore throat tomorrow morning, but you didn’t care.

“That’s alright sweetheart. Why don’t you come all over my dick, hm? Let me see you fall apart.” and you did. You came so hard you saw stars, your ears ringing as you squirted all over her bed sheets. “Fuck, good girl. Good. fucking. girl.” she groaned at the sight of your cunt gushing around her whole cock.

You were an incoherent mess as you came over and over again, drooling on her pillow and throwing her over the edge with a ‘fuck’.

And maybe and just maybe, you stopped hating Abby that much from now on.

‘Cause we all know what they say… From hatred to love there is only one step.

-

a/n; i hoped y’all liked this college abby!! love you!!!!🩵

REPOSTS AND COMMENTS ARE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED!<33333

[strawb3rrystar]

the same HH and HB boys with a s/o that murdered a person who was after them, brutally? Like, the boys can barely distinguish the person's face from how much rage their s/o took at 'em, blood n shit everywhere. Love me, a crazy person who would kill someone 4 me 🤑🤑‼️ for example, sumn like the situation that Stolas has Stella, she's always after him. And their hysteric lil s/o drags them to the corpse and is just there grinning proudly and shit like they didn't rescind a mf's body. I feel like Blitz would be so moved "omg🥹🥺" give his s/o headpats and shit but idk again, you're best at writin' about him, love youuu! -🐆

My insides are red, and yours are too.

Pairing: Angel Dust, Husk, Sir Pentious, Alastor, Lucifer Morningstar, Blitzø, Stolas x GN! Reader

Warnings: Violence, talks of murder

Word count: 425

✰HH Masterlist | HB Masterlist

Angel Dust will be more or less freaked out. Like, he's seen dead sinners before, but he didn't think you were capable of murder. Basically, you killed someone at one of the clubs you frequent who made him uncomfortable. Even though he gets freaked out at first, he finds it very sweet that you killed someone to protect him, and not just for fun.

Husk is surprised at first when you show him the body. Like Angel, he didn't think you were capable of murder. Though he warms up to the idea eventually, it's Hell, you're going to need to defend yourself. I'm not sure who you would have killed for him. Maybe someone he lost to in the past?

Sir Pentious is completely shocked that you murdered someone for him. He knew you were capable of fighting since you've fought alongside him before, but he's never seen you so excited about it. He must admit, he finds your enthusiasm to be quite charming. Wants to hear you rant about every detail of the body and how you planned it of course.

Alastor isn't surprised in the slightest. In fact, he loves the fact you killed someone for him. It proves your loyalty. You probably murdered one of his enemies/someone who hates him. Which is a lot to choose from. He finds your joy of killing to be quite similar to his, and he finds it endearing.

Lucifer is now terrified of you. He knows he's stronger than you in every way being the King of Hell, but he can still get scared. He's mostly scared of the look on your face after it happened. Seeing that face in thousands of sinners, he never thought that you would get that look too. And, you know, it scares him because he kinda feels like he's losing you a little bit.

Blitzø is also ecstatic about you murdering someone. He's never seen you do something so badass and he loved the little show you put on for him. Is very supportive, hyping you up and everything. Either thinks you're his best employee or wants to marry you. And there is an in between. It's both!

Stolas will be quite alarmed that you killed someone for him. He's ever grateful however, considering that he's constantly trying to be assassinated. If you killed Stella, first of, what the fuck?? Secondly, he didn't think anyone would actually kill her. Probably helps you make it look like an accident or blame it on someone else so you don't get in trouble.

Star's notes -> The other day my friend and I played 'Phobics' on roblox. Turns out I have a fear of mannequins and being chased lol. We also played Doors and got jumpscared so bad (I hate loud noises)

(Thank you, 🐆 anon, for requesting!) (Requests are open!)

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@saints-wrapped-in-plastic @sweetadonisbutbetter @little-miss-chaoss @sunr1s3-strab3rr1 @naathanuwu

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[rubycruzin4abruzin]

love, lies, and first times

Summary: You were made to believe that your girlfriend, Hazel Callahan, lost her virginity to Stella-Rebecca some years ago. But when the truth is revealed during a game of truth or dare, your trust in her is shattered. What reason did she have to lie, and who did she actually lose her virginity to?

Pairing: loser!virgin!hazel x experienced!reader

Contains: mature language and content, lies, smut, fingering, oral, first time, kissing, drinking, tit play, both receiving, both giving, loser!hazel, sub!hazel, biblically!accurate!hazel, reader isn’t described as fem or masc

Word Count: 6k

A/N: soo one of my pet peeves when reading a hazel fic is when hazel keeps her rings on when fingering the reader and the reader likes it? Listen, I lost my virginity to someone who accidentally kept their rings on and it was painful. I had to ask them to take them off, highly unpleasant. I kinda make fun of that here, I hope some of y’all are ready to get called tf out ;)

“Hazel, truth or dare?”

You squeezed your girlfriend’s hand as PJ sent her a wicked grin. The senior class of the Rockbridge Fight Club had just graduated high school, and the club leaders, PJ and Josie, had decided to celebrate by throwing a party—one last ‘hurrah’ for the founding members. Now, you all sat in a circle in Josie’s dim basement, sipping poorly mixed jungle juice from red solo cups while David Fincher movies played on a vintage television in the background. Truth or dare was, of course, PJ’s idea—perhaps in the hopes that someone would dare her to kiss Brittany.

Hazel returned your squeeze, the cool metal of her rings pressing against your warm skin. “Truth,” she answered.

PJ’s lips curled into such a shit-eating grin, you began to wonder if maybe she really did eat ‘literal shit.’ “Who did you lose your virginity to?”

You smiled, already knowing the answer. Early into dating, you and Hazel had exchanged ‘first-time’ stories: yours had been with some girl at summer camp when you were sixteen, and Hazel had confessed to experimenting with Stella-Rebecca freshman year. She stressed that it was nothing romantic, simply two friends getting their first times out of the way, and then swore you to secrecy for the sake of Stella-Rebecca’s privacy. However, Stella-Rebecca was sitting right there, and you doubted she would appreciate Hazel exposing their previous affair to the entire group.

Sure enough, Hazel’s eyes widened as a blush crept upon her cheeks. “Uhhh…”

Her hand seemed to stiffen within yours, tightening its hold as her rings indented your skin. You glanced across the circle at Stella-Rebecca, who stared at Hazel with an expectant (and somewhat oblivious) smile.

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” you murmured to Hazel in an attempt to calm her, but her grip only further constricted.

PJ rolled her eyes. “Come on, Hazel, I gave you an easy one. Everyone knows you probably lost it to her,” she gestured towards you.

It was your turn to blush. “Actually, uh…” you looked towards your girlfriend, who seemed to have lost her ability to speak. “We haven’t really, uh…”

PJ gasped as her eyes almost popped out of her head. “No way! You two haven’t jacked each other off yet?”

It was true, you and Hazel had yet to take your relationship to that level. Not like you didn’t try, you had been dating for months, but Hazel seemed to shy away every time you so much as slipped a hand up her shirt. You knew you shouldn’t pressure her, but you were beginning to feel a bit unattractive—after all, Hazel had lost her virginity to a model. How could you possibly compare to that?

Josie, ever the peacemaker, decided to chime in. “Ok PJ, let’s back off a little bit…”

Hazel seemed to relax a bit at Josie’s words. She eased her grip, and you heard her exhale a breath you didn’t know she was holding.

“I have to admit, I’m a little curious myself.” Stella-Rebecca interjected, taking you by surprise. “Hazel never talks about her sex life.”

Your face contorted in confusion. Hazel tensed up again, but your attention was focused on the girl sitting across from you. “What are you talking about?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, sometimes we’ll be hanging out and the topic of sex will come up, and I’ll share some hookup story and she’ll just kind of… change the subject or something.”

There it was again, that familiar burn of envy like acid in your veins. “Maybe she’s jealous,” you suggested, words unintentionally dripping with venom.

Stella-Rebecca furrowed her brow, her expression innocent. “I doubt Hazel would be jealous of my sex life… unfortunately, it has more men than I think either of us would prefer.”

”Well, you were her first.”

“What?!” Stella-Rebecca exclaimed, her jaw dropping in shock. PJ cackled maniacally, clearly having the time of her life.

Hazel’s hand was clamped so tightly around yours that her knuckles were white, but you barely noticed as you stayed fixated on Stella-Rebecca. “I mean… yeah… weren’t you?”

Stella-Rebecca furiously shook her head. “Hazel and I have known each other our whole lives, but never like that. Besides, I didn’t come out as a lesbian until after you two started dating. Why did you think it was me?”

You felt like a complete moron. “I don’t know…” you muttered, glaring at your girlfriend. She refused to meet your gaze, staring down at her lap while shades of crimson painted her features. Her hand was still clasped around yours, but you forcibly removed it, too hurt to want to be touched.

“Ok, so, Hazel’s a prude. Glad we got that out of the way.” PJ sneered.

Josie reached over and smacked her arm. “So are you, PJ. Hypocrite.”

“I am not a prude, I’m a virgin.” PJ corrected. “There’s a difference.”

The game continued once the tension died down. No one dared PJ to kiss Brittany, so when it was her turn again, she took it upon herself to dare Brittany to kiss her, which the poor girl blatantly refused. After that, PJ pretty much lost interest and the game dissipated, with everyone breaking the circle to go off and do their own things. Josie and Isabel were tucked away in a corner, failing to be discreet during a heated makeout session. PJ had joined Brittany on the couch, while Brittany sipped her drink and scrolled through her phone, trying to ignore Pj’s passes. The rest of the girls, including Hazel, huddled in front of the small television, chatting through the David Fincher movies. You, however, stayed back in an attempt to avoid your girlfriend.

“How could she lie to me like that?” You asked Brittany, plopping down on the couch between her and PJ. Rolling her eyes, PJ got up and left the basement, retreating upstairs for whatever reason.

Brittany seemed grateful for your company (and relieved at PJ’s disappearance). “I don’t know, babe,” she said, slinging her arm around you and pulling you close. “I’m sure she had a good reason.”

You groaned pathetically, resting your head on her shoulder. “I can’t think of any.”

Brittany leaned down and kissed the top of your head, sympathetic to your feelings. You glanced over to the television area and saw Hazel staring back at you, watching your interaction with Brittany. She looked sad, not jealous, just sad. Those big blue eyes that would look at you with so much love were now pained, filled with remorse. She sort of resembled a kicked puppy, and every instinct in your body told you to run over and hold her, comfort her, before you remembered why you were angry in the first place.

Before you could force yourself to break your shared gaze, PJ suddenly came bumbling down the stairs again, holding an empty beer bottle. “Look what I found in the kitchen trash!” She exclaimed, commanding the room’s attention.

Josie shook her head in disbelief. “Why were you in my trash?”

“Doesn’t matter! Now we can play ‘seven minutes in heaven!’” PJ declared, moving to the middle of the room and gesturing for everyone to get the circle back together.

Brittany groaned, all too aware that this was just another one of PJ’s stunts to try and get with her. It was your turn to be sympathetic.

“Don’t worry,” you whispered to her. “If the bottle starts to land on you during PJ’s turn, I’ll intercept it.”

Brittany mouthed a ‘thank you’ before taking your hand and walking with you to join the circle. This time, you sat directly across from Hazel, as far away from her as possible. You could feel her sad puppy-dog eyes boring into you, but you refused to meet her gaze.

“Alright,” PJ asserted, rubbing her hands together. “If there’s no volunteers to go first…”

“I think our host should spin first.” Isabel interrupted, looking towards Josie with what could only be described as ‘fuck-me’ eyes.

Josie giggled as she took the bottle from a reluctant PJ and spun it in the center. Everyone watched with anticipation as the bottle slowed, almost stopping in front of Annie before Isabel grabbed it and pointed it towards herself.

“Wow, what a coincidence!” Isabel exclaimed, much to Josie’s amusement.

The two held hands and disappeared into the small coat closet under the basement stairs. PJ rolled her eyes. “It’s no fun if you pick your partners!” She yelled after them.

One thing about 'seven minutes in heaven’ that no one talks about is what the rest of the group does during the seven minutes. Do you talk? Keep playing? Listen in? You certainly didn’t know, and apparently neither did anyone else—with the exception of PJ, who set her phone timer before sitting with her ear pressed to the door.

“So… what’s everyone’s summer plans?” Stella-Rebecca asked in an attempt to fill the silence.

Annie shrugged in response. “Mostly working as a counselor for Vacation Bible School and protesting outside Planned Parenthood. Same old, same old.”

“Would you guys shut up over there?” PJ hissed from across the room. “I’m trying to listen to them fuck!”

Eventually, seven agonizing minutes finished with the screech of PJ’s timer. “Times up, lovebirds!” She shouted, throwing open the door.

The ‘lovebirds’ stumbled out of the closet in a fit of giggles. Both of their clothes were wrinkled, hair disheveled, and Isabel’s lipstick was smeared all over Josie’s mouth. The couple was immediately met with cheers and jeers from the rest of the party as they made their way back to the circle.

“Wow, thanks for warming up the closet for us you two,” PJ snickered. “Now, as for who’s next…”

“Hazel, why don’t you spin?” Isabel suggested, seizing the bottle before PJ could and passing it to Hazel.

“Oh, come on!” PJ complained, having been cockblocked yet again.

The group all shared a chuckle at PJ’s dismay, especially Brittany who was laughing so hard tears began to form. PJ could do nothing but pout until the laughter died down and Hazel reached into the center, spinning the bottle.

Round and round the bottle spun, the group watching with bated breath. The hollow glass rotated, nozzle slowing, slowing until it finally stopped on no other than… you. All previously dissipated tension immediately resurfaced as the room seemed to still, everyone recalling the incident from earlier.

“Yeah, you guys! Go in there and give us absolutely nothing!” PJ sneered, earning another smack on the arm from Josie.

You stared at the bottle, nozzle pointing directly at you, no question about it. Through your peripheral vision, you could see Hazel nervously fidgeting with her rings, unsure of how to proceed.

“Maybe we could… play something else?” Brittany suggested gently.

PJ clapped her hands together. “Nope! Rules are rules. Get in there, you two.” She seized your hands and dragged you to the closet, throwing both of you in before slamming the door.

Hazel kept her gaze fixated on her fidgeting hands while you pretended to be very interested in a small tear on one of the hanging coats. After what felt like an eternity, you checked your watch. Only twelve seconds had passed. You let out a frustrated sigh. “Well, one of us has to say something.”

She glanced towards the door. “How much do you wanna bet PJ is listening in on us?”

You shot her a glare, not finding her joke funny.

“I’m sorry…” Hazel muttered, lowering her head again.

At that moment, all of the hurt, anger, and confusion you had kept bottled up to save face rose to the surface. “Why would you lie to me?” You demanded, using her own line against her.

Her face crumpled upon hearing the true betrayal behind your question. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to…”

“Hazel, you lied about losing your virginity to Stella-Rebecca. That’s such an odd thing to lie about, it doesn’t make any sense…”

“Ok,” Hazel cut you off. “I didn’t have sex with Stella-Rebecca...”

“No shit,” you spat. “So what, you like, want to?”

“No!” Hazel insisted. “Stella and I are friends. I’ve never thought about her that way.”

“Then why have you had me believing you slept with her?” You hissed, a weak attempt to keep your voice down.

She was at it again, fiddling with those goddamned rings. “I don’t know, I just…” she swallowed, hesitating. “You told me about your first time… at summer camp… and you asked me about mine. We had just started dating. I didn’t want you to think I was inexperienced.”

“Hazel,” you sighed. “You are inexperienced.”

“I mean, like, I didn’t want you to see me as an immature little baby who didn’t know what she was doing, so I panicked and made something up. I shouldn’t have, I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean to hurt you, I swear.”

The edges of your anger blurred as you realized fear had driven your girlfriend to a desperate lie. Poor Hazel, she looked shrunken, almost. She had drawn into herself, vulnerability exposed like a house of cards in the wind. You reached out and gently lifted her chin, forcing her to look up at you and taking her by surprise.

“Hazel,” you cooed. “It’s ok that you’ve never had sex before, I don’t care.”

“Really?” She asked.

You nodded. “Of course I don’t care. I just thought you’d been pushing me away because you didn’t find me that attractive, but…”

“What?!” Hazel’s exclamation took you aback, making you drop your hand. “That’s not it at all! Shit, I was just worried I’d mess up somehow, I’ve never been more attracted to anyone in my entire life! I think you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. No, really! Every time I look at you, I’m like ‘holy fuck, how did I get so lucky…’”

You cut her off by crashing your lips against hers. Her body initially tensed at the sudden contact, but soon melted into yours as it had done so many times before. Your hands found the nape of her neck as you drew her closer, pressing her up against you as much as possible. Lip-locks with Hazel were familiar to you, but never had one been so passionate, so rough and yet reassuring at the same time.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were gasping to catch your breath, realizing you had inadvertently chosen each other over oxygen. You gazed upon Hazel, studying her flushed cheeks, her lustrous lips, and the way her shirt collar sat askew atop her shoulders. With the way she stared back, you could tell you appeared just as rumpled.

“Well that’s good to know,” you giggled, reaching out to fix her collar. “Listen, Hazel, you’re a virgin. So what? I don’t care who you have or haven’t been with before. If you’re not ready yet, that’s perfectly fine, really. I would never pressure you into anything.”

Back at it again with those fucking rings. What the hell could you have possibly said this time?

“That’s the thing…” she began, her gaze fixated to the floor again. “I think I… I think…”

“Hazel…” you whispered her name, placing two fingers on her arm and making her shiver.

“I… I think I am ready. I’ve been ready. For a little while now.”

Your eyes widened at her confession. “Seriously?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I want you… uh, I mean… I want to do it… with you. I just… I don’t… I don’t know how to…” each sputter was paired with imperceptible hand gestures, desperate to communicate something she didn’t have the words to say.

“To… initiate it?” You asked.

“Yes! That!” She sighed, thankful you knew her well enough to understand her babbles. “I mean, should it be planned? Spontaneous? Do I just walk up to you and say ‘hey I wanna have sex?’ Where do I do it? How? Can I just blurt it out of nowhere or does something have to be happening first? If so, then what?”

“Hazel…” she was rambling again. You placed your hands on both sides of her head, smoothing her hair. “There’s no right way to initiate it, trust me. You can just do whatever you’re most comfortable with.”

She met your gaze again, head still caught between your palms. There was something different behind her eyes, though, something besides remorse or even vulnerability. Her brilliant blue’s seemed darker somehow, almost… hungry. You finally caught on when she snuck a glance at your lips, and closed the distance between you.

This kiss was different from the last: still passionate, but gentler, lighter, as if you were exploring for the first time. Her hands found your waist, loosely gripping the fabric of your top. You reciprocated, running your thumb over the hem of her tank top and accidentally brushing over a patch of bare skin. She flinched at the unfamiliarity, and you pulled away.

“Are you ok?” You whispered, forehead pressed against hers. She nodded, half-lidded eyes not leaving your lips. “Can I…?” Your fingers hesitated just under her tank top, barely grazing the skin of her stomach. She didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. For the first time in her life, she let her body do the talking as she pressed into you, capturing you in another kiss.

Slowly, surely, your fingers inched up the underside of her tank top. You took the time to trace little shapes into her skin, moving from her waist, to her stomach, to the underside of her rib cage. Her breath hitched with each new touch; Hazel had always been ticklish, but the way your fingertips danced along her torso made her shiver rather than squirm. As her comfortability levels grew, your hand traveled up, further, further…

“Holy shit, they were really gonna fuck!”

PJ’s grating voice startled you apart like an unwelcome infomercial in the dead of night. You glared at your intruder standing in the wide-open doorway, a wicked smirk plastered on her face. “Lose track of time?”

Hazel tugged at your wrists, and it wasn’t until that moment when you realized your hands were still under her tank top (much to PJ’s entertainment). With a mumbled apology, you detached yourself and helped her smooth out the fabric bunched around her ribs. Both of your faces were burning with a mixture of embarrassment and fluster.

“You could’ve knocked, you know…” Hazel muttered, watching the floor as she left the closet.

“I could’ve,” PJ admitted. “But where’s the fun in that?”

The rest of the party watched with amusement as you and Hazel exited the closet. Your flushed features and darting glances did not go unnoticed, prompting a series of snorts and stifled laughter. Forget David Fincher, you two were your own movie.

“So, I assume it’s safe to say you’ve made up?” Josie asked cheekily, squeezing Isabel’s hand, who bit the inside of her mouth to keep from laughing.

“We sure did,” you said with a sheepish grin.

Brittany couldn’t help but snicker. “Guess that explains your rosy cheeks.”

You exchanged looks with Hazel as an idea suddenly popped into your head. “Actually, Hazel’s cheeks are warm because she doesn’t feel too good.”

“I don’t?” Hazel asked.

“You don’t,” you repeated, shooting her a look. “In fact, oh my, I do feel warm! We must be coming down with something.”

“Wait, but I don’t feel…” Hazel seemed confused until she met your gaze and understood your plan. She raised her hand to her forehead, making a big show of collapsing into the basement wall. “Oh, woe is me! It is true! I seem to have fallen ill! Cough, cough, wheeze!”

You had to fight the corners of your mouth to keep from curling. Jesus, this girl couldn’t act for shit.

“Yes… anyway we need to leave. Right now. We don’t want to get any of you sick.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s the reason,” Josie sent you a knowing smirk.

You grabbed Hazel’s hand and ran with her up the stairs and out of the basement, the partygoers calling after you with whoops, hollers, and exaggerated kissing sounds. As the basement door creaked shut behind you, the last thing you heard was PJ’s whiny complaint. “No fair! Hazel gets pussy before I do?”

The two of you rushed hand-in-hand from Josie’s front door and piled into Hazel’s car, you in the passenger seat as usual.

She turned to you, keeping her free hand on the wheel. “Are your parents home?”

“They never are.”

Hazel had to release your hand to put her car in reverse, pulling out of the driveway like a madwoman. You anticipated her fingers intertwining with yours again, but instead, she reached over and rested her hand on your upper thigh. Her thumb gently brushed across the denim of your jeans, sending flutters through your stomach. Hazel was getting bold.

The drive back to your house was nothing but perilous. Hazel had always been a reckless driver, but the sharp turns and disregarded stop signs were wild even for her. Arriving at your house, she parked haphazardly, jumping out before rushing to throw open your door.

“Well that was fast,” you teased as Hazel helped you out of the car. “Looking forward to something?”

Words seemed to fail her as she silently took your face in her hands, kissing you with the desperation of a castaway grasping for a lifeline. She had you pressed into the passenger door, hips flush against yours. Your palms rested on her collarbone, feeling her rapid heartbeat.

You gently pushed her away, almost swearing you heard the faintest whimper leave her lips. “Why don’t we take this inside?” You suggested, to which Hazel could only nod.

The two of you stumbled into your house, barely taking the time to break away from each other to see where you were going. When you eventually made it to your bedroom, you slammed the door behind you and Hazel thrust you against the white wood. You relaxed into her, expecting more kisses, but looked up to find her features filled with apprehension.

“Hazel…” you whispered, moving your hands to her shoulders. “Is everything ok?”

“Y-yeah…” she stuttered, her gaze dropping slightly. She had seized you by the hips, fingers hooked in your belt loops, hands beginning to tremble.

You gently lifted her jaw. “Are you sure you’re ready for this? It’s ok if you changed your mind…”

“No! No, please. I need you so bad you have no idea…” she cut you off, her confession making you blush. “I just… I don’t… I mean… I’ve watched some porn and read fanfiction but…”

“Hazel, sex isn’t anything like porn or fanfiction.”

“Oh fuck, it isn’t?” She asked in disbelief, her wide eyes making you chuckle.

“Why don’t you let me lead, then?” You suggested, calming her with a tender kiss on her jawline. “Go lay down for me, yeah?”

Hazel did as she was told and moved to lie down on your pale-blue bedspread, a favorite of yours because you thought it matched her eyes. You stayed behind, stripping down to a bra and panties as Hazel watched with unblinking eyes.

“Relax, my love,” you purred, climbing onto the bed and hovering over her. You shifted, hips brushing against hers momentarily, causing Hazel’s eyelids to flutter and a sigh to leave her lips. A smirk crossed your face. “Sensitive, are we?”

Hazel could barely speak through her pathetic little whines. “P-please…”

You planted a sweet kiss on her lips before trailing down to her neck, exploring her soft skin, discovering unknown sensitive spots: her earlobe, the nape of her jaw, along her collarbone. Your fingers flitted underneath the hem of her tank top, creeping up, up, until you felt the cool nylon of her sports bra against your palm. Hazel shuddered at the newfound sensation, and you pulled back.

“Still good?”

“Good,” she breathed. “Yes, good.”

You hooked your finger under the neck of her tank top, coaxing her to sit up slightly. Pinching her shirt collar, you slid it off her shoulders before lifting the bottom of her tank, stopping with it bunched under her armpits. She finished the job for you, and you tossed the shirts aside, not caring where they landed.

Now she was left in a sports bra the color of fog, her nipples erect and poking through the fabric. You slipped two fingers under her band, looking to her for approval. She nodded, letting you peel it off until her tits sprang free.

“Holy shit, Haze,” you muttered, practically drooling at the sight of her naked breasts. Underneath the compressive sports bras, hidden beneath layers of baggy clothing, Hazel had perfect tits: round, firm, with little pink buds sitting like cherries on top of two scoops of vanilla ice cream. “How could you keep these from me?”

Hazel let out a laugh that sounded more like a breath, not entirely sure how to respond. Leaning down, you took one of the swollen buds in your mouth, swirling your tongue around it while palming her other breast. Hazel threw her head back against the pillow, letting out cries of pleasure while her hands entangled themselves in your hair. You took your time, caressing, suckling, exploring every inch of her bare chest, memorizing each unique detail: a freckle on her décolletage, a vaguely mushroom-shaped birthmark hidden beneath her left breast.

She was, for lack of a better word, perfect. You had been so distracted, so deeply buried in her cleavage, that you hadn’t noticed time slipping away until you felt her pressing down on your head. Your name flew from her mouth in a desperate gasp. “I can’t… p-please… keep going…”

“So impatient,” you teased, mouth releasing her nipple with a pop. Hazel only whined in response, bucking against your stomach, hips urgently searching for some kind of release. You smirked, leaving her breasts and peppering kisses down her stomach, stopping when you reached the waistband of her gym shorts.

“Off?” You asked, though it was merely a formality at this point; you already knew the answer. She made a noise of approval, a mix between a groan and a squeak, and shifted her hips to allow you to slip them off her legs.

Now, there stood nothing between you two but the thin cotton of her slate-colored boxers. She was writhing, silently begging you to rip them off and have at her, but you couldn’t help but stop and admire the growing spot of wetness that had accumulated through the fabric. Her hips sputtered, shook, pairing with her pitiful whimpers to plead for attention. You, however, had other plans.

“What’s your rush, Haze? We’ve got all night, don’t we?” You were teasing her now, a wicked grin appearing as your fingertips danced along the elastic band of her boxers.

Her raised pelvis came crashing down onto the bedspread as she cried out in defeat. “Fuck… please… just take them off…”

You frowned, mocking her, using your thumb to gently encircle her clothed cunt. Her head sank further into the pillow, broken moans falling out of her mouth like beads from a shattered necklace.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Hazel. Do you always get this wet?” You asked in disbelief. Her boxers felt like a saturated sponge.

“I don’t know,” she sighed, fighting to keep her speech intelligible. “I don’t think so, maybe. I… I need you… really bad…”

“Need me?” You replied cheekily, wrapping your fingers around the elastic and slipping her boxers off in one quick motion.

Your girlfriend's naked body was now fully on display before you. You had to take a moment, admiring details of the areas she had never let you see before: a small mole on her outer thigh, or the way her hip bones protruded to form little ridges across her pelvis. Her chest heaved, lips parted ever so slightly as she awaited your next move.

“Hazel?”

“Y-yeah?”

“Are you ready?”

She took in a breath, blowing it out big. “More than anything.”

You positioned your head between her legs, leaving feather-light kisses up and down her inner thighs. Her head tossed from side-to-side, body struggling to keep still with your mouth so close to where she needed you. Testing the waters, you ghosted a kiss over her clit, watching as she shuddered upon contact.

God she was sensitive.

Finally taking mercy on her, you licked a long, broad stripe up the length of her cunt, tongue lingering on her clit perhaps a bit longer than necessary. The cries that erupted from her throat were enough to send shocks through your own body. You moved to straddle her leg, grinding against it while you ate her out—a shift not going unnoticed by Hazel, only spurring her forward.

“Ohmygod… Ohmygod fuck…” your name tumbled from her lips amidst her breathless moans. She squirmed under your touch—every lick, each roll against her shin setting her body ablaze. A smirk tugged at your lips as your mouth created a vortex around her clit, causing her eyes to roll back like a slot machine landing on the jackpot.

You didn’t get to do this for very long before her plush thighs enveloped your head. “W-what…? It feels… I think, I think I’m…”

“Breathe, baby girl,” you cooed, never taking your mouth off of her. “Just relax, cum for me. Fuck you’re doing so well…”

Her hands flew back to your scalp, legs shaking, guttural cries erupting from her throat as her orgasm consumed her. Fuck she sounded pretty. Her thighs kept you right where she needed you, only loosening once her breathing evened and she slowly came back to reality.

You lifted your head once her legs collapsed onto your bedspread, her bones feeling like jello. “Was that alright, Haze?” You asked, crawling back up to lay next to her.

“Wow,” she sighed, pupils dilated into big black buttons. “Just wow.” She laid there a moment, silently recovering, wearing a dazed, blissful expression. But then her face shifted into something sour, almost uneasy. “I don’t, I mean… I don’t know how…”

“It’s fine,” you ensured.

“It’s not,” she argued. “I mean, you were… and on my leg…”

“Hey, Hazel,” you brushed her hair back, letting your fingers fall. “We don’t have to do anything else. Tonight was about you.”

“No, no. Please, I wanna fuck you so bad, I’ve been daydreaming about it for so long.”

You couldn’t have blushed harder if you tried.

“I just… I haven’t… like you did with that girl from summer camp. What if I try and it isn’t anything like that?”

“Hazel…” you reached for her face, kissing her reassuringly. “It won’t be anything like it was with her.”

Her face fell. “It won’t?”

“Of course not,” you replied. “What I did with her, it was just sex. Nothing like this, this is completely different.”

“Why?”

You had to gather up the courage to say your next words. “Hazel… I’m in love with you.”

She finally faced you with wide eyes. “You’ve never said that before.”

“I know,” you said. “I’m saying it now.”

That blissful expression from earlier returned to her pretty face. “I love you too.”

You giggled, and she pulled you into another kiss. Her weight shifted until you were on your back, her body covering yours, legs on either side of your hips. She tried to emulate you, peppering kisses down your neck and chest until she reached the satin cusp of your bra.

“How do… uh… I only wear sports bras…”

You sat up, guiding her hands around to your back and helping her unhook your clasp. She slid it off your shoulders and tossed it aside without care, her attention fixated purely on the newly-exposed flesh in front of her. “Holy fuck,” she exclaimed on a sigh.

Another smirk crept across your face. “What? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think these were the first you’d ever seen!”

She shot you an unamused look before diving in, suckling at one of your breasts and pawing at the other. Her eyes stayed unblinking, watching you as your head relaxed further into the pillow and soft sounds spilled from your lips.

“Am I doing ok?” She asked in a whisper.

“More than,” your voice came out soft and sweet, causing the tips of your lover’s ears to tint pink.

Hazel trailed downward, her soft lips leaving kisses all the way down to your stomach, her tousled hair tickling your skin. She paused at your cotton panties, her thumb passing over the fabric with uncertainty.

“Need help taking those off too?” You quipped.

“Definitely not,” she replied, seizing the waistband and sliding them off your legs.

Hazel gazed upon your naked body as if she were an artist, and you her masterpiece. Her hands hesitated before resting on your ribs, fingernails gently scratching down the length of your sides. She bent down, planting kisses on your hip bones, reveling in your quiet whimpers.

“Hazel…” you purred, and she got the message. Her hand slipped between your legs, fingertips tracing your entrance before sliding inside.

“Ouch,” you hissed, sitting up in pain.

Startled, Hazel pulled her hand back. “W-what? What happened? Shit, did I hurt you?”

“Kinda…” you paused, trying to pinpoint the discomfort. It almost felt like she had unraveled a paperclip and impaled your core—an unpleasant sensation you couldn’t explain until you saw…

“Hazel,” you exclaimed with a laugh. “You kept your rings on!”

“Yeah…” she muttered, cradling the hand that burned you. “I thought you liked my rings.”

“I love your rings,” you assured. “Just not inside me.”

“But the characters in the fanfictions I’ve read keep their rings on, and the feedback is always positive!”

There was nothing you could do to stop yourself from giggling at her protest. “Hazel, those fanfictions are written by people who probably haven’t experienced the real thing. Trust me, rings up there? Uncomfortable at best.”

Hazel nodded, mumbling a sheepish apology and removing her rings before slipping two fingers back in. “Better?”

“Much.”

With her confidence temporarily shaken, Hazel began to move against you, slowly, steadily, studying your facial expressions. Each gasp, every subtle twitch helped her gauge what you wanted, what you needed from her. She may have gone in blind, but she was a gifted learner, and you her favorite subject.

Soon after Hazel regained her certainty, you started to feel that familiar ache within your core. “Hazel… doing so good… my pretty girl… I’m so…”

She perked up, still keeping her hands where you seemed to want them. “Really? You mean it? Should I do anything different?”

You were about to shake your head, but stopped when you got an idea. “Do this with your fingers,” you demonstrated by curling your own.

She followed suit, reveling in your little mewls when she scratched against your g-spot.

But you weren’t finished yet. “Fuck… Hazel… almost… now just move your palm…”

You didn’t even get to finish your sentence. Hazel curved her palm, stimulating your clit, and your orgasm crashed over you like a flash flood breaking through a dam. Your back arched, legs shaking, chest heaving as you rode out your climax. Hazel wouldn’t, couldn’t look away; a moment ago she had been naive, inexperienced, but now the prettiest girl she’d ever seen was creaming all over her fingers, and it was all her own doing.

Her movements halted at what she hoped was the right moment. She withdrew her fingers, curiosity overtaking her as she popped them into her mouth and moaned at the taste, instantly regretting not going down on you. Her mind swirled, flashbacks of what just happened mixing with the oblivion of what to do next.

“Hazel,” you said finally. “Come lay down.”

She crawled back up to you, laying her head on the pillow. “Did I do ok?”

You giggled. “You did perfect.”

A grin spread across her face, reaching from ear-to-ear. Her eyelids were already drooping. “I’m so tired.”

“Me too,” you rolled over, wrapping your arm around her waist and nuzzling into her hair. “Go to sleep, my love. You’ve had a big night.”

She snuggled up closer to you, muttering a barely-perceptible ‘I love you’ before drifting off to sleep.

Tag List: @chloepricesgirl @k1ssm3m0re @joanvisitsrome @mxlti-fand0m-imaginess @09carriages @hazelvrr @ummlover @lovinglynny @lilyannez @at1nyzen @lovepity @camilleee222 @reiisstuff @sofi4v13 @pensoterios @everybodyhatesari @sapphicarribean @sam-cooperrr @gay4lanadelrey666 @nickeverdeen

[themultifanshipper]

Hi I love your writing!!Could you maybe do the 🟡 prompt from your list with Oscar. I’m thinking maybe a female driver reader enemies to lovers kind of situation but it is really up to you

Thanks💜

You and Oscar didn't usually find yourselves battling on track, because you didn't usually qualify close to each other. But this time… this time you had locked out the front row at your home race, and it was going to be a blood bath.

Warnings: hate sex, rough sex, biting, hair pulling, the usual really, although I find the ending surprisingly fluffy for me but oh well, also Oscar is kind of a dick in this ngl, also Bestfriend!Lando bc I cannot seperate them even in fiction

Requested from my prompt list

Obviously this was a fight you refused to lose. You were in front of your home crowd, qualifying p2 behind your teammate for one of the rare times your car hadn't failed you half way through qualifying.

These days you felt like you were driving a fucking Williams.

Anyway, the lights went out and for the next hour and a half the cameras did not leave you two for even a second, the battle for p1 being so intense. You'd lost count of how many times you had overtaken each other, and both of you had damage. Part of your front wing was missing, your DRS was glitching, and Oscar had floor damage. Both of you were too stubborn to come into the pits so you kept going despite your engineers' orders, and on the last corner of the last lap, you brake checked Oscar.

You don't even remember doing it. All you remember is the crowd roaring your name as the McLaren crew lifted you out of your seat and carried you over their heads chanting the song they had affectionately dubbed yours.

“She's a maniac, maniac on the floor! And she's driving like she never has before!”

You remember the podium ceremony, Lando had overtaken Oscar thanks to you and was spraying you in the face from his p2 spot, as Oscar scowled and sprayed Zak, who stood off to the side, ready to give you two a stern talking to after the ceremony.

You remember being yelled at in his office. Something about him smoothing it over with the stewards so that you didn't get a penalty at your home race, at which point Oscar also started yelling, at Zak, at you, and at the unfairness of it all.

You remember going out to a club with Lando, the heavy bass of the music (and the alcohol) transporting you to another realm of existence as you danced together.

It's when you'd had one two many tequila shots (courtesy of Lando's fat bank account) that you thought it would be a good idea to call Oscar.

Unfortunately for him, he answered.

“Hello? Why the fuck are you calling me at two in the morning? Has something happened? Is Lando in a coma? No? Then don't fucking call me”

And with that he hung up on you. So you rang again, not one for giving up so easily.

“For the love of Christ, WHAT?!”

“Oscar! Why aren't you out celebrating your podium?” you said loudly over the music.

“Yeah Oscar I miss partying with youuuuu” Lando whined into the phone over your shoulder.

“Fucking leave me alone!” Oscar shouted, and he hung up again, but even though the club was loud, you definitely heard his voice crack.

So you and Lando had the marvelous idea to go to his hotel (you were staying at your own place, with Lando, it being your home race) and knock on his door. And he opened it to the sight of you and Lando clinging onto each other for dear life.

“Fucking hell you two look like shit, what have you been doing?” his eyes roamed your figures, staying a bit too long on yours, and on your ridiculous dress (picked by Lando of course) that probably exposed more of you than it covered.

The two of you barged into his room and sat on his bed. While he just stared you down.

“Well?... what the fuck do you want?” he scowled.

“We came to ask why you're moping here instead of celebrating your podium with us” Lando pouted.

“What is there to celebrate? You-” he pointed at you “ruined my race by making a dangerous move. I'm not celebrating a fucking p3 when I would have won fair and square!”

You and Lando looked at each other, which was a mistake, because you immediately started giggling uncontrollably.

“GET OUT!” Oscar shouted louder than you'd ever heard him, and Lando immediately ran for the door.

Mopey grumbling Oscar was hilarious, but you'd come to find that furious Oscar was downright terrifying when he needed to be.

You weren't scared though, you'd always found angry Oscar incredibly hot, and right now you'd had enough alcohol to make sure you couldn't run even if you tried.

The furious expression on his face as he stared you down did make you squirm though, and your thighs clenched together involuntarily.

His eyes were drawn to the movement, quickly scanning the expanse of your bare thighs before snapping back up to your face and taking a step towards you.

"Well?! Anything to say for yourself? A fucking apology perhaps? Or even just a reason as to why you're still sitting on my bed in that slutty excuse of a dress instead of running away like Lando?”

You were outraged at his words. How dare he say that.

“How fucking dare you!” you managed to stand up on wobbly legs to shove him backwards. Unsurprisingly he didn't move an inch. “This dress is perfectly fine! It's a club dress!”

“Oh please! It's indecent, I can almost see your-”

“SECONDLY!” you interrupted before he could finish that particular sentence, the thought of him actually seeing you so exposed slightly overwhelming you “I didn't run away because I’m not fucking scared of a dickhead like you!”

He stepped closer to you, so close that if he extended his arm he could touch you if he wanted to. His eyebrows were lost in his hairline, and there was a fire in his eyes you had rarely seen there before, as he shook with rage.

“If you’re not scared of me then why are you trembling like a fucking leaf? Is it because you're cold in that pathetic excuse of an outfit?”

“You seem awfully focused on my dress for someone who claims to be so nonchalant” you purred, stepping closer.

“Fuck you.” he scowled.

“Ooh is that a proposition?” you smirked, your bodies were almost touching now.

“Careful, don't get too cocky, I'm obviously not as easy for it as you” he spat, eyes darting down to where goosebumps had risen over the exposed skin of your breasts.

“How could I not get cocky?” you leaned in close to whisper “I'm the one who got a first place trophy a few hours ago…” and with that, you pushed past him and started walking towards the door.

But just before you could grab the handle, you were pushed flat against the door roughly and you gasped as Oscar growled in your ear.

“Fuck you, and fuck your trophy, and fuck this fucking dress!”

He wasted no time spinning you around and slamming you back against the door, plastering himself against your body and slotting a thigh between yours, forcing you to spread your legs for him.

“This dress is going to be useless by the time I’m fucking done with you”

You were reduced to a puddle of mush as his hands ripped the flimsy fabric, flinging it across the room and his mouth immediately went to your tits, mouthing over them and groaning into the skin. One of his hands went up to grab your hair and the other grabbed your ass hard enough to leave bruises. He tensed his thigh as you grinded on it shamelessly, whimpering as the friction of his jeans felt like heaven against your barely covered cunt.

His mouth went up to your neck, licking and sucking the skin it found in it's path before pausing and looking at you, his eyes hooded and mouth gasping for air as he panted into your mouth.

“I’m going to make you pay for the race, sweetheart, I'm going to fucking ruin you.”

And ruin you he did. Your body was on fire, your thighs were fucking soaked, and Oscar had you arched into the bed, ass up in the air as he pounded into you while holding your head up to look at yourself in the mirror that was facing the bed.

You looked like sin personified, makeup running down your face, drool and tears making a mess of the sheets as yet another orgasm wracked through your body.

He pulled out and turned you over, spreading your legs, weeping cunt on display for him.

He moaned at the sight of your used body, marks and bruises blooming all over it.

“Fuck you're so perfect for me, I can't get enough of this pussy” he slid his tip through your slit a couple of times, just enough to make you start begging again, before sliding back in to the hilt. “Fuck- begging so perfect for me when you're not running your mouth” he growled before pounding into you mercilessly and rubbed the meat of his palm over your clit. The friction was too much as your hands flew to his shoulders and your nails dug in, making him groan as his pace faltered and he grabbed your wrists to pin them above your head.

His face hovered inches above yours, sweat dripping off him onto you as he pounded into you for all he was worth.

“Too much…” you gasped “Osc, I can't”

“Shhhhh baby, you can do one more for me, I know you can.”

He kissed you, much too soft in comparison to how he was railing you into next week. And he kissed away the tears on your cheeks as his hand let your wrists go in favour of wrapping his arms around you to lift you up into his lap, deepening the angle of his thrusts making you cry out in pleasure.

He buried his head in your shoulder as he rolled his hips, fingers going back to play with your clit as you writhed above him.

“Oscar fuck… So deep… I’m so close, fuck don't stop!” You wrapped your arms around him as you finally kissed him without thinking, making him groan into your mouth as his hips never faltered.

He wouldn't dream of stopping, he’d been waiting for this moment a long time, and now that he had you, he was going to do everything he could to keep you.

“Come for me love, come on my cock, good girl…” he panted into your mouth.

It was like a volcano erupting as you came around him. You clamped down hard around his cock and it threw him over the edge as well, biting into the meat of your shoulder, so deep he could almost taste blood. You gasped and your hips bucked into his gently as you both rode the waves of your highs together.

Once the two of you regained a sense of where you were, wrapped in each other’s arms and covered in sweat, you just looked at each other, neither of you knowing what to say.

Daylight was already filtering in through the blinds and for the first time, you noticed the dusting of freckles on his nose and cheeks.

Neither of you wanted to let go, despite supposedly being bitter rivals. The two of you surged forwards at the same time and his lips were soft against yours as you clung to each other, hands grasping every piece of flesh they could reach. And you didn't let go until the sun was well and truly up, and Oscar ignored the calls from the team to say they were going to leave without him if he didn't get there soon.

“Stay with me for a few days?” You whispered into his neck as you lay under the covers with him.

“Okay” he kissed the top of your head sleepily, drifting off after an intense race weekend (wink wink).

You checked your phone for messages, only seeing one from Lando.

‘Do I even need to ask where you slept last night?’

Despite the obvious bait from your best friend, you decided to reply:

“Nope... but fyi I haven't actually slept at all ;) ’

You turned your phone off, and snuggled back under the covers with Oscar, who was already snoring softly behind you.

[seat-safety-switch]

Based on the remarkable sales success of my powerful new business book, Sell Shit To Idiots, I've been swimming in marketing contracts. Thing is, I'm really expensive, mostly because I sell shit to rich idiots. That makes me feel guilty that I'm passing over a lot of poor idiots, who simply don't have the money for my time. Here's one for free: you can often sell more of something by making it bigger or smaller.

Cars have been getting bigger every year, and they're still selling. Theoretically, there should have been some point where we simply stopped buying them because they were the size of an elementary school gymnasium. Now they're high-school sized, and we're still going. How do you fight this trend? Tiny cars, which also sell pretty well to people who are a little weird and don't carry eight family members, sixteen dogs, and the contents of their house with them everywhere.

Bigger or smaller. This simple truism has been lost in our rush to business-school fads. Artificial "intelligence?" Who gives a shit? I dare you to find me a nerd-assed computer that is willing to say the plain truth: your product would sell better if it were much larger. Staple an "XL" on the end of the name, if you have to. Do you sell popcorn? Get a scientist to make you larger popcorn. I'm not talking a bigger bag, that's last-century talk. Bigger popcorn. Big enough that you get worried about herniating yourself when you grab a handful while watching Die Hard 2. Big enough that you could club a man with it. That shit will fly off the shelves, guaranteed. You probably want to buy it already.

Do you need additional evidence? Just take a look at cupcakes. In any major metropolitan area, there are several cupcake bakeries that exist entirely by making slightly smaller-than-normal cupcakes. What was their investment? Less. What do they charge? More. It's been awhile since I read an economics textbook, but I'm pretty sure that's how you get paid.

I can hear a lot of my haters in the back starting to get up, shuffling towards the door, unable to come up with a coherent counter-argument or even a reckless heckle in my direction. You run, you fucking cowards. And when you get home, you can write your apology letters to me with a comically large ball-point pen.

[ma1dita]

kiss his face with an uppercut

smutty part 2 here-> heavy hitter

words: 4k

summary: james potter is so attractive you could beat him to death with a bludger. james potter x fem!beater!reader not from gryffindor (for the plot!!)

warnings: none! james gets physically hurt multiple times by reader, multiple innuendos, enemies to lovers kinda, less serious lovey dove more sexual tension!!! probably not accurate quidditch gameplay

a/n: sorry for the hold up guys this took almost a month of on and off editing lmfao— this whole oneshot makes me think of the filipino word ‘gigil’– simply translating to cuteness aggression; i barely know jack shit about sports much less quidditch but this concept had me looking up quidditch rules to be able to provide– eat up kids

Y/S- sibling name

Y/H- house

(posted & edited 10/10/23)

—

Oh BROTHER, this guy STINKS! I mean, how has he not gotten walloped at least once during this godforsaken game? You suck your teeth at the sight of James flying around the pitch blowing kisses to his fan club and Lily Evans, who turns her nose up at the sight of him.

Merlin, when will this game end?

The Hogwarts Quidditch Semi-Finals of 1977 was a game to watch… until both teams stopped scoring what seemed like hours ago. Both Gryffindor & (Y/H) were at a stalemate, down some players due to injury and now, even lower team morale. Gryffindor team captain and chaser James Potter, notorious Marauder, and resident flirt, is not someone who likes to lose. He’s spent all season drilling his teammates, memorizing plays, and thinking of every outcome possible to ensure another Gryffindor victory. James’ affinity to be right takes precedence over anything, after all. But after beating down almost all of (Y/H)’s reserves, James was almost vibrating with confidence. He really doesn’t lose, not if he can help it.

“AND ANOTHER (Y/H) IS DOWN WITH AN INJURY— Team captain Whithall calls for a timeout as they reconvene on what to do next! Hope you’re still comfy in the stands, folks….” the student announcer grumbles.

There’s absolute chaos on the field, and like birds scuffling over a piece of bread, (Y/S), the team’s last good beater is floating on a gurney, ready to be transported to the Hospital Wing.

“Oh, here comes trouble…” Sirius murmurs, smacking James on the back to grab his attention.

You jump down from the stands to check on (Y/S), and James is too busy reveling in the idea of winning the goddamn semi-finals that he doesn’t notice you putting Quidditch gear on.

“Easy win from here on out, Pads! The little lady’s just checking the damage. Not important,” he chortles before Sirius physically grabs his head to face the girl walking towards him, currently storming across the turf to meet him and his team.

“I’m subbing in,” you say, angry at how dirty Gryffindor’s been playing, and angry that you even have to play in (Y/S)’s stead.

“Sweetheart, this game is for serious, you know that right?” James says a bit dumbly with a furrowed brow. Both of you are head to head, and James sees the twitch in your eye as you cross your arms. Hot air is seeping out of your pores but James’s lip simply quirks up in intrigue. You’re someone he hasn’t noticed before, and the only thing running through his mind besides winning the game is that you’re really pretty. But then again, he’s always found angry women to be attractive, in retrospect.

“Yeah, for the actual cup, not…for Sirius… It’s the wrong time to joke, innit?” Sirius says to break the ice, noticing the palpable tension between your glares. Your faces are inches away from each other and he’s not sure if you two are going to fight or kiss, but it makes him grimace all the same.

“Who do you think (Y/S) practices with? Unlike you and your friends, I know when to take things seriously,” You say through gritted teeth.

“She’s legit, Potter. Got added to our reserves last week.” Whithall pipes up, ready to get back to the game. The crowd has been weathered down after hours of anticipation, and they want to see the end of it, no matter the outcome.

“Much to my surprise,” you grumble, elbowing the authority in the form of a teenage boy not much older than yourself. You should’ve known your sibling was looking a little too happy as they got floated off the pitch on a gurney.

“Then let’s play. Don’t hurt yourself, sweetheart.” James says condescendingly, floating away on his broomstick like it’s a walk in the park, but the way you’re slapping the bat against your palm is getting Sirius a tiny bit nervous for his precious countenance. The whistle blows and the game resumes.

“A SURPRISE ADDITION (Y/N) JOINS HER HOUSE AS BEATER! Gryffindor better watch out for her swi—” You slam the bludger in James’s direction and it hurtles toward him so fast that he almost folds in half, barrel-rolling on his broom to dodge it. The move makes Sirius and a few of their other teammates gasp to see James scrambling back onto his broom.

“Oops! Looks like I missed.” you deadpan, balancing midair as you whack another one where it rebounds off the Gryffindor seeker and back towards James, hitting both of them in the gut.

“THIS GIRL’S GOT AN ARM ON HER! Though might I say her hits look a bit targeted…” The commentator says worriedly, and everyone in the crowd is leaning in their seats trying to get a better view.

“Merlin, are you trying to kill me woman?” he yells in outrage.

“I’m trying to finish the game. Your big head is in the way,” you say with a straight face as Sirius bats towards you, and you spin on your broomstick without shifting your posture. The smile on your face as you taunt him should be considered criminal, but he’s looking at you in a new light.

Yeah, now he’s paying attention. The other Gryffindor players can’t seem to figure out your next move and you bat another bludger towards Potter’s extremely large target of a head, and all of a sudden he’s freefalling through the air as his teammates fly to catch him, one by one. His nose still makes impact with the ground before Sirius catches by the ankle like Achilles taking a dip in the River Styx.

“AND (Y/H) HAS CAPTURED THE SNITCH! Good job to their Seeker, Appleby! Congratulations on a job well done, so that we can all finally go home.” The commentator cringes as McGonagall swats at him to leave the podium.

Who even is she, taking over the game and stealing his win like that?

He’s walking up from the sidelines with a bloody nose, going to shake Whithall’s hand and you’re standing behind him, a malicious grin plastered between your rosy cheeks, windswept and almost ethereal while he looks like he got flattened by a hippogriff. Fuck, she’s pretty. You look like you floated down from the heavens, and by the looks his team gives him, he may have just crawled out of the earth.

“Congrats,” he grumbles, turning to you. Really pretty. It’s even worse that you’re devastatingly stunning up close— with sweat glistening on your brow and a pearly white smile, he takes a good moment to really look at you and memorize the flutter of your eyelashes. He’s unsure if he’s concussed or maybe it’s his astigmatism, but there are actual stars in his vision as he peers down at you. Your confidence is actually kind of sexy.

“You look…um…you ride well.” He stutters, shaking his head from his personal reverie.

“Excuse me?” you say, your little mouth agape in what he hopes is not disgust. He looks pathetic, blood sopping down to his jersey as he looks at you like he’s only seeing you for the first time, acknowledging you closely. Something about seeing him flail makes you crinkle your nose as you stifle a grin.

“I mean…Um…” Damn.

Sirius pulls his best friend away before you can bite back your laughter, all of your teammates leading you away to celebrate.

“Mate, what the shit was that? Are you alright in the head?” Sirius says, and if James’ nose wasn’t already bleeding he was going to slap him silly.

“Just…Didn’t see that coming…” he mumbles, and his mind, along with all of Gryffindor is in disarray as they walk back to their tower. He’s got a lot of thinking to do on what his next move will be.

—

James Potter goes through life in three methodical ways: 1.) creating a strategy, 2.) making a scene, 3.) and dragging his friends into it— in that particular order, every single time.

Now notice how considering consequences is not part of said process.

His ego wouldn’t let him rest after a girl, much less a very pretty one that he’d never noticed before—beat him at what he does best; quidditch! In fact, the next few nights were void of sleep and filled with thoughts of you. The way your hair looked so soft in the sunlight, how your lip turns almost Gryffindor red when you bite it in concentration, and maybe how your delicate hands would look as they tightly grasp onto his bat...ahem…your quidditch bat. Some dirty delusions aside, if looks could kill, he’d be dead seven times over, but honestly? He’d probably thank you for it.

James’ new mission was to figure you out, and if that was his mission, it meant it was the rest of the Marauders’ too. For the sake of winning the Cup, of course. That’s what he tries to tell himself until his mates catch him ogling you again at breakfast.

“So what is it with you and girls that inflict you nothing but pain and humiliation?” Remus muses, as the Marauders watch James laugh at a joke you told your friends at the (Y/H) table across the Great Hall. He looks at you like someone who stares at the sun, squinting and burning himself as he ponders on why he’s unable to look away.

James fumbles a response, shoving Remus as they all laugh. “Listen, I’ve got a bit of a masochistic streak, Moony. Just…There’s something about her…”

Your friends are pointing at him now, and as you turn to meet his eyes, you lift a brow inquisitively and flip him off. Sirius’s face pulls up in shock at James’s growing smile at the interaction as he mumbles, “Maybe you’ve met your match, Prongs…”

The boy pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, anything to try to see you clearer as he leans over to put his head in his hands, sighing dreamily. His friends are not as easily amused.

“A match made in heaven, you reckon?”

—

“Match made in hell, more like!” You spit, almost choking on your scrambled eggs at your friends’ insinuations. Your back is as stiff as a board, shoulders tight at the notion of you ever liking James Potter triggering your fight or flight response. When it comes to someone as pompous as him, only the word fight comes to mind.

“Oh come on, love… He’s popular, funny, and quite handsome…It’s James freaking Potter we’re talking about!” your roommate gushes, but you're not the least bit impressed.

“Is that supposed to do anything for me? I can think of a few F words that middle initial can stand for…” Eyes rolling, you peek back at the Gryffindor table to see said boy wiggling his fingers at you teasingly until he accidentally smacks Peter in the face with his toast. Idiot.

“Only hot people get away with stupid shit. I mean look at the four of them!” you continue, gulping down the rest of your coffee. “Potter’s the worst out of all of them though. Big ass head must compensate for a lot of things." You say, shaking your head at your friends.

"And yet, here you are, talking about him for the fourth time this morning," your roommate replies, smirking. " You’ve been Potter crazy since you helped us beat Gryffindor in the semi-finals! Are you sure you don't have a crush on him?"

"No!" you say too quickly, too loudly, that the shrill noise of your voice makes your ears hurt and the shit-eating grins on your friends’ faces reflect how desperate that came off. You slump onto the table, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“You wanna kiss him, don’t you?” they tease, and you push away their puckering faces as you scoff, “With an uppercut, maybe!” Almost makes you want to stomp over there and wipe the stupid look off his face…and maybe sit on his lap. You run your fingers through your hair in frustration. All this aggression really needs to go somewhere, but unfortunately, James Potter’s lap is the only destination you have in mind.

“He’s just really punchable. I get so annoyed by the sight of him I just want to… ugh!” you groan, your hands shaking as you try to convince them (or yourself). Your friends cackle at the sight of you pretending to squeeze his curly-topped, mothball-filled head, but your brain changes course and you imagine what it’s like to hold his hand. Your fingers flex cautiously at the idea, wondering what his touch would feel like. Grabbing a glass of water to cool your thoughts, your peripherals reveal he’s still staring at you like you make night turn into day. His gaze is searing, and as you put your lips around your straw, he licks his lips slowly. Shit.

—

Availability bias is one hell of a mindfuck. If only they taught psychology at this magic school, maybe the wizarding world would have way fewer problems and more people would be straightforward and not.. Dead. James decides he can categorize his life now as before you, and after you.

Before you, well… he honestly wasn’t even sure if you were a student at Hogwarts until he saw you marching down the pitch, but now… You’re everywhere. He can spot your voice in a crowded hallway, and who was going to tell him you’ve had three classes with him this whole term? Even down to when he shuts his eyes, he’s convinced his eyelids are branded with the imprint of your silhouette. Every conversation he strikes with you ends with you laughing at him, and he’s unsure if that’s a step up or down from the many boisterous rejections from Lily Evans over the years. He sort of wishes you’d laugh with him, and do a number of other things, (heck he’s got a list of ideas he’s wanked off to), and well… His soul is tightly wound with thoughts of you and Godric, listen to this guy…. maybe the boys were right…. Maybe he really does need to get laid.

It’s funny how fate works, two people who’ve barely interacted in the past six years at Hogwarts are now paired together for a History of Magic essay worth 20% of the term grade. You’re trying to get this done as fast as possible, he notices, mapping out ideas and trying to discuss how to piece it all together, yet James does everything but that to get you to pay attention to him. He fills your head with mundane little questions, asking you what your favorite fruit is to the childhood bedtime story your parents told you as a kid.

“What’s your middle name, Potter?” You muse, finally entertaining him after endless chatter. His eyes trail to the exposed skin of your collarbones as you stretch in your seat, and well… you don’t look as menacing as you always do but did it seriously have to be this question? He scratches the back of his head, silent for the first time in the two hours you’ve been trying to craft this essay for the sake of both your grades.

“What? I can’t just go around calling you James Fucking Potter. Spit it out, you know too much about me already.”

He clears his throat, a blush creeping up his neck. “It’s… that’s an intimate question, love… I…”

Your laughter at his response makes his senses shut down. “Oh, so it’s bad. What is it, Franklin? Fabio? Come on, I won’t bite.” A part of him wishes you would, your face equally flushed and so close to him right now, almost leering at him for an answer. It’d be easy to just lean over…

“Fleamont.”

Your lips quirk, until they pucker like you’ve guzzled a lemon. The blush on your cheeks intensifies, and the sound explodes out of you. You laugh so loudly Madam Pince kicks you both out of the library, James carrying both your knapsacks, a hand around your waist as you rush out of there. Your body is firm under his touch, pupils unfocused and dilated looking at him now that you know his dirty little secret. James thinks that if you keep looking at him like that, hell, you can call him anything you want.

—

Fleamont.

What a prick. A really attractive, clueless prick. The memory makes you giggle as you get ready for the Quidditch Cup and your team charges out onto the field to face Gryffindor again, as you’ve both advanced to the finals. He’s not as much of an asshole as you originally thought. It’s undeniable that something pulls you towards him, whether it be hormones, concern, or the fact that it’s actually adorable the way he writes his mother back weekly, or admirable how he moved Sirius out of Black Manor himself last year. Maybe it’s endearing the way he goes out of his way to make first-years smile or heartwarming how even Filch can’t find reasons to hate him. The golden boy. You get it now, why people get trapped in his web, and why many are unwilling to leave.

You pass him outside the locker rooms, bumping shoulders as he smiles almost bashfully. The golden boy, loudmouth, ball of energy is reduced to a nervous pile of teenage ineptness at the sight of you, every time. You could take him (not in a fight). In an actual fight, maybe you could land a few solid hits before his nice muscly arms hold you do—

“Ready to finish this, darling?”

Your eyes refocus when his hand nudges the small of your back, right above your hip. “Mhmm,” you clear your throat, “Ready to lose, Potter?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He moves closer, slowly backing you into the wall.

“Eyes on the prize Potter, I’m in this to win it.” You say, looking at the closing distance between both your chests. James nods, not taking his eyes off of you for a moment, even when the announcer calls out the imminent start of the game.

“WELCOME TO THE HOGWARTS QUIDDITCH CUP OF 1977 GRYFFINDOR VS. (Y/H)! I hope you are all excited as our last match between these teams was quite thrilling at the end of it!” The announcer says, hyping up the roaring crowd as your teams parade onto the pitch.

His eyes are still on you when he shakes Whithall’s hand and the whistle blows. It’s intense, and makes you feel like you’re burning, even if the wind is blowing like crazy today. You bat the bludgers toward anything red on the field that even dares to move toward your teammates. James won’t stop staring at you, and you both lock eyes across the pitch.

“What? Flirt with me later, Potter, I’m trying to win!” you yell.

He’s got you transfixed, and it’s crazy how his timing is always wrong. You bat the bludger away from your captain but don’t notice James flying towards you to respond as you give it your hardest swing, making the impact against his huge target of a head all the more painful.

Holy shit, did you kill him?

He keels off his broom like a shot bird and then he’s falling, and you’re the one chasing the Gryffindor chaser as he flaps his arms like the idiot you know he is as you push forward to catch him before he splits his skull open.

“I’msofuckingsorryJamesareyouokay?” You blurt out as you land, soft hands moving over his broad chest and quickly swelling face. He’s wearing that stupid grin again, and you think you may have finally broken Gryffindor’s team captain.

“You know my name?” he sighs happily, comfortable in your lap and maybe it’s the brain damage you’ve caused him or the way his glasses are bent beyond repair but you will every magical predecessor you can think of to stop you from punching him in the face right now.

“Are you fucking dense?” You scream, shaking your head, and jostling him as his arms try to reach out to swipe the hair away from your face.

“Must’ve hit him so hard you knocked his filter loose..” Sirius muses after he lands next to you two on the grass.

“POTTER’S TAKEN A HIT FROM (Y/H) and it doesn’t look good ladies and gents! Gryffindor calls a timeout to check on their captain!” The announcer calls out, and there are so many eyes on the two of you as James is simply giggling like a prepubescent schoolboy. Fuck, you’ve maimed the golden boy.

“Y’know, sweetheart. You’re…really sexy when you’re on top of me like this,” he says breathily, and you really can’t hit him, so you jab Sirius in the gut instead when he tries to laugh at his best friend’s stupidity.

—

James wakes up in the hospital wing with a blinding headache until someone gently pulls the curtains closed, stroking the hair off his sweaty forehead.

“Poppy you always take such good care of me…” he mumbles. A punch lands on his chest and his eyes rip open, not expecting to see you at his bedside.

“Idiot,” you mutter. “You’re always in my way and now look, you almost got yourself killed and it would’ve been my fault! How dare you, James…” The red is crawling up your neck like a brushfire as you berate him, and he takes it with a grin as you jabber on, putting his arms behind his head.

“Were you worried about me, love?” James smiles cheesily, catching your arm at its half-hearted attempt to slap him across the face.

“I was not. Stubborn people like you are hard to kill. I’m more annoyed that I can’t morally punch your face in since you have a concussion. Madame Pomfrey’s already healed your cheekbone.”

“That you broke,” he says matter-of-factly, taking a chance to kiss the palm of your hand. This concussion is working like a bottle of Felix Felicis. It’s endearing to see you taking care of him, whether you like it or not (even with the punches he’s sure it’ll come with).

“You’re sick in the head.”

“For you. I was trying to come tell you that I never took my eyes off the prize, but then of course you bludgeoned my face in before I could get sweet on yo—”

Your lips crash down on his, and nothing about it is delicate. It’s a month’s worth of yearning, imaginations coming to fruition as he grabs the back of your head to deepen the embrace. Your lips on his are hot and heady, and he could be easily convinced that he’s stuck there, cauterized to the shape of you.

“I know. I could feel you watching.” You breathe into his mouth, leaning up on his chest. His lips chase up again to meet yours, biting down on your bottom lip as you groan. He might like that noise better than the sound of your laughter. It’ll be fun to find out.

“Who won the Cup?”

Laughter spills out of your red, kiss-swollen lips as you pat his cheek gently, fingers grazing over his healed cheekbone.

“Not Gryffindor. But listen closely James, if you be a good boy and get past this concussion, I’ll make up for it by showing you how well I ride…”

He likes the sound of that, Quidditch Cup be damned. You see, James Potter never loses, ladies and gentlemen, not really—and well... there’s always next year.

—

“I like the way

you look at me

like you are

going to talk to me

or devour me

and I am fine with either.”

-N.R. Hart

taglist: @jsjcue

[sl0t4matt]

smut w marc guiu where some boy is trying to talk to the reader in a party and marc gets jealous and then reader and marc end up doing things in his car please🤭

m. guiu | jealous looks good on you

warnings: smut

marc annoyed the shit out of you today. he’s been such a bitch, fighting and complaining about any minor thing you did wrong. you know your boyfriend can be sassy at times, but today he’s been extra.

you’re supposed to be the girl in the relationship not him and he’s the one acting bitchier than you. today you got especially tired of it, so you called your friends and brought them to the club, bringing you to now, sitting on a chair beside the bar, waiting for your friends to come back from dancing.

you didn’t join them because your legs gave up on you a few minutes ago when you were dancing, like your life depended on it.

you decide to get on your phone, check a few messages, before they get back, so you get on instagram, immediately noticing that hector posted a story.

you click on it seeing a booth of the club you are exactly in. you keep watching the video scoffing at seeing marc in the corner of it, he’s not alone though. a girl is sat beside him, talking to him. a little too close for any girlfriends liking.

“what the fuck.” you mutter, huffing at him finding a new girl exactly after you fought. pathetic really. she’s not even close to your level.

“hi, i’m diego. i saw you dancing a few minutes ago, you looked stunning, could i buy you a drink?” an attractive man sits down beside you. he looks like he’s in his 19s or maybe 20s, with dark skin and dreadlocks.

if marc can talk to other women, what should stop you to? maybe you could even get him jealous and make him see how much he actually needs you. “yes i would love that, actually.” you smile at him.

“perfect, what would you like?” he grins back, his pearly white teeth peeking through his lips. “i’ll take a negroni, thank you.”

“a negroni for the pretty woman beside me, please.” he winks at you. you innerly cringe at his words but don’t let it show. you get the drink in a heartbeat since it only had three ingredients. you smile at the bartender, taking the drink.

“so, are you new in barcelona?” he asks, leaning closer to you. “i moved here a few years ago, for uni.” you answer, sipping on your drink. “nice, what university do you go to? i go to esade.” your eyes widen. esade is one of of barcelonas elite, also super hard. “you study law? that’s like suicide.”

he laughs at your reference. “yeah, it’s a lot.” he nods, agreeing with you. “oh sorry. i go to the university of barcelona.” you answer his previous question.

“you’re good. did you come alone or with friends?” you look around trying to find your girlfriends, but failing immediately, the crowd in the dance floor being way too big to see them. the nightlife of barcelona really is something else.

“i came with my friends, i can’t find them right now, though. they’re probably dancing.” you answer, giving him a tight lipped smile.

you keep looking for them, when you suddenly meet eyes with a certain brown eyed boy, you call your boyfriend. his brows are furrowed and eyes piercing on the guy beside you. if looks could kill, diego would be five feet under for sure.

he gets up from the spot in between hector and the girl on the video and walks towards you. “oh fuck.” you mutter. diego glances at you. “what’s wrong?” he asks, but marc is already in front of you. diego furrows when he sees him.

“hermano, can i help you?” diego asks him. “yeah, you can get the fuck out of my face.” marc spats, turning to look at him. “who the hell are you?!” diego gets up pushing marc’s chest slightly, you still sitting dumbfound beside the bar.

“i’m her boyfriend, you dumbass.” marc isn’t the one to act nice. you know he could throw a whole fit in here as well as seriously hurt the guy if he really wanted to, so you get up, getting in between both of the boys.

maybe project making marc jealous wasn’t such a good idea, since you know exactly how mad marc can get when jealous.

“marc lets go.” you pull on his hand, making him look down on you, with gritted teeth. he scoffs, taking your hand and dragging you to the exit of the club.

you see hector on the way out, him laughing at marc’s outburst.

he takes his car key out of his pocket, opening it. “get in.” he demands, after opening the door to the passenger seat. you scoff, getting into his car. he turns around to get into the driver seat, walking like a mad kid you think.

“did you want to make me jealous, is that it?” he huffs. you turn to look at him, rolling your eyes. “did you? with that blonde girl?” you ask him back. “what the hell are you talking about?”

“oh please. so you’re telling me you weren’t all up on that girl beside you, taking to her.” you scoff. he can’t deny the fact that she was eye fucking him the entire time.

“fucking hell, i wasn’t all up on her, she was the one flirting with me and i literally told her i have a girlfriend.” you roll your eyes. “she was the one? because i’m sure, i literally saw that you were laughing with her on hectors story.” he scoffs.

“see! you always fucking do that shit. you don’t trust me.” you laugh, sarcastically. wow this just is really hilarious. “oh my god! i don’t trust you? you literally dragged me out of there because i was talking to a guy.” you yell at him, finding it rich coming from him.

his hand makes its way to his forehead, massaging it. “because if i didn’t, you would’ve ended up in that guys bed.” he reasons, shaking his head. “are you even hearing yourself? what the hell are you saying? bro just shut the fuck up, honestly.” you scoff, also shaking your head.

“fuck you.” he spats. “fuck you!” you yell back, turning to look at him, meeting his eyes. his eyes move from yours down to your lips, licking his own. “i hate you.” you mumble, as the both of you lean into each other, meeting your lips in a heated and aggressive kiss, taking out your madness on each other in a kiss.

his hand moves to his thigh, squeezing it. his other grips your neck, clutching around it and pulling you even closer if thats possible. your hand slips into his pants, finding his already hard cock. “fuck.” he moans into your mouth.

you start to jerking him off, collecting his pre cum with your thumb, making him tense at the sudden touch.

he pulls his seat back, mentioning you to straddle him. so you do so, each of your legs in between his lap as you feel his already throbbing cock in between your legs, begging for release. he winces, as you grind on him, while you lock lips again, feeling his stubble slightly tickle your chin.

his hand glides in between your legs, pulling your panties down. you’re already soaking and you’re sure he’s very aware of it, your juices already rolling down onto his pants.

you attempt to open his belt with a rush but fail miserably. he helps you, opening up his belt, following with sliding his pants down his hips. he hurries with taking off your top, his hands instantly gripping your tits.

you hoover over his tip, biting your lip when you feel his tip slightly touching your soaked hole. he rocks his hips upward, making his dick stretch out your cunt. you snake your hand around his neck, clutching onto his sweaty hair.

you whine, when you feel him fully inside of you, collecting all of your juices. “you’re so tight, ma.” he groans, as he takes ahold of your waist, squeezing it.

your lips hoover over his as you roll your hips back onto his, feeling his dick pulsing around you, your breasts bouncing up and down. he groans at the stimulation, panting heavily.

you quicken your movements, thrusting into him more laboriously. “marc.” you breathlessly moan his name, arching your back at the feeling, feeling closer to the edge.

you tremble from on top of him, clutching onto his shoulders, your nails digging deep into his skin, forming cat like scratches. “fuck. gonna come.“ he groans before filling you up with his warm sperm.

your legs shake around his cock before you come onto him, drenching his thighs in your come.

your head leans onto his shoulder, tiredly. a smirk forms onto his smug face, as he sees your juices all over him. “not a word.” you speak, knowing he was going to make a smart ass mark.

“for a person you hate, i can make you come quite alright, don’t you think?” he winks. “oh my god.” you shake your head.

“what did you say the last time? jealous looks good on me?” he chuckles. you hit his chest before getting back into the passenger seat. it does look good on him. you can’t lie.

[writing-mlm]

Blue-pilled man [D.W]

Summary: Sophomore year of college and life is good-- until Bruce invites your family to Thanksgiving. Thankfully your boyfriend is there to distract you-- wait, boyfriend??? Pairing: Damian Wayne x male!reader WC: 9.3k

A glitch in the system is what you’d considered yourself. There wasn’t supposed to be anything special about you, the middle child born from the rare chance the birth control didn’t work. The failed plan B. The unimportant middle child in a large family living along the West Coast. You hadn’t been anyone special, you hadn’t done anything remarkable with your life. 

You’d graduated high school and flew across the country to Gotham of all places. Low housing costs, honestly, was the only reason. You’d been going to Gotham University for what? Five or so months before you’d gotten an internship at Wayne Enterprise for your major in business. It was going fine, you met some other interns and made fast friends and went out with them as often as you could. 

Which is probably where you fucked up. You’d gone out to someone’s birthday party in a club, fake IDs locked in. It was fun, from what you could remember. And you were all going to head out since it was a Sunday— poor choice, you know but you went to use the bathroom when someone shoved some blue pill into your mouth. But at the time you were too drunk to care about what it was. It tasted like a mint though, so you assumed that’s what it was and thanked them for the breath mint before heading to meet your friends in the Uber. 

The next morning you woke up with a raging headache and the need to vomit. Unfortunately for you, you had a meeting with the Bruce Fucking Wayne. Apparently, he interviewed each intern a couple of months into their internship and it was your turn. Surprise!

But thankfully, it led to where you are now. 

As a Junior in college, you like to think you’ve been doing this long enough to get the hang of it. You’ve also been granted off-campus housing. Which was fucking amazing. You lived with one person and get this… he’s Bruce Wayne’s son! Honestly, for a nepotism baby, he was cool. 

Plus, he was Robin. So it made going out to fight crime at night so much easier, and his dad— your boss in more ways than one, always understood why you were late to work. But it also meant he called you whenever Robin was called in. 

“Player!” Robin shouts as you leap from roof to roof, leaving an animated dust cloud after you. “Player!” He repeats this time his voice cutting through your comms. “You’re going the wrong way!” He groans and you land on the roof, confused. He watches as you tap in the air and a holographic map pops up, taking over your field of view. 

   “Oh, shit!” You say, tapping a button on the bottom of the map and it shoots back to the corner it came from. “My bad, Rob!” Tapping on your waist bag, you see a selection of food and swipe to find a glowing lollipop. “Heading your way now!” Popping the lollipop into your mouth, you feel a surge over you and look down at your boots. There’s a green glow on them and you nod to yourself before jumping to the roof that was closest to him. 

He nods when he sees you following him, taking off towards the robbery happening at a local, beloved restaurant. 

“You think they’ll be open tomorrow?” You ask, catching up to Robin just as the two of you jump down from the roof and land across the block from the restaurant. “I was thinking we get some of their food for dinner tomorrow.” He glances at you then sighs, heading towards the restaurant.

   “Considering no one’s dead, yes.” He says once he's halfway across the block. You grin and catch up to him, already scanning through your inventory for where you kept handcuffs. 

—

“Do you reckon I could be a mad scientist?” You ask Damian as you walk into his bedroom, not even looking up from your laptop. “Or could I get roped into a cult? Am I cult material?” Sitting on his bed, you tuck one leg under you and let the other dangle off of the bed. “I don’t think I’m cult material, I’m not easy to peer pressure,” You mutter. 

   “No,” He sighs, setting his own laptop down next to him but he doesn’t close it. “You couldn't be a mad scientist but you would get sucked into a cult.” Gasping, you look up at him and blink. 

   “Nuh-uh! How?” Crossing your arms, you sit properly on his bed and shut your laptop. 

“You almost signed up for the Church of Scientology last week because they asked if you wanted to take a personality test. Every time you pass by a club that asks you to join, you sit on it for a week before declining because I remind you that you’re a full-time college student with a job and a vigilante!” He lists and you huff, throwing yourself onto his bed. “It’s not your fault, though. Growing up in an environment where you didn’t feel loved would lead to a person being more susceptible to a cult. They make you feel needed, wanted.” God, you hated that he had taken that psychology course. 

“Ouch,” You mutter, resting your hands on your stomach. Looking over at him, you see he’s gone back to doing his work. “Do you want me?” You ask and he glances up at you before looking back to your laptop. 

   “In my room? Depends on my mood.” He shrugs.

“In your life, I mean.” He looks at you this time, his hands ready to close his laptop. 

   “I do,” He gives one strong nod. “Considering I agreed to live with you until we graduate, I would hope I’d… enjoy your company.” Smiling, you look back to the ceiling. His ceiling is bare, although you can see the marks from the times you’ve thrown sticky balls to the ceiling and pieces got left behind. You wonder why he hadn’t taken those off yet. 

Damian’s room isn’t what you had expected it to be. He has various art materials set up around his room, an entire section of his room is dedicated to his pets like their beds and toys, and his walls are covered in various items. You see drawings, news clippings, posters of various famous people he enjoys, and a full-length mirror was nailed to the back of his door. He doesn’t have a rug, he says Alfred the cat likes to tear those up. But he does have a curtain that looks like a rug. 

Not to mention his swords. 

His bed is nice, too. Bruce had spared no expense furnishing the place, he’d gotten the best beds possible for the two of you. Damian preferred a firmer bed, he never liked the feeling of sinking into a bed and not being in control of that. He also needed space for his pets, since there was no rule about how many could sleep in his bed now that he no longer lived in the manor. Prior to moving in, you’d pegged him as a one-pillow type of guy. But he had an absolute mountain of pillows, most of which he didn’t even use. 

Tapping on the transparent food icon that was always in the corner of your eye, you watch as your inventory materializes above your body. You widen the bar into a grid and scroll until you reach a water bottle. 

“Want one?” You ask. “They’re cold.” He hums and you pluck two water bottles out from the bar and toss one to him. Of course, being Damian, he catches it without looking up from his work and you roll your eyes. 

   “Thank you,” He says as you close out your food inventory. 

Honestly, major fucking thank you to that blue pill guy. Whatever was in it had made you into your very own video game character. You could even change your appearance! It was so fucking cool, you could find random items lying around and literally create a bomb in two seconds! 

Not that you’ve ever done that. 

Sitting up, you take a slow sip of the water as Ace trots over to you and lifts his paw. Grinning, you pat the bed and he jumps up, bumping his nose to your arm as a greeting before curling up at Damian’s side. He glances down at his dog and mindlessly pets him along his spine. 

“Have you studied yet?” He asks, lifting his eyes from his screen to meet yours for a brief moment. Capping the bottle, you toss it back into your inventory and lean back on his bed. 

   “A little,” You admit. “Between jobs and class, I haven’t had time. Was gonna during break, though.” He raises an eyebrow and you shove his foot. “Sorry some of us won’t be visiting family and will have an entire week to do nothing!” 

“Oh, and where do you think you’re staying?” He asks, finally fully closing his laptop and setting it on his nightstand. 

  “Here,” You shrug as if the answer was obvious. 

    “Father wants you at the manor, he’s invited you to Thanksgiving,” This is news to you. Looking at him, you see Damian is looking at you before he turns his attention back to Ace. He’s old, you note. He’s gotten the powered face and you’re pretty sure he’s been sleeping on the sofa while watching late-night game shows. He even snores now. 

   “Oh, thanks so much for the heads up!” Scratching his backside, Ace’s leg kicks and you chuckle. His eyes crack open when you stop and he moves to nudge your hand, letting out a small howl. 

“Don’t be cruel, he’s old.” Damian gestures to the dog who’s doing his best to look like he’s about to cry. Where he learned that, you’ll never know. But you lay down properly on the bed and continue to pet him. Damian pets his head, and you just barely register that he probably doesn’t want you to smash his pillows underneath you. Adjusting yourself, you look around for Alfred. 

He’s awake in his cat tree, but his tail is slowly swishing in the air. A little harshly, you might add.

“Someone’s jealous,” You joke, and Damian follows where you’re looking. “Come and get pet, Alfred!” The cat lets out a chipper merwl and leaps from his place on the tree and onto the floor. There are two small thumps, one from the front paws hitting the floor and the second from the back paws. Alfred flicks his tail as he lands before jumping onto the bed in one big jump. 

He nudges your free hand and when you lift it, crawls underneath forcing you to pet along his back before he settles on your chest. One thing about cats is that despite their small size, when they’re sitting directly over your ribcage they all but quadruple in weight. 

“Ow,” You bite back a groan, closing one eye and slowly easing onto Damian’s pillows. “Lay down, please,” Whispering to Alfred, he blinks and then plops down as if his bones had just gone away. Chuckling, you pet wherever he asks and close your eyes. 

“Fathers texted,” Damian mutters, shifting down on the bed so he could comfortably lie down. “We’re patrolling tomorrow,” 

“Thank god, not tonight,” You huff, looking down at Alfred whose content on your chest. He’s purring loudly, and his front paws are neatly tucked under his body while his lower half is splayed out to the side. His eyes don’t leave your face, though. They’re half-lidded like he’s fighting sleep and you see his head rocking a bit. Scratching his forehead, he pushes his head further into your fingers and gives one lick before laying his head flat on your chest. 

“He likes you too much,” Damian chides. “He’s a traitor!” Alfred doesn’t miss a beat as he rolls to turn his back to Damian, letting out the loudest sigh he can muster in his very tiny body. 

   “He’s a baby!” You protest. “Ain’t that right, Alfie?” In response, Alfred flicks his tail once, slowly lowering it back down to your stomach. “See,��� Looking over at Damian, you see him watching his cat with an almost envious glare before he looks at you. 

“You know it took me five hours to train him?” He asks as Ace gets up and jumps off of the bed. You watch for a second as he paws the door open before slipping into the hallway. Damian scoots a bit closer and raises his hand to pet Alfred. “He was totally feral before me.”

“Ah, so he was you before Bruce?” The tease is clear in your voice, your eyebrows wiggling and your chest shakes a little bit when you see his reaction. 

   “I wasn’t feral,” He bites, looking over at you. 

   “You stabbed your brothers,” You softly remind him and he scoffs, laying his head down on the same pillow you were using. But neither of you seems to notice or care. 

    “If they could get stabbed by a ten-year-old, they deserved it.” 

Alfred stands up, his back rising to comical heights before he spawns and stretches over to Damian. 

“Traitor,” You frown, rolling to your side and watching as he lays down on Damian, his tail curling under his body. 

   “He knows where home is,” Damian jokes, making you scoff. 

“I’m gonna go take a shit,” You mutter and press a kiss to Damian’s forehead. Somewhere in your mind, it was intended for Alfred, but you missed it and didn’t realize it until you were at the door. 

“I don’t mind,” Damian said when he noticed you had paused at the door. 

   “…Okay…” You hum and leave his room. It’s not like you’ll make a habit out of it. 

—

A week later you’re both in the apartment's living room, Damian is busy working on this art project he’s been working on and you’re cramming for your last final of the semester. You’re sure if you read another word in that stupid textbook you’re going to explode and huff, slamming it shut before tossing it onto the pile that had amassed on the floor. 

You need to do something else. Looking towards the kitchen you squint, food? No. Sighing, you look towards Damian. He’s focused on his drawing, you’d hate to disturb him. Your attention drifts down to your phone that’s vibrating on the coffee table. 

Perfect timing. 

You grab your phone and stand up before leaning down to kiss Damian’s cheek and say a quick “Call,” before heading into the kitchen to fix yourself a snack. 

Okay, so habits quickly form, according to your track record. 

Apparently, anytime either one of you leaves a room, you announce it with a kiss on the cheek or forehead— whichever is closer, and then the location. You’d actually grown to be fond of it. And it didn’t really affect your previous relationship with him. If anything, you spent more time with Damian now. Which seemed impossible considering you go to the same college, live in the same place, work at the same place, and fight crime together. 

But, still. It’s just bros being bros. 

“Hello?” You answer the call just before it stops ringing. Slipping the phone between your shoulder and ear, you open the fridge and lean inside for a better look. God, you need to go grocery shopping soon. 

   “God! I’ve been calling you for twenty minutes!” A woman shouts from the other end and you pull the phone from your ear and check the caller ID. It’s not saved and you don’t recognize it. Probably the wrong number. 

   “Who is this?” You ask, grabbing the butter tub and opening it. Yogurt-covered fruits. Jackpot. You set the tub on the counter and reach for a nearby bowl. 

“Your mother! Hello, this is (Y/n), right?” Standing up straight, you disregard the fruit and rush into the living room and wave to get Damian’s attention. He doesn’t notice and you almost shout at him; he’s Robin and he can’t tell when his best friend is literally silently calling out for help five feet away?

   “Hey, mom!” He looks up at that, slowly setting his pencil and sketchbook down. He mouths something but you don’t catch it between your blinking and pacing. “How’d you— how are you?” You cringe, biting your fist to stop yourself from speaking. 

“Horrible! Where are you? We’re in Gotham,” She huffs and you whip around to Damian, eyes wide and you’re so close to lowering yourself into a squat and banging your head on the table. 

  “You’re here! In Gotham!” Damian sits up properly, motioning for you to put it on speaker and you do, setting the phone on the table. “How long are you here?” You ask, tugging your hands down your face. 

“Two months,” Your mother answers and you swear you almost passed out right then and there. “Ujjwal, no! That place looks like it has bedbugs,” She huffs and your step-father starts to complain in Hindi. “Where are you?” She asks over the complaining. “We’re coming over!” 

“I dorm, actually!” You quickly spit out, covering your mouth immediately afterward. 

   “Ah, why don’t you have an apartment yet?” Your step-father asks. “You know, your sister, Nadia has a house.” He says, forgetting the fact that Nadia was 27 and had won the lottery before moving to the countryside and buying her own house with her roommate since elementary school. 

    “I know, abbā.” You strain. 

“I still don’t know why he went to Gotham for college,” He mutters and you wouldn’t have heard it had it not been for them being on speaker. 

“Come meet us!” Your mom demands. “We’re in front of Gotham Bright Hotel! Diana is tired.” 

“I’m busy, mom.” 

“Nonsense, come and pick us up!” She huffs. 

You at Damian, silently telling him see, crazy! He nods and thinks for a second before grabbing the TV remote and hurriedly opening YouTube. 

“I’m studying and I’m pretty busy,” You repeat, watching as he looks up Fire Alarm noises. “Just stay there. I heard it’s a go—“ The video plays and you thank god there wasn’t an ad and it’s loud enough to seem real. “Sorry, abbā, mom, I gotta go! Fire drill,” Hanging up, you sigh and press your forehead to the cold table. 

“Why are they in Gotham?” He asks, stopping the video. 

   “Fuck if I know,” You grumble into the wood. “I should get a new number…” Sitting down, you stare at your phone and groan. It’s not worth it. “I’m gonna take a nap, don’t wake me up until the sun comes up, please.” Getting up, you kiss his cheek and head to your room. 

—

It doesn’t take long for you to bump into your family. The very next day, in fact. Dick had all but begged you and Damian to come along with him and the rest of the Waynes to go and check out the tree they put in front of Gotham City Hall every year. Like the New York tree. Just way smaller and probably will be stolen before Christmas. 

You’re next to Damian, your hands stuffed into your big coat and your chin trying to retreat into your scarf watching as the crane lowers the tree. It’s already decorated in yellow and red ornaments, There’s some Gotham Vigilante ornaments, too, you note and grin when you see your insignia. 

“It looks nice,” You chitter to Damian who looks over at you. He laughs at your state and moves in front of you to fix your scarf. You watch him as he carefully unwraps it and measures it to an equal length. He does it incredibly fast and you hope one day you’re as good as him with— everything really. 

He looks back up at you and carefully draws the middle in front of your neck. He has to lean a bit forward to wrap the material around your neck but he doesn’t mind the fact that you can see your breaths mixing with the small gap he created. You don’t either, though. His fingers graze your neck as he tucks the scarf into itself before he admires his work and nods. 

“Thanks,” With a noticeably less chatter of your teeth Damian is satisfied with his work and stands next to you again. You peer over at Dick who’s grinning ear to ear, watching the tree and putting his phone back into his pocket. 

“He’s like a kid or something,” You laugh and Damian follows your eyes.

   “He’s up to something,” He shakes his head and glares at his brother. Feeling the glare, Dick looks over at the two of you and waves his hand wildly. “Suspicious,” Damian confirms to himself. You roll your eyes and look back to the tree. There are some people helping set it in place as it’s lowered. Hopefully, there are no bombs in it this year. 

“(Y/n)?” Several heads turn to the voice and you see your younger sister grinning and rushing over to you. She’s dressed in a fancy blue winter coat, the one with a small cape on the shoulders and white fur along the edges. 

   “Diana…!” Behind her, you see some other family members. Your parents, both your step-parents, your siblings, and two cousins with their mom. “Oh my god.” You whisper. In truth, you probably should’ve expected they’d be there. That’s your fault. 

“We should run.” You tell Damian and he considers it. But your mother must be the flash with how fast she’s in front of you. 

“Where’s your hat? And you don’t have gloves!” She immediately says while removing her gloves and holding your face for a second. She removes her hands as you try not to move away from her grip, then places the back of her head to your forehead then your ears. “You’re going to get sick!” 

“Is this your mother?” Bruce smiles as he stands behind you. 

   “Yes,” You nod, putting your hands in your pocket. 

    “I’m Bruce,” He introduces himself and holds his hand out. It doesn’t click fast for the others, but for Diana it does. 

“Like Bruce Wayne? So, you’re Damian Wayne, right?”

Diana’s eyes gleam as she asks and for some reason, it leaves a bad feeling in your mouth. You don’t like the way she looks at him and the idea of her touching him makes you angry. He notices, you don’t know how, and places a hand on your shoulder. 

   “Yes.” He nods. “And you are?” Her smile falters for a second and her eyes dart to you for a second. She composed herself and removed her hands from her pocket. 

    “Diana, his sister!” She holds her hand out for him as the rest of your family catches up. “He must’ve talked about me a bunch!” She flashes a grin to you. 

   “Not at all.” He shakes his head and turns to the rest of your family. You hide a grin and he shakes their hands, he already knows their names and he’s seen their faces before so it’s just a formality on his end. 

“I had already invited (Y/n) to Thanksgiving,” Bruce starts, getting everyone’s attention back to him. “Would you like to join?”

Oh god no. Please. 

Damian looks over at his father with barely hidden distaste as you stare at nothing. You know they’ll jump at the chance. They’ll ruin everything. 

“We’d love to!” Your father says as your stepmother nods in agreement. The rest of your family agrees and maybe it’s the cold air that makes it hard to breathe but for some reason, you can’t. You blink, trying to take in as much as possible but it’s hard and you’re sure you don’t have asthma. Not anymore at least. Subconsciously, you tug at your earlobe to try and calm down. 

“We need to leave now, though.” Damian cuts off your step-father as he’s about to speak. “We have finals to study for. It was nice meeting you.” He grabs your wrist from your ear and tugs you after him; you follow him without hassle until you’re back at the car Bruce had driven in. 

“I truly do not understand father's thinking. Inviting them without consulting with you was a brash and out-of-character thing for him to do.” He frowns, unlocking the car with the keys he snagged from Bruce’s pocket. You used to wonder how he did it, but you’ve learned to not truly question him and his methods. Just hope he teaches you then one day. 

   “Yeah,” Is the only thing you manage to say. Only Damian really knew about your family, the others just knew you weren’t very close with them. 

It was one night, you figured. You’ll be fine. 

—

Bruce had requested everyone be at the manor before noon, which to Damian reads as being at the manor by nine. It’s less than a two-hour drive from your apartment to the manor, so you had to be up since four in the fucking morning. Which, honestly, you didn’t mind all that much. 

It was a little homey just sitting with Damian in the living room and the sun wasn’t up yet, and then taking turns getting ready. It was nice. Different too. It almost distracted you from the fact that you were about to see your family.

“Is this okay?” You ask Damian as you enter his room, tugging at the hem of your sweater. He was already dressed, in a simple black shirt and brown pants but he made it look expensive. You felt stupid and like someone pretending to be important. God, your pants didn’t even fit right! You should probably go and change, find something from one of the gala’s you’ve attended. 

   “You look perfect,” He says as he removes your hands from the hem and locks your hands together to stop you from leaving. “Cuff the ends of your pants, perhaps.” He adds offhandedly. You frown and look behind him. He has a small bag packed and you look back at him. 

“I don’t wanna go,” You whisper, searching his face for a sign that he’ll agree and you’ll both stay in your apartment for the night. You won’t have to see your family and probably finally block them. He won’t have to deal with his brothers. It’s a win-win situation. 

    “Take this opportunity,” He says and lets go of one of your hands to grab his bag from his bed. “Show them how good you’re doing. You’re basically a Wayne, you’re above them in every way possible.” Shouldering his bag, he guides you to your room and hands you your bag. 

“But…” You bite your cheek and take the bag. “What if… I dunno— I do something stupid! I slip up and reveal everything… I’m probably better off just sitting there. Diana will do most of the talking anyway.” You huff the last part. “Did you see the way she acted? I mean, she definitely toned down the spoiled and entitled energy but still. She’ll probably try and get with you, too.” His face scrunches at the thought and it makes you laugh. 

   “You should know she’s far from my type.” He says as he checks his phone and you don’t really understand but you pretend you do. 

“Can you grab Alfred? Pennyworth is here.” Humming, you enter the living room and grab the carrier that Alfred is less than happy to be in from the table. You try and keep him as stable as possible while Damian gets Titus and the two of you head out. He locks the door and you add an extra measure from your toolbar before going to the elevator. 

“You’ll be fine,” He swears as the two of you step inside. There’s no one else in the elevator seeing how early in the day it is and all the students have already gone home. “Besides, I’m sure one of my moronic brothers will do something embarrassing and do all the talking for us. And Pennyworth has promised knafeh.” 

“I love knafeh,” He grins and steps out of the elevator. 

   “That’s why I asked him to make it.” And they call him a demon.

Following Damian, you spot Alfred waiting in front of the car with a warm smile. 

“Good morning, Mr. Pennyworth,” You greet him while giving him a one-armed hug. 

   “Good morning, Mr. (L/n),” He pats your back then moves to open the car door. “Young Master Damian,” He nods and Damian nods back. The two of you scoot into the car and you set the cage in front of your legs. Alfred meows when he realizes he’s going back to the manor and begins to scratch at the bottom of the cage. 

“I’m sure he misses the open space,” You comment, trying to peer down inside of the cage but you can only lean down so far without fearing you’d break your back. 

   “Alfred is truly a pampered cat,” Pennyworth says as he enters the car. “Buckle up.” 

The ride is spent with you and Damian discussing random topics from your next patrol to your finals. He had even gotten Alfred to join in on the topic and the two of them all but yelled at you to study for your finals. Eventually, you did cave and promised them you would and you just know Damian is going to hold you to that. 

“Now,” Alfred sighs as he parks the car in front of the door to the manor. “I have to retrieve your family along with Master Dick. Do not tell the others this, but I trust you two the most in the kitchen. Could you please continue my preparations?”

“Of course, Alfie!” You grin while Damian just nods. Alfred smiles and looks at the two of you through the rearview mirror.

   “Thank you, I have a list on the fridge. Simply follow it until I get back.” With the promise not to fuck anything up, the two of you head into the manor and quickly put your things into his room and let Alfred out. 

“You’re better with a knife,” You mutter as you read over the list on the fridge. A  list probably isn't even the right word for it. It’s four pages long and double-sided, explains what’s being made and the steps to make it and you’re not sure that’s even all of the papers he’s created. Alfred tends to go big for Thanksgiving, you think it’s because the Wayne’s hadn’t been a big family until Bruce got addicted to taking in kids. Not to mention now your family was joining. “I’ll season the food.” 

Damian peers over at the list as you move to wash your hands and sees that everything has a time next to it, they’re already a little behind schedule so he’ll need to work quickly. He’s sure that the two of you can catch everything back up to speed and hopefully allow Alfred some breathing room. 

It’s vegetables after vegetables for Damian. He’s sure he’s cut up an entire acre of carrots and onions by the time he sees the two cars pull up to the manor. You, on the other hand, are having fun mixing and mashing various foods. You just hoped it was to Alfred’s standards. 

You see both of the cars pull up and take that as your sign to wrap up whatever you’re doing and you wash your hands. 

“I’m a pro fucking chef,” You grin at Damian as he sets the last of the stuff he chopped into a bowl next to the sink. 

   “It smells good.” He agrees, watching as the cars pull to a stop just long enough for everyone to get out. Your family piles out of the cars and you cringe as Diana is quick to insist on a family photo. You, of course, are not included in it but that’s nothing new. That fact doesn’t do anything to satiate your mood, though. 

“Bathroom,” You say as you kiss his cheek and head down the hallway. He watches with a frown before he wipes his hands on the kitchen towel and decides he’s not going to greet your family at the door. 

He stops at the first-floor bathroom and hears the faucet running. He knocks on the door once with his index knuckle and hears the water stop running. 

“I’m going to be in the family library,” Looking up from your spot on the top of the toilet, you wipe your face and clear your throat. 

  “Okay, be there in a second.” 

—

Entering the family library, you’re glad your family wasn’t inside just yet. They were probably still taking pictures in front since god knows how many individual and group pictures they like to take. Damian is sitting on the middle couch, Titus and Ace are sandwiching him together but Ace moves when he sees you. Like he knows you’re going to sit there. 

It makes you smile and you greet Tim who’s on a chair, he gives a small wave without pulling his head out of his laptop. You wonder what case he’s working on, has to be important if Bruce couldn’t force him to keep it in his room. The others aren’t downstairs yet, so it’s just the three of you in the room. 

Damian moves his left arm to the top of the sofa as you sit down and only when you’re comfortable does he move it to lay across your shoulders. He doesn’t do that often, but whenever he does it’s a welcomed interaction. You lean into his touch, just a little. 

You hear them enter the manor, but you’re more focused on the fact that he started to play with the hair on the base of your scalp. He’s probably doing it on purpose, but you don’t care; you’re glad he does because you didn’t even realize they had entered the library until you felt him greet them. His shoulder bounces a bit as he nods to them. 

“Oh,” Nadia says and you look over at her. She says it in the same way you’d say oh when you catch onto something. But you’re not sure what she’s caught onto. Her roommate, Kendall, waves with her fingers and you wave back. “Hey, squirt.” Your eyes turn back to your sister and her hand that twitches to grab Kendall’s. 

“There you are!” Her hand snaps back to her side as your mother speaks. You sit up straight as you see your mother, you don’t know why. But it felt wrong leaning on Damian with your family there, you’ve never felt that way before. “Why didn’t you greet us at the door?” Your mother asks. 

   “I was busy.” You say, looking over your family. “How was the ride?” 

“No one shot at us,” Your cousin laughs, throwing himself onto one of the sofas. You cringe, watching the wood bend at the sheer force he’d thrown himself down with. “But there was this one lady with the only gyatt!” He says and oh my god, you’d forgotten he was a middle school boy. 

“How’s school going?” Your step-mother asks, sitting in your father's lap. Your mother eyes them and you try not to as well, but you’ve never liked them together. She’s twenty-five, hardly old enough to be with a man in his fifties. 

   “Good,” You hum. 

“So,” Diana grins as she crosses her leg over her right. “Damian, what’s it like— living in Gotham? I bet it’s scary.” She’s sitting on the sofa next to the one you’re on, but closer to Damian. You bet if your folks weren’t in the rooms she’d try and reach for his hand. You try and not to focus on that. 

   “It’s not,” He shrugs. 

    “Really?” She grins. “Because I was thinking of transferring to Gotham University!” She says and Damian’s fingers twitch along your back. 

   “It’s not scary for me, someone who isn’t used to life here will never make it.” He quickly adds and she frowns. 

“It can’t be that hard,” She waves her hand to you. “I mean, (Y/n) is doing fine and he’s… him!” She laughs as she says that and you look at your parents, they’re clearly listening to the conversation but as per usual, no one will ever stop Diana. 

   “What’s that supposed to mean?” Damian asks while leaning forward in his seat. 

“There you two are!” Dick shouts as he runs into the library. His eyes look between the two of you and he makes the same face he does when he sees a cute dog. 

   “Richard.” Damian greets. 

“Kori!” You gasp and rush over to the woman as she walks into the room. Damian grumbles something but stands up and follows after you. “Oh my god, Dick didn’t mention you were coming.” You glare at him but he holds his hands up. 

   “We wanted to keep it a surprise,” She laughs and holds onto his shoulder. “His father has the baby.” Two months ago, Kori had given birth to their daughter, Mari. You had yet to meet her, but Dick made sure to spam-send you photos whenever he could. 

“Aw!” You frown. “Why does that old man get to see the baby first?” Damian hides his laughter and you nudge his side with your hip. 

   “Because she’s my grandchild,” Bruce says as he walks in behind them. He walks next to Kori and you see her swaddled in a purple blanket, sound asleep. 

   “And I’m the godfather!” You remind him, looking down at Mari. 

   “As am I,” Damian reminds you and you roll your eyes, waving your hand at him.  

“Can I hold her?” You whisper, afraid you’d wake her up. Bruce nods and you grin, helping him slide Mari into your arms. “She’s so small,” Turning to Damian, he holds your shoulder with one hand, and the other scoops under the hand that holds Mari’s head. He’s trying not to smile in front of Dick but you can see it. 

   “She has your hair, Richard.” He notes, turning to his brother as he puts his phone back into his pocket as quickly as possible. He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t broach the topic. 

“And her mother's eyes,” Dick smiles at his wife. 

“Let’s sit,” Bruce says and you nod, unable to look away from Mari in fear of dropping her. Damian guides you back to your seats and you slowly lower yourself onto the couch. 

“She’s less fragile than you think,” He softly reminds you and you finally look away from her. Damian looks away from Mari and looks at you, his eyes flickering across your face before they settle on your eyes.

   “She’s so small, though.” You frown and he nods, moving some of your hair from your face. “Wanna hold her?” 

“Wish Jay took that much of an interest in her.” Dick frowns, watching the two of you. “First grandchild of the family!”

“Hopefully only grandchild for a while,” Bruce says as he unbuttons his jacket to sit comfortably. 

   “I doubt you’ll have a baby problem anytime soon.” Tim laughs, finally putting his laptop away. “Dickie is the only one of us to date a woman.” Dick laughs and Bruce genuinely has to think about it. Had he raised a home filled with gay people? Did he make kids gay? He’s one for four at the moment but he sort of wishes Duke and Cas would even the scores out a bit. No— he’s zero for five. He corrects himself, remembering Dick’s boyfriend from a few years back. 

   “Not true,” You cross your arms, oblivious to Bruce’s spiral. “Steph—“

“You know what I meant!” He rolls his eyes. “He’s the only guy in this family who’s dated a woman.” 

“No,” You shake your head while looking at Damian. “Didn’t you date uh… what’s her name? Nika?” He looks almost offended that you said that. 

   “(Y/n), she’s gay.” He corrects. 

“Alexis?”

“She was delusional.”

“Emiko?”

“Friends.” 

“Maxinne?”

“Friends. Why do you think I’ve dated these women?” The man himself walks into the library with Alfred. 

“…Jason…” You admit and he gives you a Are you fucking serious look. Jason looks confused for a second but he can get a hint of what’s happening based on Damian and Dick’s face. 

   “You believed Todd to tell you the truth of my love life?” He stresses and now you feel stupid. 

  “When you say it like that!” You huff, turning your head away from him. “I mean he also said you dated Jon.” 

“And that didn’t give you a sign he was lying?” He chuckles. 

“So, are you single?” Your mother asks and you catch Diana pretending not to listen but she leans in closer. 

   “No.” Damian answers in a tight tone and you frown. 

   “No?” You echo and he looks at you, bewildered. 

“No shot,” Jason laughs, his head tilted. “You two with me.” He points between the two of you and you look between his family, a similar look spreading across their faces. What the fuck is going on? But you follow Jason after Damian handed Mari back to Dick. He doesn’t look happy, you note as he walks two paces ahead of you; something he hardly ever does. 

Jason guided the two of you into a smaller library that Bruce uses when he’s having meetings. You stand on the carpet while Damian stands close to the fireplace. 

 “Damian,” Jason says as he closes the doors. “Are you single?” 

“No.” He snaps. 

“(Y/n),” He turns to you. “Are you single?” 

“Yes…?” You trail. “Why?”

“Figure it out!” Jason laughs and then leaves the room. Staring at the door, you sigh and sit on the couch, leaning your arms on your legs. 

“(Y/n),” Damian calls. “Why didn’t you tell your family we’re together?” His voice is smaller than before and he doesn’t look at your face, like he’s ashamed. 

   “We’re what?” You shout, your head snapping over to him. “Dude, since when?” He realizes it then and now it makes sense. 

“You kissed me.” He stresses and sits down across from you. 

    “Yeah, on the cheek!” You roll your hand. “That’s normal and totally not romantic!” He crosses his arms and you shrink into your seat under his gaze. 

   “Do you kiss all of your friends?” He asks, an eyebrow raised in the air. You humor it for a second, thinking about kissing one of your college friends on the cheek like you did with him. It seemed gross, wrong. As if it was some sort of violation. That those kisses between you and Damian were sacred and to even think about it with someone else was somehow an act against god. 

“Well, no,” You blink down to the floor.

   “Then why me?” He asks. You don’t understand at that moment, but when you look back on the conversation you realize he was guiding you to an answer you already knew. 

    “I mean, it just feels right with you.” Looking back at him, he’s smiling and his eyes are bright. “But I’ve never liked a guy before.” You admit, taking in a deep breath. “I dunno how to be in a gay relationship.”

“It’s the same as any other relationship.” He reassures you. “If that’s what you want.” He adds, holding your hand. You look at your hands together and smile. Do you want that?

You imagine yourself, going on dates with him and announcing each other as your boyfriend. Kissing him. Like actually kissing him. And it makes your face hurt with how much you’re smiling. You’re giddy, like some kid with a crush and you feel stupid for not putting two and two together sooner. 

“I think I do.” You look at him and hold his hand back. “I do.” You nod. “I want that— this.” 

“Good,” He sighs, his shoulders relaxing. “Because my family already knows.” He admits and you look at the door. Jason is probably still there, listening and reporting back to the others. 

   “Do you want other people to know?” You ask. “I know you consider your private life… private.” 

“I would love nothing more than to introduce you as my partner.” He says, his thumb rubbing against your flesh. 

    “If I knew you liked me this much before I would’ve made a move sooner,” You laugh, looking between his eyes. He rolls his eyes and stands up, pulling you with him. 

Once you’re on your feet, he holds you by your hips and you don’t exactly know what to do with your hands. You settle on holding his waist, you’ve never realized just how toned he was. 

“Can I?” He asks, bringing his left hand up to brush against your bottom lip. Understanding what he’s asking, your heart hammers in your chest as you nod. “Use your words, Habibi.” 

“Yes.” You nod feverishly and he dips in without a second thought. His left hand cups your face, trying to pull you closer and you’re doing the same with his waist. Digging into his skin, you’re sure your lips are going to bruise with how needy you’re kissing him. It’s almost shameful how easily you’re crumbling under his touch. Your stomach is doing tricks that only Dick could perform and for some reason, you don’t know why you didn’t do this sooner. 

Never has a kiss felt this good, this right. His right hand moves from your hip and travels up, surely messing up your shirt but that’s a worry for another time. You can only focus on how it’s now holding the back of your head, his nails dragging across your scalp and you can’t help the noise that comes out. 

“Oh?” He utters against your lips. You laugh and take the time to catch your breath, looking between his eyes, listening to your shared panting. 

   “Again?” You’re almost pleading, your eyes stuck on his lips. 

    “Of course.” This kiss is different, it’s less of a release and more of a we have all the time in the world now type of kiss. It’s slow and it’s tender, you feel all the details in his lips and how yours moves against his. This one feels like a hum you’ve known all your life and it’s wonderful. 

This time, your hands find his hair and you don’t realize it, but you’re dragging your nails across his scalp and playing with his hair. He does, though. It makes his heart hammer and he moans into the kiss, unable to do anything but focus on you. 

“Alright, that’s enough!” Jason says as he opens the door. Without breaking the kiss, you open your hot bar and with pure muscle memory, grab the water gun and spray him until he leaves. Damian laughs, pulling away from the kiss, and looks at Jason who’s trying to avoid getting sprayed but it seems like Damian’s rubbed off on you more than you realize it because damn, even when he moves you’re still hitting him!

He looks back to you and you’re still looking at him, your pupils blown wide and he can feel the light panting coming from you. Your lips are glossy, coating in both of your spit and he’s sure his are too. He can get used to that. 

“We should head back,” He reasons, lowering your water gun. “Before father sends Grayson and he starts crying like before.” Throwing the gun back into your hot bar, you give him a questioning look. “When I announced we were dating… he cried.” 

“You’re joking?”

“Unfortunately not.” He rolls his eyes and stands up straight, fixing his clothes and his hair. You do the same while Jason is going on about cleaning up the water and having to change. There’s no water on the floor, you note as you walk out of the library. None on the walls either. Every single one of them hit Jason. 

Back in the family library, you return to your seats and Tim is the first to notice both of your elated moods. It’s more visible on you, but it’s harder to spot with Damian. It’s more of a feeling he gets, his face is as neutral as he can be when he’s around you but he’s so clearly happy. His steps are different, he imagines if he had less dignity he’d skip around the manor. The two of you settle in your seats and he’s pleasantly surprised to see you lean into Damian without a care of who else is in the room. 

He’d gotten the text, along with every other sibling from the NO BRUCE!!! group chat. Jason, only seconds after closing the door had told everyone that you didn’t know of your own relationship. Safe to say you knew now. 

Tim looks at your family and the only happy one seems to be Nadia. She’s a somber type of happy, though. She’s happy for you, but she can’t bring herself to be half as bold as you are and it hurts. Diana is trying to wrap her head to a different conclusion, she’s holding onto hope that you’ll be pushed away. It almost makes him laugh. Your older brother is in his own world, as he’s always been. He’s quiet, hardly noticeable but it seems to be on his own devices as he had picked the furthest seat from everyone. 

But it seems to be from more of an air of misplaced pride than anything. His nose is turned up and he’s wearing an expensive suit. But it’s clearly not his, Tim would know. If there’s the money to splurge on that type of suit there’s always a tailor to get the proportions right. 

Then there’s your half-sibling, from your father's side. She’s around ten and he wonders just when did your parents separated. Then he remembers there’s a seventeen-year age gap between the oldest and the youngest of your siblings. She’s sleeping, her head on her father's shoulder and the forgotten iPad discarded on her lap, about to fall off and hit the carpet. 

Your father sees the two of you and looks at your mother who’s trying to keep her calm around the company— rich company at that. Tim doesn’t know why, but if he were them, he would at least try and pretend as if he’s happy for the relationship. Their son was dating the richest bachelor in the world and could very possibly give them a comfortable life. But he doesn’t think they see the bigger picture. 

And yet, despite the clear disgust throughout your family, no one says a single word. The entire library is silent save for Mari and the two of you, talking as if no one else is in the room. 

He wants to gag. 

“Kids,” Bruce says as he sits straight in his seat. “Could you leave us for a moment? I’d like a word with the adults.”

“Half of us are adults,” You chide and he gives you a look. 

   “A word with the parents.” He corrects. 

    “I’m still in, baby!” Dick silently cheers to not wake Mari. But it only makes Bruce sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose. 

   “A word with (Y/n)’s parents and aunt. Alone.” He stresses. Curious as to what he’s up to, and mostly afraid of what’s going to happen while you’re gone, you open your hot bar without causing too much attention to yourself. The Hotbar is only visible to yourself, so no one sees the vast list of gadgets you pull up and quickly find the listening device Tim created. 

   “Don’t need to ask me twice,” You grumble and stand up, pulling Damian up after you. 

Jason and Tim are already out of the room, there any fewer interactions and they’ll jump at the opportunity. Dick and Kori, despite wanting to enjoy the snow in the yard with the others, retreat to Dick’s room to nap while Mari is sleeping. 

You hold the door open for your siblings and cousin, but Damian sees you place the device on the door and raises an eyebrow

“(Y/n),” Bruce says in a low tone. Of course, he’d seen it, too. 

“Gotta go!” You urge and slip out of the room. 

—

Diana, alone in the yard as her family had drifted away, finds herself bored and honestly, she’s at Wayne Manor and she just has to show off. She hasn’t posted the pictures yet, she still needs to edit them so no one knows she’s there. And she’s sure her followers would love to see a snowy Wayne manor. 

Thankfully, the wifi was stable enough in the backyard that the connection for her Instagram Live was crystal clear. 

She waits until she sees five digits on the view counter before he even starts speaking. 

“Hey, guys!” She waves at her phone. “Bruce Wayne invited my family to his manor for Thanksgiving! Super grateful for that,” She nods towards the large manor and then at the comments, begging to see the man in question. “He’s inside, talking to my parents. But his kids are here too! I think Damian went into the maze…” She looks off to the green hedges coated in a thick layer of snow. “I’ll go and find him.”

She flips the camera around, and her viewers watch as she walks inside. She doesn’t notice right away, but nearly gasps when she sees she has just over two million people watching. Maybe you are good for something, she almost laughs. 

It takes about twenty minutes of aimlessly walking before she finds the center of the maze. The two million viewers had gone down to just a million but she’ll take it. 

“I think that’s it,” She mutters, seeing a clearing of bushes. It’s incredibly cold, so she’s shivering and her teeth are chattering but she can’t blame herself! She’s not used to snow. “There’s Damian!” She whispers, seeing his head of hair sitting on a bench. Pointing her phone in that direction, she decides it’s better to hide herself and look through her phone. 

From what people can see, Damian is sitting next to someone. They can’t tell until she turns the phone a bit more and it’s you. Gotham citizens know you, of course. Over the past couple of years, everyone in Gotham knows the two of you are friends but no one really cares to post about it. 

She rolls her eyes, of course, you’re still stuck to his side. The two of you are talking, but you’re too far away for Diana to hear the conversation. You’re laughing, though and Damian is explaining something. Your laughter slows down and the two of you just sorta of look at each other. 

Damian asks something and you scoff, looking away before he grabs your chin and leans in. The viewer count is going up and before Diana can fully process what’s happening, the two of you are kissing. Honestly, she’s furious! You knew she liked him, she’s sure of that. This— whatever game you’re playing is just to get at her. She’s sure of it. But she can’t act on it, the views are around eight million and she doesn't want Damian to think she’s crazy. 

He’s holding you dearly, it’s the gentlest he’s ever touched a person before and you’re proud to say you’ll be his first and only. 

His lips detach for yours and trail down to your chin. 

“Habibi,” He mutters and you shudder, feeling the vibrations against your neck. Honestly, at that moment you genuinely could not give a single fuck about your family. About their feelings towards you, about the ways they treated you growing up, and about them. As people. Each and every one of them, none of them could ever compare to this. 

Thank that blue-pilled man, seriously.

[redflagshipwriter]

Hot Ghouls in your Area ch 4 progress

(read other sections of this and more stories here)

Danny floated miserably through the stacks, pulling out books that looked remotely plausible. Maybe he needed help. Jazz would help him without laughing at him, right?

Sam and Tucker absolutely would not. They would think it was hilarious that he had so little game that the universe assigned him a boyfriend via Jeremy Waters. 

‘As if I could pull a guy who looks like that,’ Danny thought wryly, and then felt a little bad about himself in comparison. Jason was, uhhhh, physically blessed. He was tall and well proportioned and his hands- Danny fought down a shiver and resisted the urge to steal another look. Jason was out of sight anyway.

Well. He still hadn't seen Jason's face. Maybe he was ugly! You never know. Or maybe under the helmet it was totally smooth, no face. That would be neat. Danny paused mid motion to imagine that.

Haha. Sick, man.

That concept cheered him up a little as he grimly opened the first book and started skimming for likely words like marriage, spouse, and concubine. 

He didn’t bother reading anything in detail. He stuck a post it note on each page with a relevant term and then put the book in a pile to take back to his dorm. This wasn’t going to get solved in a day.

Ah, shit. Danny paused. This wasn’t going to get solved in a day. He bit his lip and looked off in the direction where Jason had disappeared to do his own research.

He truly didn’t have time to devote to this right now. He was not willing to drop his school life in order to solve a sudden problem. Jason was just going to have to cope with whatever timeline Danny could manage without setting his life on fire.

On the other hand, Jason was a human guy who probably had a life of his own at the biker bar/fight club. Whatever the hell required that kind of outfit probably kept him busy! So Danny couldn’t like, just leave him in the castle to chill.

“Not to mention the fact that he shouldn’t be able to live here very long anyways,” Danny muttered to himself.

That was troubling him. Frankly, Jason should have been intolerably uncomfortable in the ghost zone for this long without specialized protective equipment. It wasn’t meant for humans.

‘What did Jeremy do to this guy?’

Yikes. Did this mean… Did this mean Danny should have given that little cult thing more credit? But Jeremy was just such a doofus. He grimaced. Embarrassing. Why were his enemies so embarrassing? This shit didn’t happen to, like, Wonder Woman.

Danny buried himself back in the books to avoid the growing suspicion that Jason might have been uhhhh magically altered to make him an appropriate concubine to a dead king. That thought sucked! He didn’t like it. He really didn’t like the idea of bringing it up with Jason.

When he had what he thought was a good first round of research, Danny shelved the books he’d gotten out and went to find where his …

He whole-body flinched at the point where he needed to plug an appropriate noun into that sentence. 

“Jason?” Danny called, juggling books into a stack. “I think we should probably get you back to the re- the human world. Before something inexorable happens.”

A pause.

“I don’t think you know what that word means,” Jason said. A book shut. Danny headed towards the sound, phasing through shelves effortlessly. A spark of curiosity lit up at Jason’s voice. He sounded relaxed, even through the helmet’s filter. 

‘I want to hear his real voice. Bet it’s nice.’

Wait. What? Danny shook the thought away, discomforted. He plastered a wide grin on his face. “I don’t know any words,” he lied breezily. “I’m just ad libbing. Anyway!” He flopped dramatically down onto the big chair next to Jason’s, making sure to be extra physical to get a satisfying whumpf. “We really should go! I can get you to the human world, but, uh, I can’t promise to put you back where you came from.” He scratched at the back of his neck. “I think this is going to be a more than one day affair.”

Jason was watching him. There was nothing visible through his helmet, but Danny got the sense that he was tense, waiting for a threat. 

Which, what? Why would Jason feel threatened by-

Oh. Danny felt a knot in his stomach. Right. That made a lot of sense. He felt kinda sick. 

He didn’t let the feeling show through and barreled on speaking. “I don’t exactly have an easy way for you to contact me, but we probably need to stay in touch to fix this. Do you have any ideas?” 

The lie felt kind of gross. But he could hardly tell the guy; “I’m an engineering student in Gotham, you can just call my cell or come to the dorms.”

Jason seemed to relax at the cessation of control. “If you can stick around, yeah. I’ll get you a burner phone, exchange numbers. You’re not going to…” He trailed off. Danny felt a frown somehow. “You won’t have any signal here, actually. That won’t work.”

“I can make it work,” Danny assured him, hands up. “I mean, I can’t make it work here, or I would have offered to help with your tech. But I can pop in and out of the human world and check my messages.”

“That’ll work.” Jason’s helmet turned ever so slightly. “About the books…”

“You found something good?” Danny asked, impressed. “Yeah, awesome. Just be really careful with them, the librarian is a scary guy.”

Jason’s hand flexed over the closed book on his thigh. “I can take- how many can I take out?”

Danny scoffed. “I’m not your dad,” he said. “Whatever you can carry, man. You ready to go or do you need a minute?” He flipped back to his feet with a grunt. 

[deathnguts]

Barty crouch jr who’s a disowned trust fund baby who still gets a monthly allowance from his mommy and invests in tech stocks probably and lives in a huge ass apartment in a nice building but it’s literally not furnished at all and he never cleans it ever and he spends most of his time on high on his pc and he’s got the gamer sleeper bod with pierced nipples and belly button and the worlds sluttiest hip bones and happy trail under his stained sweat pants and the most dead eyes under his scraggly hair that’s in desperate need of a haircut he doesn’t feel like getting but he’s getting a new tat at least once a month and they’re usually from himself because he bought a tattoo gun online but doesn’t have a license to tattoo others and he literally only goes outside to club and drink and visit his mommy because what else is there to do and he doesn’t even try to make friends or start relationships because he doesn’t care about people and why should he why does it matter and he’s literally just the most burnt out loser you ever did see but he gets away with literally everything because he’s rich and pretty

Evan Rosier who’s just another middle child in a pond of siblings to parents who have never tried to look at him so they don’t notice at all when he leaves with a shit load of their money and never comes back and they’d give him more if he asked to keep him out of the house but he would rather die than do that so he immediately gets into the shitty office pencil pushing Patrick Bateman type shit that his father and oldest brothers did but in a business that wasn’t just handed to him so he can feel like he’s made his money and therefore his life himself and he lives the rest of his life that way with a grind set around hours spent in the gym and specialized diets and crisp tasteful fashion and very demure stoic presentation of himself to the world and actively cuts himself off from everyone around him because of the mindset he gave himself through this life style that everyone is below him and waisting his time so he literally doesn’t have friends or family and barely says any words or feels anything everyday but no one can see that because he’s too far away to make out and too good at painting a picturesque image of himself for anyone to try because he’s rich and pretty

Regulus Black who has never lived for himself and isn’t starting now so he ignores the voice in his head reminding him he’s a boy and chokes it to sleep every night with his long hair and flowing dress skirts and tries to assert that by marrying the rich family friend that raised him more than his own parents (who barely even looked his way during his own wedding that they planned) right when he turns seventeen and locks himself away in the perfect white house his husband made for him and keeps trying to nail on the mask of being the perfect little wife but he just cant and goes stir crazy and obsessive and is a nightmare to be around during his rising amounts of emotional breakdowns and if it were a hundred years ago he’d probably get lobotomized but it’s not a hundred years ago so his husband (Rabastan if you couldn’t guess) tries to distract him by funding some pity studies and encouraging him to go to an old and privileged college for useless degrees he’s only getting so he’s too worn out to start fights at home but it works and keeps him civil and mostly empty and comfortable enough to continue to be a half dead powdered and pretty wife that can continue to float through life with literally no one in his life sticking around through his tantrums and bone deep issues except his husband who wants him to stay that way for convenience and everyone is h the outside looking in thinks he’s just perfect and mysterious because he’s rich and pretty

Literally just the unholy trinity in a modern, nonmagical setting as the worst versions of themselves in a context we know: closed off rich young people who are bubbling with hate but too depressed to really do anything about it and too rich and privileged to have to so they genuinely believe what they have must be good and not in need of change because they have it all right?

Anyway then one day they meet and they feel alive for the first time ever maybe and smooch and stuff woo modern rich pretty douchebag romance.

I just need something like that, soemthing that showcases their flaws and genuine awfulness without sugarcoating it but in turn shows how their love for one another genuinely brings out the best in them. Just like remembering that they’re messy bitches but their love trumps all like actually. And who cares, they look fantastic together and they have enough to own your entire bloodline, there is nothing you can do about anything they do.

[gremlingottoosilly]

"If you need to be mean"

Konig just got his promotion to colonel. It also came with deployment in a terrorist-ridden country, but at least he would get an adorable, civilian you as a prize. TW: Konig being a huge pervert, Canon-Typical violence, Dub-Con, Innocence kink, Age difference(Konig in his yearly 40, Reader in young 20)

Pairing: Konig x fem!Reader Tags: Fluff, Power Imbalance, Hurt/Comfort, Size Kink, Possessive Konig, Yandere Konig, Creepy scary stalker Konig, written mostly from Konig perspective Word count: 5213 My AO3

Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

König hates this fucking country.

Shithole in the middle of nowhere, with literally nothing going on – some border quarrels with some terrorists that are desperately trying to settle into the big war on terror that won’t achieve a thing and would be meaningless anyway. No one wanted to actually station here – this is why they promoted him so quickly, just so they could send him away like a pack of garbage they can’t give two shit about throwing out. 

He never even wanted this promotion. Too much work, too many people, never enough time to relax. Payment is sweet, of course – if he only had time to use any of this. He is too old for new titles, you can’t teach old dog new tricks – and, quite frankly, he does feel terribly old while doing nothing but pushing papers and listening to some useless fucking recruits with their reports. 

Job is simple – stay on the base, make sure that the locals won’t become too villifed to the soldiers that are supposed to protect them, even though he already knows how people would feel about the PMC stationed in their city. Fights with occasional resistance from the outsider force that decided “Hey, let’s just annex our neighbor, what could possibly happen?”. He doesn’t know a lot about this country – but if they have enough money to hire KorTac to help the local forces, he might be quite interested. If he only had energy for that anymore – between relentless paperwork and occasional yelling at his stupid fucking nonsense of rookie – seriously, it feels like they hired a bunch of edgy 12 year olds instead of normal soldiers. 

Job is simple and he finds himself bored to death because this isn’t what he enlisted for. He wanted to fight, to kill, to burden this urge to hurt people who once wronged him with someone who is – probably, maybe, somehow – deserve it. Not really a noble cause, but he stopped playing knight in shining armor once they used him as an infiltration weapon instead of what he actually wanted. All hopes and goals in his life were buried deep with his first sniper rifle – and rude comments about his inability to sit still, even though he is still as good at being a killing machine as a human being possibly can. 

— Sir! We, uh, have a problem to report. 

Gut. 

A problem – this sounds as exciting as it can be. Last time his brigade got a problem, it was about some new recruits falling down with stomach ache because of the forged alcohol they were drinking. Also that one time someone tried to burst their way into the base – not fun, since officers took care of him, but it was at least something to do except for reading and scrolling through various housing options like he actually has a use of buying something with more than one bedroom. Like someone would look at him and love him – enough to pass through some easy fling and start living with him. No one would do that – even his parents couldn’t. 

Still, the problem sounds exciting. Maybe, he could actually go on a mission instead of feeling useless. They promoted him just to pin on the wall like a trophy.

— Repost immediately, soldier. What is it? 

— A civilian, well…a civillina woman…lady, broke the curfew. 

And here it is. Not an unexpected attack from his enemies, not even a drunken fight that someone from his subordinates decided to join and ended up getting their asses kicked. Is this what years of service come to? Watching over some stupid club girls broking the easiest fucking rule to follow, like getting home at midnight is a completely alien experience for them. One of the things he hates about his rank – he is used like a public figure, giving speeches, trying so hard to come up with something other than “Ja, we will kick asses of everyone who tries to infiltrate your country, don’t worry” and then he has to act like he knows what he is doing. Which he obviously doesn’t. If there was a way to just give up his rank and become a shadow again, a monster under a terrorist’s bed, he would do it. Without even a second to think. 

— Send her to the police. We aren’t supposed to deal with…

Then comes the second guy – he doesn’t even remember his name, fuck this, he is supposed to be a father to his troops, or big brother at least, but he couldn’t give less of a fuck to someone weaker – inferior, smaller, someone who will die within a week or so in his first battle because apparently, higher-ups just love recruiting spineless teenagers now. 

Second guy comes to the room, holding someone very firmly by their hand – and König isn’t religious, he isn’t even sure when was the last time he was at any church, the little prayers his grandma used to sing is long forgotten for him, but he sees your face and almost believes in angels. 

König is too old for this shit, again, he hates this country, his team, his rank – then he looks at your face, the way it twists with fear and nervousness because of course, one of his dumb subordinates is holding you too tight and the softness of your flesh – why in the world you are wearing such light clothes, it’s night outside, you will catch a cold and he would give you his jacket, but that would drown you under the weight of it, and he don’t want you to smell the alcohol he has on his clothes, terrible coping mechanism with boredom, and he might just give you something else, maybe, like his shirt or a…

Wait a minute. 

He doesn’t even know your name, even though he is sure this is something gorgeous and would look perfect next to his last name, but he looks at your face and all the years of his military training is suddenly washed away because he can’t even muster a thing out of his mouth. Thank god no one is forcing him to stop wearing his hood – he wouldn’t be able to survive otherwise, not with how hot his face feels right now. You are nervous, this is obvious, since you broke the curfew and went on the streets past 11 pm. He should just bring you to the police, he isn’t even sure why his soldiers would bring some random civilian to the base. He immediately wants to give this private a raise – for bringing him a goddess walking on Earth. Angel, succubus, all of the fancy names and…it feels like he is going crazy. And he should compose himself. Be a good example of a rotten mercenary commander. 

— Why were you breaking the curfew, miss..?

He hates how squeaky his voice sounds, even after all the years in service he can’t get rid of that boyish tone and nervousness every time he is talking to women. All the fear is immediately washed away after you tell him your name – and it’s gorgeous, perfect, feels like something he can devour, something he can moan in the depth of the night while using his hand as a poor substitute for the warmth of your body. 

The pause lingers too much and he already suggests just…taking you. To further investigation. to see if you are really just an innocent person caught up in breaking the rules or an enemy spy – which would give him the perfect opportunity to interrogate you and hold you for a bit longer. He wants you to be a problem, actually – that would give him the authority to hold you here, to think about you in a way that won’t immediately make him a bad person. 

— Went to the pharmacy. Forgot about the time, I’m…I’m sorry. 

You look guilty and weak and nervous obviously – a good girl caught up in the reality of her home country now implementing new rules just so it won’t get annexed by their neighbor. He wants to protect you – or give you the real reason to be scared of him. He wants to be good, but you look too cold in those clothes and he wants to give you something more. Or warm you up in a different way – which makes him feel horrible, his skin crawls and hands are fidgeting again even though he is almost sure he forgot about that habit after a few trigger-happy moments with the enemies. 

— Pharmacies should be closed by this time. Why were you here so late? 

Soldier that brought you here left you with König – colonel, you saw him in the newspapers and on TV, some public speeches while concealing his face in various ways. You don’t trust him, don’t trust the mercenaries – how can you believe that they are going to save you if they don’t even dare to show their faces? He is even scarier in person – big, hulking, too muscular to feel safe, with something like a sack thrown over his head. You want to forget about the medicine you bought and just run away, but that would only mean outright saying that you are guilty. 

You brace yourself and try not to feel too small, but König just wants to wrap his hands around you and throw that weak body of yours on his shoulder. Not letting you go away. Ever.

— I…got lost. Sorry, I know what this looks like, but I just changed the apartment and…look, this is a bog misunderstanding. I have my documents, I’m local! Not some spy or anything, I promise. 

Too bad – you would have the opportunity to escape if you were an enemy. Some evil and wicked femme fattal that is here to seduce him and get the important information out of him – but if you are telling the truth and nothing, but a civilian, he isn’t sure that he could save you from…falling to his hands. It’s stupid, he should really just find someone to fuck, he is getting desperate over the first cute and gentle girl he saw in this place – but really, do he has a chance with a soldier if just a helpless weakling like you can make him kneel? He needs to compose himself. 

— You really shouldn’t be out so late. There is a reason the curfew is upheld. It saves you from the danger. 

— For now the only danger after midnight is your soldiers, apparently. 

Your breath hitches as you understand what you just said – god, who was holding your tongue and making you blurt this in front of the fucking commander? You might have had the chance of just escaping before, you weren’t doing anything wrong, you know that some of your friends were breaking the curfew after a party or late visits, but they were never held to the police or martial law – soldiers are understanding of the situation, no one from the young people actually wants to stay in their houses no matter the threats war can bring. You might have the chance of going out with nothing but some harsh words about those stupid younglings ignoring the rules – but now you insulted his men and this will probably bring you to jail for the night at least or something even more…

He laughs. And the sound of it makes your cheeks warm. 

— Ja, I can understand why you would say that. But you shouldn’t break the curfew. 

You feel like winning a lottery, but the prize isn’t money – it’s the chance of getting out of this creepy building and going home to your warm sheets and slight smells of devastation and loneliness. 

— I’m really sorry, sir, I won’t do this again. Promise. 

You look guilty, and König loves this expression. The softness of your face, the way your eyes are filled with tears when you think he would actually make you goto jail or do something even worse. He relishes in this power over you – even though he doesn’t mingle with civilians, always keeps a safe distance with women around him, never dares to even give them a careful look. He wants to take you away – protect from the world around you, from this fucking place, from all the dangers. The only thing that is dangerous to you seems like him – because he is the only one with power here, the only one who can decide whether he wants to behave like an asshole and lock you away or…

— I can’t just let you go. Let me…I can escort you to your residence so I can make sure you actually went home. And not somewhere else.

He looks at your pharmacy bag – it's a shitty plastic one, transparent and see-through. He understands immediately why you would decide to run to the pharmacy so abruptly even within the vicinity of the curfew – and the fact your bag contains pads and pain medicine only makes him want to scoop you in his arms and get you to his quarters. Government gave them a pretty nice location for the base and he, as the commander, got a bedroom that won’t even make you think about the military. Perks of quartering outside of base, even the barracks are nicer than the ones at home – and he would love to introduce your sore body to the comforts of warm sheets. 

You look at him, surprised and nervous, your adorable lips twists in a pout as you think about your options. You can’t really say no, this can make him angry and resentful – and these aren't emotions you want the local military personnel to feel about you. He is also scary, and stares too much – you don’t want him to look at you like this, both surprised and depraved, but something in his figure still makes you trust him. Maybe it’s that weird propaganda about them protecting your country – he is a public figure, he can’t be evil, right? Maybe it’s just the way his hands fidgets as if he is nervous about your answer – or little cracks in his voice that makes you blush just a little every time you hear it. Or you are simply too tired to not comply. 

— I, um…are you sure? You must have some other things to do. I don’t want to be a bother, really. 

— I want to protect you from harm. Nights are dangerous. 

You want to say that it’s okay, you spend more time in this country than he is – and you know every little corner of the city by this point, no matter the military outposts and destruction. You also want to say that this is creepy as fuck and you don’t want a random guy to just know where you live – but you can’t say that, you are already almost buried yourself with that long tongue of yours, and the only thing you want to do right now is just drink your ibuprofen in peace and get teleported to your bed. 

You want to say no, but it almost feels like something romantic and even though he isn’t showing his face, the view of his muscles, bursting out his clothes and body armor, enough to make you agree. You can regret that decisions later – but with the way his eyes light up like he is a puppy, you probably won’t. 

— Okay. I…I mean, if that’s okay with you, sir. 

— I live to serve. Und ich diene gerne jemanden, dir so bezaubernd ist wie du.

— Sorry?

It sounds like German, and the way he pronounces it makes you feel like it’s something important – but you don’t want to ask for translation, he mutters it under his breath, Maybe some curses about stupid girls getting caught by his soldiers and how he needs to escort them to make sure they are not enemy spies ready to put their knives in his back.

— Just show the way. 

He is awkward, he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, he looks at you and fights the urge to just squish you with his hands. You are pouting, your hands are trembling, and you are shaking – maybe from the cold or just from fear. König hates himself for not understanding whether he wants you to be scared of him or not. There is something dark, predatory almost, in having someone as adorable as you shaking like a leaf – but he also wants to just scoop you in his hands and make sure you will never be afraid of him. 

He is awkward, silent, he goes on the open side of the sideroad like protecting you from any vehicles that may cross the road at this hour – even though the only ones who are allowed to move at this time of day are hospital workers and his soldiers. His hand looms over your side, like he is not sure whether he wants to just grab you by your shoulder or allow you to lead in a more simple way. You feel protected in a way – you can’t even read his expressions because of that weird mask he is wearing, but his eyes are strangely warm every time he looks at you and thinks you are not looking at him. 

König wants to talk, but he isn’t sure what he even can say to you. The weather is nice? It’s the night, a cold one, and he doesn’t want you to catch some weird illness, but he also doesn’t want to seem like a creep by giving you his jacket. He would do so in a blink of an eye, he would die seeing your smaller body wrapped in his clothes like a nice little gift – but he knows who he is. Monster, giant, always too much and never enough, zero experience with someone who is one his one night stand in some lousy pub when he hates himself a bit less than usual. And you smell clean, civilian, sweet almost, he feels like a dog by just looking at the way your cheeks are blushing from the cold weather. 

He wants to initiate the conversation, know what you like and dislike, maybe learn your opinion about the situation – many locals dislike military presence, he understands this, KorTac isn’t known for being the best guys around here, but they get the job done, however bloody this might be. He would give away anything to just be able to talk – to speak like a normal person, without scaring you or making you think that he is weird. It’s borderline embarrassing, over the many years of his life he was thinking that he would outgrow his anxiety somehow – and here he is, fidgeting with the stupid anti stress toy in his pocket that his therapist gave him, not knowing how to talk to a girl in his grown up years. 

— You’re local.

It doesn’t even sound like a genuine question, it’s more like a threatening statement and he doesn’t like the way it sounds. He can’t gave it back now, it would be even weirder, he just wants to calm down and breathe, but even this is fucking impossible when every time he looks at you, it seems like you are only getting prettier.

— Lived here all my life, sir. 

You’re nervous, and he at least finds some comfort in this – he is not the only one who is scared here, even though he understands that you will surely be more scared than him. But it still comforts him just a little, knowing that you are in roughly the same boat – he can smile under his hood and attempt to at least pretend to be normal. Even if this would be literally impossible for someone like him. 

— Where do you work? 

It sounds like an interrogation and you are not sure if you want to answer truthfully – he isn't trying to force you right now, he isn’t even touching you no matter how closely you are walking, but you are smart enough to understand why telling a random man you just met where you live and work is a bad idea. Even if the man itself is a prominent figure in protecting – or not – your country and literally walks you home because you got lucky to not be sent to the police for breaking the curfew. You would just lie to him about where you work and, hopefully, never see him again – but it’s not just a random guy you met on Tinder. He probably has the resources to check if you really work in said place and if you didn’t and just lied to him then, well…he isn’t threatening you, but your overthinking is enough to make you scared. 

— Just a waitress. Cafe I work at isn’t very far from my apartment. 

You even tell him the address, all while praying he won’t visit you at work. He has the right, of course, especially if he would leave a good tip, but military personnel staying at your cafe probably won’t be good for business. Clients may go away, and that would mean leaving you without tips – and then you can kiss your shitty apartment goodbye. He probably won’t visit you, he is just asking this to fill the awkward silence and check whether you are a spy or not – how confident your answers are, if your story checks out or not. He is a colonel, he must have a lot of other stuff to do instead of chasing over some rule breakers. 

— Hm. 

König already knows where he will be eating every day from now on. But…hell, can he do this, really? It would probably be very awkward for both of you, and you may think that is stalking you, which he definitely is, but doesn’t want to show it yet. He can give you a nice tip every time, he sure as hell has money for it, but then you would think that he is trying to buy you, which he would of course try to if you would be fine with it because honestly, girl as adorable as you should get all the nicest thing she wants to, and he can provide for it, but his damned awkwardness would never let him outright say this, which would lead to a very uncomfortable situation and…

— We might need someone local to help with operations. 

Nailed it. Right? 

— Wh…what do you mean, sir? 

You look scared, nervous, he doesn’t want you to be scared, you’re supposed to feel safe around him! He might hate higher ups for giving him this rank and sending him to this fucking country, but he will protect you no matter what. He wants to be useful, for people to stop being scared of him – to start liking him instead, even if some cold, dismissive way of just stopping bothering him with stupid stuff. He would allow you to bother him all the time, he would protect you and make sure you are alright – you just have to let him, that would be really easy and…

— We’re strangers here. Lots of operations crossed because locals refuse to cooperate. We might need a guide out here. 

He sounds nonchalant, like he doesn’t really care about your answer, but the grip of his hands is stating otherwise. He throws you nervous looks, cold eyes flickering with anxiety as you take your time to answer, secretly hoping that you would get home before you’d had to state this. It doesn’t feel like a genuine question, more like a statement again. More like you don’t really have an option to say no, since he still has the power over you. Since he still looks and sounds like someone who can and will throw you over his shoulder and use it as a cannon folder. 

— I…I’m not sure, sir. I have to work at my actual job. 

Can he blow up your cafe? That would greatly diminish the chances of bumping into you on a romantic Sunday morning, ordering coffee just the way you secretly like it, and then leaving you a very generous tip that would immediately show you what a sophisticated and loaded gentleman he is. He can say that enemies did it, and then he would execute those poor people for ever messing with civilians. He can also get some people from the government to close it, so you wouldn’t have any place to work and then you would be simply forced to work with him – and help him get out of this country as soon as possible. He would pay you well, of course, and being your boss would be a very…interesting experience for him. 

— Are you sure?

You bite your lips and it's proven to be a horrible idea in such terrible weather – your skin breaks easily and you feel the blood in your mouth. Nice – now you would have to invest in lip balms again even though you are sure as hell that even yesterday the weather was nice. Colonel – König, you remember his callsign, no names of course, some twisted secret identity over protecting people who can literally kill you and won’t have consequences – look at you and you can swear to god that his eyes are narrowed, studying your features a bit more. Is he going to kill you for refusing the…job offer? Demand of working with mercenaries to protect your country? 

— Sorry, I…I really need to think about this. And get at least two weeks notice from my job. 

He is too focused on the way blood is glistening on your lips. He wants to lift the lower half of his hood and lick every little drop lingering in your mouth. Kiss this little wound until you would turn into a moaning, crying mess under him. Hold you so tight, he would leave bruises in places his fingers were – all while you are allowing him to. He isn’t delusional enough to think you like him the way he adores you already, but he is delusional enough to imagine you would comply with him mostly – he is a great person. Except for almost everything, of course. 

The road to your home is lonely, no one around, obviously. People aren’t breaking the curfew on the main streets – except for you, apparently, they are tending to do stuff in the shadows if they need something to go out at night. He looks at every street light with suspicion, almost wanting for someone to try and attack you – that would allow him to be your hero, protector, to put out all of his pent-up aggression on someone else while being praised for it. He wants someone to try and kill him just to feel a bit more alive – but then you stop in front of the house, and it only takes one look for him to decide that no, he isn’t going to let you go that easily. He may not be a good or even decent person, but he is not allowing an adorable little thing like you to live in that fucking rathole. 

— You live here? 

— Yes. Thank you for, well, looking after me. I know that I broke rules, I won’t…won’t do that again. Sorry. 

— No. 

— What do you mean “No”?

Is he going to inspect your apartment? You are pretty sure that you left your bed in a very chaotic state and there is more than one pair of panties lying on the couch. Not even speaking about how horrible your living conditions are – tiny apartments, barely enough space for one person fitting in 20 square feet with all of their stuff inside, and an overwhelming desire to blow something up each morning when one of your neighbors is fighting again. 

You don’t have anything to hide, but you are getting pretty tired of people who just think that because they sold their bodies to the military, they can do what they want. 

— It’s a horrible place for a girl to live. 

Hey! You might hate your place, but even that rathole of an apartment doesn't deserve something like this. 

— Well, it’s not a castle, but…I manage. 

— Don’t you have another place to sleep? 

He is fighting with the urge to invite you to the base instead. Far greater place for a little goddess like you, much nicer than…this. He has to physically restrain himself from throwing a hand on your shoulder. He just stared, hoping that you would pull a prank on him and actually has some better living conditions – he can’t bear thinking about you in that kind of life instead. 

— It’s a nice one, really! At least I don’t have to live with roommates. 

He can be your roommate. No, not even like this. He can buy you a freaking house if you would want, just pick a place, preferably in Austria, and that would be easy. He would love to just provide for you, to get to live with someone as adorable – as in need of protection as you. He understands that being this delusional is off brand even to him and his wild fantasies, but he spends too much time hating his work lately, and he needs some outlets, breathing room to just drown himself in fantasies about a nice girl who can actually like him. Who can be his everything, a cure to fix him even though his therapist says such expectations from your partner are toxic and codependent. 

He knows that he can’t say anything to you right now. If anything, you would dismiss any of his worries and just call him a psycho – would be right, probably, he doesn’t even know why he is so obsessed with your safety all of a sudden. He is only self-reflective enough to understand that he can’t act right now, no matter how much he would want to. He can only sigh and let the situation go, for now. He can always just show up at the place you work at. Totally not creepy at all, definitely, completely. 

— Be safe, hase. This time is very dangerous for a girl like you. 

— It’s…okay, really. You don’t have to worry about me, sir. 

Oh, but he wants to. 

Oh, but you want to run up the stairs and close the door behind you as fast as you possibly can. And maybe, just maybe, give him your number – definitely for consultation about the safety and how you can forfeit from breaking the curfew later in life. 

He puts a hand on your shoulder, large fingers tracing over your thin shirt, and goosebumps that are running on your skin aren’t from just the cold weather. You feel ashamed for kinda liking the situation – you are creeped out by him, you are curious about him, and you kinda want him to do something else. But he squeezes the soft flesh of your shoulders, rolling a bit lower, to your back – and then lets go. You breath hitches as he takes a step back, clenching his hand as if fighting the urge to do something else. 

— We’ll meet again. 

You just nod, not sure if you want it or not. König makes a point to determine which apartment is yours based on the window placement and pay you a visit in his leave time. 

[yawneon]

hcs for

percy jackson hcs for hogwarts color houses? (if you wanted to - maybe for reader too?)

(this has been marinating in my drafts for MONTHS)

PERCY JACKSON !

- im a firm believer in percy being harry in another universe

- if harry wasnt a BBBBBITCH

- gryffindor prefect whether you like it or not. (turned head boy, lily and james situation over here.)

- 1/3 star trio (somehow percy’s in it)

- would and could beat the shit out of harry potter

- IS DEFINITELY A QUIDDITCH PLAYER

- probably a seeker or a chaser but im getting off topic

- hes a prefect that all the first years look up to yk

- like those cool older students that you want to be when your fresh in high school.

- “percy is so cool!“ “i wanna be a prefect like percy!”

- loves the attention ngl

- sneaks around to ravenclaw table to sit with annabeth (or you) and then when he gets caught he goes “i was just asking her something!” when he knows damn well he was flirting with her.

- you can tell by the shit-eating grin on his face. ^

- definitely is in a organised wand fighting club

- most likely is a pain in the ass for the teachers but he gets good grades (thanks to his girlfriend) and he probably has saved the school from some sort of magical monster once or twice

- secretly avada kadavra’d a fly once (felt bad afterwards and held a funeral for the fly)

ANNABETH CHASE !

- ravenclaw head girl.

- 2/3 of the star trio

- everyone loves annabeth, shes like the star student.

- “ask annabeth she knows.” “annabeth can you help me with this question?”

- gods shes smart but shes more than that.

- she likes to hide away in one of the towers and she makes castles ans structures out of toothpicks she steals from the tables at breakfast, lunch and dinners.

- also a student alot of the first years look up to.

- but mainly the girls like annabeth.

- the ones who felt they weren’t ever going to be smart enough or were never going to amount to enough.

- annabeth would smile sweetly at them and remind them to believe in themselves.

- is the only person percy really listens to.

- percy could be messing around and not listening in a class and the moment annabeth even mutters a word starting with p hes sat on a chair, hands in his lap, posture straight and mouth SHUT.

GROVER UNDERWOOD !

- now i don’t want to stereotype… im not that type of girl.

- hufflepuff prefect

- AND BEFORE ALL OF YOU COME ALONG AND START WHINIGN AND CRYING “I HATE HUFFLEPUFF” BLAHS BALAHA BALAHA SHUT UP.

- he loves his house and takes so much pride in it

- i don’t think he’d like playing quidditch but he would be in the front row seats cheering on hufflepuff

- and if his house wasn’t playing he’s there cheering for percy

- 3/3 of the star trio.

- grover “my bf” underwood is a hufflepuff.

- alot of the younger kids look out for grover in a crowd

- especially the misbehaving gryffindor kids that are running away from clarrise

- if they can’t find percy they cower behind grover

- and grover being the big hearted boy he is he stands guard of the kids despite shitting his pants himself

- he loves his house.

- he loves care of magical beasts class

- all the new hufflepuff kids IN GENERAL always go to him for directions which makes him 1 too many times late to class. but im like so sure the teachers know and love him so they let him off with just a soft warning.

- “i’m so sorry professor! i was helping a first-“ “just sit down underwood.”

- to all those fans that watched fantastic beasts, grover is 100% using a tower like newt did with new beasts he finds.

- has probably accidentally wandered into the forbidden forest with annabeth and percy by chance. (he wanted to find a unicorn)

- some random slytherin kid picked on a hufflepuff first year and grover ripped the kid a new one. hes loyal to his house 💔

- he had to get a new wand once or twice because he used to chew on it in exams (when he got especially anxious)

CLARRISE LA RUE !

- despite her being sometimes rude

- i do think she’d also be in gryffindor 😭

- kinda like an arrogant, “im better than you” gryffindor

- like how she is in the show and most of the books towards percy

- but underneath her hard exterior shes soft towards the ones she loves and is close to

- also a quidditch GOD

- the most exhilirating beater to watch in quidditch.

- alot of first year girls also admire clarrise

- more so the ones that want to be strong and join quidditch.

- EXTREMELY PROUD TO BE A GRYFFINDOR

- she REPS THAT SHIT HARD

- “i think slytherin is co-“ “GRYFFINDOR IS THE BEST HOUSE SHUT UP”

- extremely prideful of her colours and her house

- a little bit too much sometimes

- when someone loses house points you better pack it up and run because miss girl is hunting for you (looking at you percy)

LUKE CASTELLAN !

- erm

- slytherin head boy

- “luke is so cool!” “and hes hot..” “but percy’s better!”

- theres luke people and then theres percy people

- luke is alot more cunning in the sense that he openly does things to capture more hearts and beat percy in this ongoing war (he will be the hottest prefect.)

- probably descended from a line of gryffindors but then he popped out

- seeker in qudditch but also is a good chaser due to his build

- THE slytherin boy.

- he is so unbelievably good at quidditch and leads slytherin to most of their wins.

- another star student here

- “why can’t you be more like luke?”

- maybe has possibly been an inside spy for he who can not be named. (voldymort)

- definetly in that chamber of secrets fucking shit up

- such a helpful head boy.

- like he loves his house and will die in green

- this guy probably has every single passage in hogwarts mapped out perfectly like dimensions and all.

- may or may not be plotting something in the forbidden forest.

[cloudstrky]

things we see

after sun drabble ♡

sum: what happened before their last texts. aka rafe walking in on yn while she's getting changed.

warnings: cussing, mentions of a grinder and substance abuse

mlst

topper had been waiting for him outside for over fifteen minutes before rafe made his appearance. he had already finished eating his eggs and had left rafe's plate on his sunbed.

"finally bro, what took you so long?" topper exclaimed, looking up from his phone. "the eggs are definitely all soggy and cold now."

"it's hot as fuck out here what do you mean cold." rafe sneered taking a seat before diving into his food. "soggy indeed." he pulled a face as he chewed and topper scoffed.

"if you didn't want soggy eggs maybe you should've been here like twenty minutes ago."

"i was showering man," rafe replied, mouth full of food.

"give me the grinder so i can roll one while you eat." topper held out his hand.

"i thought you had it." rafe said his eyes scanning the small coffee table between them.

topper threw his arms in the air, "bro, you literally had one job."

"my grinder wasn't in my room so i assumed you grabbed it," rafe defended himself before shoving the remaining of the eggs into his mouth.

"i didn't. it's probably in yn's room from yesterday."

rafe squinted his eyes at him scoffing. "don't leave that shit for yn to find man." he immediately got up, grabbing his and topper's plate off the coffee table.

"it's not like she's going to smoke it!" topper yelled behind rafe as he walked away and towards the kitchen to leave the plates.

rafe didn't like leaving reminders of his unstructured life for yn to see. it's not like she didn't know when, or what, he was abusing but she didn't need to be reminded of it.

rafe took a deep breath as he approached yn's room. he knew she wasn't here, she was still at the chateau with sarah but after their fight, he felt like even her scent would trigger him. and it really did. standing outside her door, contemplating if he should go in or just grab one of his other less operant grinders and be done with it, her sweet scent made him hold his breath. he can't have his head filled with thoughts of her, so he won't.

he opened the door at once stepping in confidently. his darkened eyes scanned the room quickly before falling on her. she was standing in front of the mirror, clasping a lacy white bralette behind her back. his eyes roamed her body dipping down to the small of her back and then lower. low enough to see the bralette was part of a set, a very intoxicating set.

"fuck" he blurted out when his eyes caught hers. yn shrieked before grabbing the towel from the floor and covering her body with it.

"what the fuck rafe!" she exclaimed and rafe kept his eyes shut.

"i'm so sorry," he started, his voice nervous. his eyes remained close but he could still see every detail of her body. he wanted to open them so the image would go away but he wasn't sure if he opened them he could simply close the door and walk away.

"the fuck are you doing?" she asked, her voice calmer. despite their previous fight and the very noticeable tension, a smile broke out on her face as she scanned his features. his eyes were tightly shut, his brows furrowed and his lips were pressed into a thin line. his long lashes touched his red cheeks and she enjoyed seeing him like this so much she almost dropped her towel again to egg him on.

"topper said my grinder is here." rafe turned his head towards the hallway before opening his eyes, getting rid of the images of her in that delicate lingerie.

he heard her small feet dragging across the floor and then stopping. "take it." she said softly.

so softly he could have sworn she wasn't mad at him anymore. so softly he could've sworn he was twelve again and she was eight, in his kitchen and she was helping him make her favorite muffins.

their hands touch and he felt his skin burn. much like it had the other day at the club. he wondered it she felt it. he wondered if she would think about this for the rest of the day like he would.

before he could wonder any more he muttered a thank you and walked away. she stood there looking at her hand and where he stood.

she wanted things to be okay again so bad between them but she also knew that this distance that had occurred was the best way for her to get over him. and it was about time she did.