#i blacked out and wrote this

[hells-wasabii]

Hi could you pretty please do velvette x reader who is Carmilla youngest daughter and how her family reacts (plus zestial pls I ship him and Carmilla so I feel like he's a step dad)❤️

A/N: I blacked out and wrote this.... but yeeees LISTEN!! I love Velvette so much, its not even funny and i had a lot of fun with this prompt! I didn't realize how much i wrote for it until it was too late, and by that point, i really couldn't stop. but I hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it! ps i honestly ship them too

Part 1 | Part 2

Character: Velvette

Type: Headcanons + Drabble (Velvette x reader who's Carmilla's youngest daughter, General with a bit of Angst and Fluff sprinkled in)

For Velvette, she actually entered into the relationship not really knowing who your parents were. You never brought it up and she never really asked. It didn't really matter to her, since, ya know, you're the one she's dating, not your mum and dad, or step-dad from what you've mentioned.

Honestly, she should've seen the similarities. They were there for sure, but let's face it, there are so many demons in hell that it was probably just a coincidence, right?

Carmilla also knew you were seeing someone as well, though she really figured that you would bring this special demon around when you were ready.

Oh, they were both wrong. So very wrong.

They found out simultaneously, of course, as cliche as it was. You were on an evening out with Velvette with no clear destination in mind, just simply enjoying the evening and each other's company when the next thing you knew you were face to face with your mother.

It... didn't go too well.

What had once been a peaceful evening nearly dissolved into a turf war all in an instant. If you hadn't been able to separate the two with a promise to talk to both separately later there was no doubt that everything in a three-block radius would be collateral.

Zestial and your sisters would find out soon thereafter, Carmilla of course telling them when they see her come home looking quite distraught.

As stated before, to Velvette, it really didn't matter. though it did sweeten the deal. It would give her plenty more opportunities for her to provoke the arms dealer, something that she already took a great deal of pleasure in.

Zestial would be skeptical of the relationship at the start but eventually comes to accept it fully. His patience won out this time. He's seen more than enough relationships like this go up in flames and he'd never want that for you. He considered you a daughter after all.

As for your sisters, both of them were simply happy that you were happy. They were more worried about how y'alls mom would react. And you can't tell me that they didn't already know, either.

Carmilla on the other hand... To her, family is everything. I mean, she killed an angel for you and your sisters. She'd do anything for her kids, and that includes keeping someone like that upstart from breaking your heart. She wholeheartedly believed that Velvette was only dating you to get one over on her. It really comes as no surprise when she goes all the way to Vee Tower to confront the youngest overlord herself.

"You need to stay away from my daughter."

The fashionista bit out a curse as a needle pricked her finger. Velvette doesn't usually startle easily, but shit, between her being completely focused on finishing and the fact that her workshop had previously been silent save for any sounds that she had been making herself, she thought that even the most stone-cold bitch would've jumped.

What good was the security for if those nitwits couldn't keep unauthorized demons out of her workshop? The influencer swore that if any blood got on the material for this dress she'd personally kill the guards and whoever-

Oh.

Of all the people she expected to see, Carmilla Carmine, the uptight weapons dealer, and apparent mum of her girlfriend, was not one of them. Or actually, scratch that. She was completely expecting this to happen sooner or later.

"Well, it sucks to suck then, wrinkles, I'm not going nowhere." The fashionista bit back, a smirk settling on her lips that quickly fell when the older woman tried to push her point.

"I know what you're trying to do and it-"

"Obviously you don't." All mischief gone from her tone, Velvette set her work to the side, careful not to crumple the fabric. She rose to her feet and began to cross the room to Carmilla, who in turn stood taller, determined not to let this miscreant make a mockery of her, her family, and most importantly her youngest daughter. "I hate to break it to you, but the only way I'll break it off is if SHE wants to."

Velvette paused, her eyes boring into Carmilla's with a conviction and passion that the arms dealer hadn't felt from the influencer before. When the younger woman spoke again, her voice was softer than before, laced with a sincerity that would leave the mother speechless.

"I love her."

Its this singular interaction that leads to a truce between the two (technically five if you include Zestial and the Vee's) Overlords. They would come to some sort of mutual understanding that if both of them were to be in your life, they'd have to play nice. At least in front of you. At Overlord meetings, well, that's a whole different story.

#i blacked out and wrote this #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #velvet x reader hazbin #velvette x reader #drabble #hazbin headcanons #hazbin imagine #fluff #angst

[grenadinexo]

there’s something so hot about having fingers in my mouth while i’m being fucked, being made to slur my moans and words into an incoherent jumble of cries into the mattress. even better is when you tell me to speak up and use my words, but i can’t because your fingers are thrusting in and out of my sloppy mouth and massaging my tongue. i’m doing my best to ask you to please, please let me cum, but i can’t form the words right with you fingerfucking my mouth like it’s my pussy. i’ll try to buck my hips back to get more friction to finally push me over the edge, but you tell me i can’t cum until i ask properly. it’s not fair, but the way my cunt clenches around you shows that despite my whining, i love it when you’re mean and unfair with me <333

#grenadinexo #i blacked out and wrote this #queer nsft #trans nsft #nonbinary nsft #nsft #t4t nsft #bd/sm blog #t4t #enby nsft #nb nsft #hornyposting #bd/sm kitten #bd/sm pet #bd/sm breeding #petpl4y #bd/sm nsft #pet/play #bd/sm puppy #bisexual nsft #bi nsft

[sentient-stove]

He’s cringe fail, he’s babygirl he forgets to cut his hair for months because oh right that shit grows he has no idea how to use a razor and just burns off any sad teenager facial hair he’s a confidence god who pulled insane dionysus devotees and the narcissists fan club he hates himself so much he’s the punch line he’s probably almost blown up camp and himself more than once he’s a idiot with an iq above the three hundreds he’s blorbo from the books he desperately needs to break up with his gf and sloppy make out with his dead crush he’s a mess wrapped up in a redbull and five hour energy cocktail he’s got no idea how to speak Ancient Greek but damn look at him hit that machine talk he’s basically a stand up comedian he’s probably in love with annabeth chase at least a little bit he makes sure everyone is taken care of before even looking towards himself he needs therapy so bad it’s not even funny he’s unhinged and a supernovic force of self deprecation he’s got like four moms he definitely cries himself to sleep when he can’t figure out a routine he needs a chiropractor and maybe a therapist

#leo valdez #i blacked out and wrote this #heroes of olympus #hoo #percy jackson #pjo

[miss-allsundays]

stolitz rant/analysis because i keep seeing people mischaracterize them and i’m sick of it and need to let it out :)

every time someone mischaracterizes either blitzø or stolas an angel dies</3

“blitzø is toxic and doesn't care about stolas” “stolas should not have hid himself at ozzie’s he made blitz feel bad” just say you don’t understand nuance and gray characters!

yes, they are flawed and yes, they have both made mistakes, but neither is more at fault than the other in this situation. they are two deeply hurt people, who try to cope and avoid pain in different ways.

blitzø has been left by the people he loves plenty of times (some in which he was at fault) so he doesn’t want to get attached to someone in case that happens again.

mix that with the circumstances of his relationship with stolas, which started as a transactional one with his company’s longevity on the line, and the difference in status between them, of course he will translate stolas’ affections as him just wanting to get fucked by ‘the lower class’ (as blitz puts it in s02ep6).

and in spite of all this, somewhere in his heart blitz already know that the prince is, after all, just a person; and to some extent he is aware that stolas cares for him beyond their deal.

stolas instead has been lonely his entire life, with parents that don’t care about him and a wife he (despite being gay!) was forced to marry- one that has also abused him the entirety of their marriage.

the only solace he gets for the longest time is his daughter, who he adores with entire being, no matter the circumstances in which she was conceived (he was a kid himself when she was born- he was 19! nineteen!! he gave up his life and freedom because his family wanted a heir!)

so when blitzø re-enters his life after 20+ years, he jumps at the chance of a distraction, a little pocket of happiness after a life of neglect. he doesn’t need to be prince stolas of the ars goetia with the imp, he can just be stolas.

a stolas who can be finally true to himself with his sexuality, his personality, his hobbies and so much more because blitz doesn’t care for royalty bs!

admittedly, the way stolas behaved in the beginning wasn’t ideal, and it was partially why blitz feels used, but he understands that later on and tries to do better. he finds another way for blitzø to get to the human world, one that doesn’t put stolas at an unfair advantage.

ozzie’s is just the cherry in top, the climax of an entire season worth of miscommunication and bottled up feelings!! yes, it was fucked up of blitzø to invite stolas just as an excuse to spy on moxxie and millie, and yes, stolas covering himself definitely didn’t leave a good impression (for lack of better wording) on blitzø, but they were both hurt in the end and there’s no definite/sole wrongdoer here.

blitz isn’t a terrible motherfucker that hurts everything that touches and stolas isn’t a ruthless pos that only cares about getting off (as some might consider them to be apparently).

they are two people who desperately need to talk to each other and then work on themselves so that their relationship can flourish- because despite their flaws and their fuck-ups, there is care and there can be so much good, even if it is currently covered by the hurt.

#helluva boss #stolitz #stolas goetia #blitzø #i blacked out and wrote this #if the full moon episode ISN’T them talking it out for 30 minutes…….. #this isnt a black and white situation PLEASE #i need to hide them in a box #if you hate either of them OR their ship DNI !!!!

[pe0ple3ater]

.....Look guys I think two people asked me to continue this so here we are. I really enjoyed writing this omg, sadistic dom Mike my beloved. Whiny, bitchy Fit my beloved. They go together like oxygen and fire. I'm their biggest fan. I didn't proof read this by the way so if it's bad then I'm so sorry.

"Have you ever been fucked, Fit?"

Mike asks, a knife-sharp grin spreading across his face. He drags his finger up Fit's cock, gathering some of his cum on the tip and enjoying the oversensitive little whine Fit lets out. Mike wipes the cum on Fit's stomach. Fit is still coming down from his first orgasm. He blinks slowly at Mike, panting and waiting for his brain to return online.

"What?" Fit whines, eyes half-lidded, face flushed. Mike drags his finger down again, past Fit's balls to circle his hole. Fit's breath catches, and his eyes widen. Fit's cock twitches, and Mike grins.

"Have you ever gotten fucked? Keep up, Fit," Mike says, pressing against the muscle and enjoying how Fit shivers at the feeling.

"No, no, I haven't," Fit replies, voice high-pitched and breathy. Mike can't help the laughter that bubbled out between his lips. He leans away and doubles over as he laughs harder. Fit pouts at him and whimpers, which only makes Mike laugh harder.

"Meu Deus, you're so cute. You look like a mess, uma vagabunda, and I've barely touched you," Mike purrs; he presses his finger a little more against Fit's hole, and Fit moans softly, face flushing darker. "You're begging for it, cachorro." Mike teases, then reaches over and puts a glove on. Fit lays his head back, and his eyes slip closed, swallowing hard. His dick twitches against his stomach at Mike's words, and Mike grins wider. He pours lube over his hand and pushes his middle finger slowly into Fit's hole.

"Mike-" Fit gasps, body jerking. Mike laughs and lays his head on Fit's thick thigh, enjoying the way the intrusion makes Fit's muscles bulge and flex at every centimeter of Mike's finger inside of him.

"Oi, you need to relax. What if Pac wants to fuck you with his strap? You don't want to be unprepared, do you?" Mike mumbles, his finally getting down to the bottom knuckle. Fit's breathy moan makes Mike laugh. It's cute, the way Fit is so reactive. Pac will like that. Mike starts to fuck his finger inside Fit slowly. He turns his head and presses a soft kiss to Fit's thigh, and then he nips at the skin. Fit's thigh twitches, and he groans softly.

"Fuck, Mike," Fit moans, throwing his head back as Mike works his index finger aside his ring. Mike continues to pepper his thigh with mean little bites and soft kisses to soothe them. Mike then twitches his finger just a little and presses hard against Fit's prostate. Fit moans like a bitch, jerking hard and arching his back. Mike grins and sinks his teeth into Fit's thigh, taking his time to abuse the poor spot. Mike likes the sound of Fit moaning his name. He likes the feeling of muscle between his jaws. Mike knows his bite will bruise; it fills him with heat. Fit is a mess above him, moaning and squirming as much as he can, strapped down like he is, while Mike stretches him out. His cock is half-hard again; Mike notes his short refractory period with a pleased little hum.

"You're so loud. Pac likes that," Mike mumbles, pulling his fingers out, finally letting up on Fit's prostate. Fit lifts his head and manages to force his eyes open. He looks down at Mike, Mike grins at him. Mike takes a second to note down some things before he grabs the dildo he'd put out and coats it in lube. He holds it up to Fit with a smile.

"It's smaller than Pac; I can't take all the fun for myself," Mike says casually as if he's talking about the weather. He presses the toy in Fit slowly, watching his reactions closely. Fit lays his head back against the chair and moans loudly; he's hard as a rock now; his back is arched prettily. The position presses Fit's chest out and brings Mike's attention there. Mike can't help himself, he leans up and bites down, hard, into the meat of Fit's pec. His teeth are sharper than a normal human, and Mike feels them break the skin. Blood fills his mouth, and Mike licks at the wound. Fit can't stop moaning, his deep voice rumbling against Mike's tongue and lips. Mike pulls away and presses the toy home, eyes focusing on Fit's face. He knows his eyes are dilated like crazy.

Fit looks at him, shivering and panting. Mike wants to destroy him, make him cum until he's sobbing and shaking.

Mike starts to fuck him with the toy, angling so that it hits his prostate meanly on every pass.

Fit's in for a long night. He's too pretty for Mike to let him off easy.

#qsmpnsfw #f!t #m!ke #I blacked out and wrote this #f!t/m!ke #obsessed w them #obsessed w THIS

[estrellami-1]

Soft Touch Baby

Pt 1 | Eddie’s POV | Song | ao3

For @madigoround

If Eddie is being honest with himself—which is something he always tries to do—then he thinks it probably started during Spring Break.

No… it definitely started during Spring Break. “For your modesty?” What the hell, past Eddie? And, he notes, he hadn’t actually gotten his vest back. Dammit. He spent a lot of time on his battle vest.

So, okay. Spring Break. Which is an absolutely shit time to discover you have feelings for someone. Which is probably why his brain buried it. And kept it buried. Until, roughly, the moment he and Steve are standing in Steve’s kitchen, helping Robin with drinks.

And sure, they’re standing way too close. But it’s still Steve Harrington, so his brain keeps the feelings buried.

Then he stays over that night, because why not, and wakes up in the middle of the night to Steve screaming.

Not just that; he’s screaming Eddie’s name.

He jumps out of bed, barely avoiding getting caught by the sheets. He doesn’t know what’s going on—almost doesn’t want to know what’s going on, based on that past spring—but he barges into Steve’s room anyways, eyes wide and wild, scanning for the threat.

Nothing.

Nothing physical, he internally amends, because Steve’s definitely in the throes of a nightmare.

Eddie is lost. He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to help, only knows what he does which probably isn’t going to help in this situation, he doesn’t even know if touching him will help or not-

He touches him. Gently, on his shoulder, barely nudging him. “Hey, Steve,” he murmurs. “Hey, it’s okay.” Nothing, so he says his name again, a little bit louder, then a third time.

It doesn’t seem to help, but about a minute later Steve sits up with a gasp, sending Eddie skittering back because he does not want to be within arm’s range right now, he’s seen Steve’s right hook and doesn’t want to be on the receiving end of that.

It’s dark in his room, and Eddie belatedly realizes that he’s backlit from the window, since the light from the hallway is landing on the bed. “Hey,” he murmurs again, hands up, like he’s calming a wild animal. “Hey, you’re okay. Just a dream, Steve.” He continues to speak calmly, clocking the way Steve’s breath continues to come in sharp gasps, clocking the way his eyes flit to the nail bat, just behind Eddie.

Eventually Steve calms down enough to hear Eddie’s voice, and he’s immediately shaking his head. “Oh, god, no, no, that’s not possible, you’re- you’re dead, I watched you die-”

“Didn’t die, Stevie,” Eddie promises him, coaxes him back down again. Offers pancakes, of all things, because Eddie’s brain is an impulsive bastard on the best of days.

It gets Steve to smile, though, so he counts it as a win, shoving down the little fluttery feeling in his diaphragm (which, why are butterflies always described as being in the stomach when they clearly aren’t, whoever named them had an awful concept of the human body).

He shoves the feeling even lower when he follows Steve back to his room after, climbs in the other side of the bed, breathing steadily as Steve falls back asleep.

He awakens when Steve does, because somehow, sometime during the night, they’d moved together, Eddie flat on his back and Steve on his stomach, head tucked into Eddie’s neck, arm across his abdomen, and one leg over both of his. They’re cuddling, there’s not really another name for it, and Eddie’s brain alerts him the second Steve moves, so he sees the adorable (what the fuck, brain) squint on Steve’s face when he tries to figure out, still half-asleep, what’s going on. Eddie asks him a question and he takes an adorably (again, brain, why) long time to process and answer with a shake of his head, so Eddie gently coaxes him to lay down again.

It’s not even a conscious decision to put his hand through Steve’s hair, his hand just does it, but it works to relax Steve so he continues, scratching lightly at his scalp and letting out the barest huff of a laugh when it causes Steve to hum. He really is cute, Eddie’s brain thinks out of nowhere, and he freezes for a solid forty-eight seconds as he tries to process that thought.

And the thing is, his brain isn’t wrong. Objectively, Steve Harrington is a beautiful individual. Everyone, including Steve, knows it. So Eddie thinks that’s all it is, his brain just catching up, especially since he sought Eddie out for comfort. That’s a thing, right? Like ducklings imprinting. Except instead of a duckling it’s a guy a little bit younger with him with more trauma than he has.

That’s totally a thing, he thinks, and then doesn’t think about it again.

Until Steve wakes up again. They make a fucking pact, saying they can call each other whenever, and Eddie’s traitorous brain has to confirm that he can call Steve too. And Steve, serious as anything, confirms.

Three nights pass—not that Eddie’s counting—before he wakes up gasping, tears in his eyes and a desperate whine in his throat. He’s grabbing for his phone before he realizes, dialing the number he’d memorized without trying. “Come over?” He asks when Steve answers.

“Yeah. I’ll be right there.”

Eddie promises to unlock the door. He does so, then sits on a couch in a daze, still halfway stuck in the dream. He flinches when the door opens, even though he rationally knows it’s just Steve.

“Hey,” Steve says.

Eddie squeezes his sleep pants. “Hey.”

Then Steve breaks the script, saying, “I was about to call you,” and Eddie’s heart plummets even as his breathing picks up.

Somehow they end up with Eddie on top of Steve. Their arms are locked around each other, Eddie’s vaguely reminiscent of his leg being put into a hold, which he pressed into (what the fuck, brain), and his nose is shoved into Steve’s throat as his tears begin to lessen.

He feels something wet on his forehead, realizes Steve had been crying too, and conversely feels better about the whole thing. They end up giggling like kids, half-hysterical, arms still around each other but no longer squeezing, and Eddie doesn’t miss the touch as much as he usually does when they finally part.

He knows Wayne’s got the night shift, which is the only reason he thinks to grab his guitar in the first place. Steve readily agrees, which should not make his heart skip a beat the way it does, what the fuck, but he grabs it and starts playing, first the “Master of Puppets” intro he’d been working on, then just playing around for a bit until he hits on a melody that he thinks could work for the song he’s writing, hang on-

But Steve’s there, laying with his head off the edge of the bed, which should not be as endearing as it is, get with the program, brain, but Steve says yes, says he think’s Eddie’s a genius, and-

Oh, fuck. Not again.

Eddie’s been in his fair share of quickies, in the bathroom or behind the bar or God-knows-what, just straight guys trying to get it out of their system, and he’s an easy target and he knows it, all sharp lines and angles with hair like a girl’s, and he even flags for fuck’s sake, and he knows what desire feels like, is the point.

This… isn’t that. Well, it’s not just that. There’s definitely desire, but it’s low-level, overrun by the keep protect hold keep mine cherish thrumming through his veins like a dragon.

He’s falling for a straight man. And he doesn’t think he wants to stop. He’s not a complete idiot; he knows Robin is a friend of Dorothy’s too, knows that Steve knows she is, knows that he doesn’t treat her any differently for it. So he (probably) won’t treat Eddie any differently, either.

Eddie decided to bury it deep down and just not ever think about it again ever.

Then Steve brings him breakfast, and he really has no chance.

And listen. He knows they were both leaning in. He knows Steve was looking at him with something close to adoration shining in his eyes.

He knows kissing Steve is a bad idea. So he pulls back.

Until El, and Dustin, and the entire fucking Party demand cheek kisses, and, well, this is right up Eddie’s alley, isn’t it?

So he gets a kiss, and he gives a kiss, and suddenly it’s a thing, and they’re doing it when it’s just them alone in Eddie’s trailer or Steve’s house or once—accidentally, it was a reflex, thank fuck the store was empty—in Family Video.

Then Steve calls again, breath hitching, and Eddie’s instantly awake even if his voice isn’t, rough and low, and he hears the doubt in Steve’s voice, trying to play it off, and that won’t stand. “I’m coming over,” he says, and it’s not a question, and then he needs Steve to know it’s okay, and his brain blurts out, “I’m glad you called.”

There’s something in Steve’s voice giving him pause as he grabs his keys, ends up grabbing a stack of blankets too, tossing them into the back of his van before turning the ignition.

He silently berates himself the entire drive over, because what the fuck, brain, that was not a straight thing to say, and he’d practically panicked and ended the call before either of them could say anything else.

He drives over, grabs the spare, and lets himself in. Lets himself look. The way Steve’s sitting before he knocks, with his legs up to his chest and his arms looped around his knees, chin on one knee, staring blankly into the distance. How he shifts and begins to open up when he sees Eddie, but Eddie knows him, knows that line of tension, and takes him for a drive.

He doesn’t comment on the Harrington stretched across the back of his shoulders from the hoodie Steve had tossed at him.

He doesn’t comment on the Dio playing, talking about running away. Doesn’t comment on them holding hands. Doesn’t comment when Steve begins to nod along to the songs.

Just smiles when they pull up to the field. Tells Steve he has blankets, and they can sit or lay, or he can run, and he sees the grateful look in Steve’s eyes before he takes off running, going around the field almost twice before slowing to a jog and cutting across, a beeline headed directly for Eddie and the blankets.

His hand touches Steve’s hip. Their hands touch.

Steve starts crying, starts saying how their friendship has to end, and Eddie’s heart plummets. “I think I’m in love with you,” Steve whispers, and Eddie’s heart stops entirely before restarting.

He manages a laugh, a joke, “I thought I was falling for a straight boy,” and the way Steve smiles at him, so full of hope and wonder and love-

Keep protect hold keep mine cherish, says the dragon inside of Eddie, and as their lips meet, Eddie agrees.

Song

Just in case y’all want to be tagged (and let me know if you want to be tagged for the song reveal, I’ll tag unless told otherwise):

@thegingervulcan @snapshotmaestro @the-redthread @tiny-enthusiast @thatonepotatochild @maya-custodios-dionach @imsociallyanxiousgetoverit @vhelt @newtstabber @huskysarelife @singmeyoursimpsong @gaysonthefloor @darkwitchoferie @vi-an-te @kato-hoeven @biatcgh @vampireinthesun @goodolefashionedloverboi @awesomeimportantfan @oreos-ate-my-balls @theotalksalot @raysreads

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #steddie kiss #soft touch baby #eddie pov #I hope y’all like this! #i blacked out and wrote this #I hope it’s everything you wanted #stranger things #once again #I still don’t know what I’m doing

[lazylittledragon]

'i'll just do a couple of doodles of mombin™/platonic stobin parents' nevermind, borderline graphic novel

#stranger things #platonic stobin #mombin™ #robin buckley #steve harrington #i blacked out at 2am last night and wrote like 25 pages #i don't write fic so i do this instead and get to call it my job #incredible #i have No excuse to not finish this one bc i'm not at school anymore #there has to be an existing gay club called passionfruit right #cw pregnancy

[rjay-flowers]

Some say falling in love is just that: falling

Some say falling in love is just that: falling. Exhilarating, all at once, heart racing, and slightly nausea inducing. Love should feel like that rollercoaster you’re afraid to go on but once you do you come out of it happier and red in the face.

Others say that Love is known the first time you set eyes on someone. That everyone has a “meant to be” you will know as soon as you lock eyes and it will be perfect from there on. 

I think that neither of those are quite true, love is like wading in a beautiful blue ocean towards a red sunset. You start out hearing about the beach through a friend or by driving past and eventually end up there sunbathing. Maybe after a while you unconsciously decide to go wading and the water is such a perfect temperature you don't notice until you get hit by a wave and go under.

All of a sudden up is down and right is left and you don't know how you were so stupid to not see this coming because the signs were all there you couldn’t stop thinking about the sky and could feel the water on your ankles but now is not the time for hindsight now you see the slightly purplish sky get farther away because of course it is. 

The sky would never want to be near you.

Everyone knows the sky has everyone.

You’re nothing compared to the moon, the sun & the stars.

How could you be? 

Therefore you’re nothing to them. 

I’m nothing to them. 

I can't speak to them with the water in my lungs but they wouldn’t want to hear my voice.

My vision is going black, I don't think I care.

They certainly don’t.

They don’t need to. 

They have everyone. 

I am no one. 

#i blacked out and wrote this #poetry #love

[theunboundwriter]

cw: grief

#I blacked out and wrote this #lmao haha lol #I've been doing lots of life and death personification lately #but yeah Kendyleigh is going through it rn #Hesperus is in the other room making grilled cheese tho #he's not good with talking to people but hopefully he can help #but also I am Hesperus bc I have absolutely no idea what to say or do when people come to me and they're going through something #like #I am so awkward and I already have no idea what to say to people in general #and then they come to me and they're sad???? #this is unfamiliar territory #and like when I'm sad I do not tell people because I dont want people to know #and I just want to carry on like im not sad #so I have no experience with that either #so I have never been part of a conversation where someone gives good advice to someone who is sad #so maybe Kendyleigh will stay sad because there is no one who can help #not if im writing it #anyway thanks for coming to my PSA about grief? #unbound time universe #wip: the prices we pay

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girl found dead in a hidden room.

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#poorly drawn mdzs #mdzs #lan xichen #jin guangyao #jiang cheng #wei wuxian #qin su #EDIT: Tumblr published an earlier draft with only half the notes I wrote so: late entry on my JGY thoughts. #Unlike the mystic powers of the stockmarket (what the OG meme is referring to) I think this situation calls for more active investigation. #qin su is such a deeply tragic character to me and I really wish we got a bit more from her. #Love everyone who sent me messages about her after the last time she appeared. #I think she needs a spin off of her being a transmigrator SO badly. #MDZS has so many interesting characters - but it sometimes fails to give them the proper room to really develop past a role in the plot. #That's just the consequence of writing a story like MDZS. Not every character in a book *needs* to have a rich inner life and backstory! #To do so would bog down the story and obliterate any notion of pacing. It's just not possible. #Jin Guangyao (nee Meng Yao) is unfortunately not free from this leeway rule. He is the culprit of this murder mystery plot #and thus NEEDS to encapsulate the themes of the book. And personally he's a 7 out of 10 at best on this front (in the AD). #MDZS is about rumours twisting reality and working towards truth. And about how people & situations are rarely ever black & white #JGY has his motivations. He's well written in regards to his actions making sense for his character. #What started as good traits (drive to succeed & improve his image) became twisted over time (do anything to maintain his image) #and it's a good parallel to WWX! He has the same arc (with different traits)! Bonus points for IGY in that regard. #but man....by the time we confront this guy for murder there's not a lot of grey morality. He's just...deep in the hole *he* dug. #There's a beautiful tragedy to it! More on JGY in later comics - this is getting pretty long already!

[likegoldintheair]

the one positive but also incredibly painful thing about buddie not happening directly after the shooting arc is that now we might get eddie telling buck that he loves him that he's in love with him and when buck asks how long he's known eddie will tell him that he's known for years that he ironically figured it out as he was lying there in a puddle of his own blood thinking he was going to die and all he could do all he wanted to do was reach out for buck one last time and then he didn't die and life moved on and he kept this newfound realization hidden away because it felt so momentous and fragile all at the same time and years passed and then buck came out and then eddie came out too and that's not a guarantee for anything but they're both here now and buck's been giving him these looks and fleeting touches and it's all felt so soft and safe that all eddie can do is reach out again and when the tips of his fingers finally touches the warm smooth skin on buck's arm after so many years of almost but quite not there the confession all but falls from eddie's lips onto buck's over and over and over again

#evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #911 abc #hello i blacked out and wrote this and now i don't know what to do with myself

[swingingthehatchetnow]

Pete always averted his eyes around the homeless man downtown. Whether it was because he got awkward around social interaction or felt unwarranted guilt about the man’s situation, he’d never managed to look the man in the eyes before. He couldn’t describe his face if he tried.

That changed after Jägerman.

The things that used to be uncomfortable really weren’t anymore. After holding court with the Void, a man on the street really doesn’t seem all that intimidating. Ruth and Richie would’ve made fun of him if he was scared of the little things after the whole ordeal, he knew. It helped him to imagine their reactions. Coping and whatnot.

His walk home was lonelier. As were his study sessions and social life. But the walks home were when he really felt their loss. Even though Pete and Ruth lived in the opposite direction, they’d walk with Richie to his place, and then cut through downtown to get back to the other side of town, where he and Ruth would part ways near the Coldstone, both going to their respective homes.

He still followed that route. Coping. And whatnot.

It was just after noon. Pete had his AP statistics final in the morning, and had no class in the afternoon, because his teachers were proctoring other exams around the school. So here he was. Peter Spankoffski, walking through downtown Hatchetfield, alone. Steph had a full school day, so he wouldn’t see her until later.

“Excuse me, do you have a minute to talk about saving our planet?”

He turned. The Green Peace girl was at it again, with a wide smile and a clipboard in hand.

“It’ll only take a minute of your time,” she continued, now holding out a brochure. Trying to reduce the amount of time he had to talk to her, he took it wordlessly.

“I, um—” his voice cracked, and his face flushed red. Nobody else his age was still having voice cracks. He cleared his throat. “I’ll take a look at it. Saving the world and all.”

Not like he hadn’t done that once already.

The Green Peace girl smiled even wider, and did a little bouncey turn on her heel. The way she bobbed off reminded Pete of Steph when she was in a particularly happy mood. This thought relaxed him a bit.

He tucked the brochure into his pocket and continued walking, though he didn’t get far before he was cut off by someone else.

“Spare change for the homeless?”

Of course he knew that voice. Anyone who spent more than five minutes downtown knew about the homeless man.

Before he even looked at the man in front of him, Pete reached for his wallet. He’d just gotten a bonus at work, so he figured he had a few dollars to spare. Besides, his movie theater job paid surprisingly well.

He grabbed a $5 bill and turned to the man.

“Here you—”

He knew that face.

Older, sure, and a little lost-looking, but there was no doubt about it. Pete was looking at…

“Teddy?”

The 20 year age gap between the Spankoffski boys left them with an interesting dynamic. It was hard to feel like brothers sometimes when one of them was coming home from kindergarten while the other was getting a full time job at CCRP.

But they had their moments. When Pete was learning how to drive, Ted would let him use his car, even though he hadn’t gotten his license yet, or the night before freshman year, when Ted gave Pete his ‘Spankoffski guide to charming the ladies’ guidebook.

Hand trembling, holding out the $5 bill, Pete looked into the cloudy eyes of his older brother. His older older brother.

Somehow, some way… Ted was standing in front of Pete, a shadow of his former self.

“That’s way cool, man,” he said, taking the $5 from Pete. No sense of recollection could be seen.

“Ted, what happened to you…?” Pete watched Ted pocket the money. And then Ted… walked off. Just like that.

“Ted, wait!” Pete called after him, but Ted didn’t turn around. He simply tugged his hat down over his ears and walked off.

With trembling hands, Pete reached for his phone. He spent no more than 3 seconds looking for his brother’s contact info and hitting the call button.

One ring.

Two.

Three.

Four…

“Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”

Pete sighed in relief at the sound of his brother’s voice on the other end of the line.

“No,” he said, “my AP exam was today. Ted, I—” he paused, realizing he had no idea what he was going to say. How do you ask someone if they know that they’re the homeless man from downtown.

He lost his nerve.

“…I was just wondering if you want to hang out later. I— I got a new game, and—”

“Yeah, sure whatever. I get off work at the usual time.” A sound came from Ted’s end of the line, fabric shifting, like he’d adjusted how he was sitting. “Is that all? Because I was about to pull the ol’ Spankoffski charm on this barista that Paul is trying to snag.”

The familiarity of the conversation was enough to ease Pete’s worries. Sure, he’d held court with the Void, lost his two best friends, nearly got shot executioner-style, and ran into what he was certain was some version of his brother in the streets… but all that didn’t matter because somewhere in downtown Hatchetfield, Ted Spankoffski was fine. And so was Pete.

“I don’t say it a lot, but I’m glad you’re my brother, Teddy.”

“Sorry, I was talking to Charlotte. Did you say something?”

Pete smiled and hung up.

Maybe the universe was bigger than he knew and could ever understand.

So what.

#npmd #nerdy prudes must die #starkid black friday #tgwdlm #the guy who didn't like musicals #team starkid #starkid #pete spankoffski #ted spankoffski #hatchetfield #this might be bad #I wrote it in one go at 3am #I just wanted to get it out of my brain #Parker’s Hatchetfield fics

[blindmagdalena]

i'm thinking about john killing someone in front of his s/o, but that was about to kill them so his violent is seem a protectiveness. to be seem bloody and not be feared....

18+ 2.7k homelander x reader, established relationship, gore, blood, morally grey reader? shower sex, fingering, praise kink, breast play, dirty talk, rough sex, count down, needy/possessive/yandere HL, reader is nondescript with f!anatomy.

Homelander is breathing shallowly, eyes wide—wild—blood dripping from his chin and from the stray strands of hair that fell forward when he lunged. He's elbow deep in a man's sternum, and his other hand is wrapped tight around his broken neck, the bones like fragments of glass poking out from beneath rapidly cooling skin.

It all happened in an instant. One second, the man currently in his hands was grabbing you by the hair, a knife swinging wildly towards your throat, and the next he was dangling from Homelander's grasp, heart slowing against his knuckles.

He laughs through his teeth, licking his lips reflexively. The blood is sour, contaminated with god knows what, but that hardly takes away from the thrill of the moment.

It's been a while since he held the gaze of someone whose life he just claimed. Long enough that he forgets where he is, and who he's with.

He drops the man to the ground like a wet sack of potatoes, innards spilling out from the hole his arm leaves behind. In the man's hand, Homelander sees something that sets his teeth on fucking edge: strands of your hair ripped from your scalp in that limp, dead palm.

"You stupid motherfucker," he growls through a crooked sickly smile, lifting his boot to crush the hand like it were nothing more than an insect. The man's heart has long since stopped, but the rapid pound of another is still loud in his ears.

Yours.

Slowly, he turns around to look at you. You're cradling your skull where you'd been grabbed, tears gathering in your wide glassy eyes, the shock of it all catching up to you. You're staring intently at the corpse, watching blood pooling out from beneath it.

You've never looked at him with fear in your eyes before, but that's precisely what he sees when your eyes meet his. It makes him bristle internally. What was he supposed to do? You were in danger, and the way you screamed will follow him into his nightmares.

He could have lost you just now. You could be the one soaking in a puddle of your own blood, losing your life to the press of nothing more than a flimsy metal blade. While Homelander has always been logically aware of your humanity and the tender vulnerability that entails, nothing has ever put it so viscerally in the forefront of his mind as a freak incident coming so close to erasing you from his life.

He did what he had to. You'll understand. You have to understand.

"Hey," he says, hands raised to you placatingly, as if coaxing a spooked wild animal. The blood just makes his crimson gloves look glossy. He blocks your view of the body. "Hey, it's alright."

Your terror is palpable in the race of your heart and the sour smell of adrenaline coursing through you.

He reaches for you with the hand that isn't drenched in viscera, but before he can take hold, you beat him to the punch, throwing yourself into his arms, your own wrapping tight around his middle, hands clasping together beneath his cape.

Caught off guard, Homelander's arms hover awkwardly for a beat before he returns your embrace. He'd been certain that he was the source of your fear after a display like that.

"He just-he tried to kill me," you rasp, tears overflowing, spilling down your cheeks, wetting his suit further. "Yeah, yeah he sure did. S'alright, he's not gonna hurt you again," he coos, stroking your back with one bloodied hand, the other cupping the back of your neck. He kisses the top of your head as you cry, working the shock and fear from your system. "Ssshhh, shhshh."

Looking over his shoulder once, he lifts you up into his arms and takes off gently into the night sky, keeping you gathered close as he flies, carrying you far away from the mess spilled all over the pavement.

Not his problem. His focus is you.

With your face buried in the crook of his neck, he can feel your tears rolling down into the collar of his suit, can smell the sea salt sweetness of them. He's never let you see that side of him before. When the shock wears off, will you see the moment for what it was?

Will you realize how much he enjoyed it?

Landing on his balcony, your arms are still tight around his neck. Neither of you have said a word since take off. He's not sure where your head is, other than the fact your racing heart has slowed to a more natural—albeit still nervous—patter.

Inside, he sets you down gently on your feet. Your balance wavers, and he settles you with his hands on your hips, staining your clothing with smears of dark blood.

He's almost afraid of breaking the tenuous quiet, but he needs to know where your head is. When you glance away, are you looking towards the door, planning your escape?

His hands tighten reflexively on your hips, and your eyes spring back up to meet his.

"You okay?" He asks quietly, warily.

"Yeah," you say, though it's hardly convincing.

"You're in shock," he says, touching the side of your face. Enough of the blood has been wiped on your clothes that it doesn't transfer much to your skin. "You remember what happened?"

Maybe your distress will leave you malleable enough for him to shape the incident just right. Make sure that you remember first and foremost that- "You saved me," you say, cutting his thoughts short. "That man was trying to hurt me, and you... you saved me."

His brows lift, surprised to hear you say it first. "Yeah. Course I did."

"You were so..." You trail off, gaze moving along his features.

Apprehension prickles from his spine all the way up to the back of his neck. He's accustomed to being scolded for his brutality by Madelyn, or looked on with thinly veiled disgust by Maeve.

They're both long gone from his life now, yet he finds himself waiting with bated breath for your response, his throat tight under the gripping hands of the ghosts of his past.

"Amazing," you exhale, banishing his specters with the sweeping wind of your breath. "God, I've never been that scared in my life, but you reacted so fast. No one has ever protected me like you do," you say, cupping his blood spattered face in your palms, smearing it into thin pink swaths across his skin with your thumbs.

He breaks into a slow, pleased smile. "Well, you've never been with anyone like me before."

"No," you agree. He can still feel a slight tremor in your hands, your body still coming down from the adrenaline high. "And I never will."

That strokes his ego deliciously. He likes the finality in your voice, the dreamy way you're looking at him, even as the smell of blood hangs heavily in the air. He almost kisses you before he remembers he's got the blood of some random thug all over his face.

"I need a shower," he says, lips close enough that his breath teases yours.

"Me too. Guess we'll have to share," you say, feigning resignation.

He grins. "Uh oh."

In the bathroom, Homelander makes quick work of undressing, but you're faster. You're already in the large shower, steaming water pouring down from above. He steps in with you, letting the water wash over you both. The water turns pink as it carries the blood away, and then sudsy as you both soap and shampoo the mess of the day from you bodies.

Once he's rinsed, he slips in behind you, wrapping his arms around you and nuzzling into the crook of your neck. "I love you," he says at your ear, trailing kisses down to the lobe, to your neck. He loves the feel of goosebumps rising against his lips.

"I love you, too," you respond as you have a thousand times before. Maybe more. He stopped counting when he was sure you'd never stop.

"How much?" He prompts, hungry for more. Your praise and assurance after a moment of such uncertainty has only made him desperate for more. He wants to wring more pretty words of admiration from you, hear more of just how good he is to you.

He can't help but color your answer with a slip of his hand between your thighs, toying with your clit.

The touch earns a shivering sigh from you. "So much. More than I can stand sometimes," you say, leaning your head back against his shoulder.

"I thought you'd be scared of me after seeing what you saw... What I'm capable of," he murmurs, pillowing the reminder with deft, wet fingers. "Are you?"

You shake your head. "No, m'not, mmm... You'd never hurt me," you say, breath hitching as his fingers slip in further, fingertips stroking the lips of your pussy.

"Never," he echoes, his other hand slotting over your throat just to feel each noise you make. He pulls you back flush to his body, presses his hardening cock to the curve of your ass with his a shaky groan. "I liked it," you admit quieter, moaning when he slides his middle finger inside you. The confession stirs something primal in him, makes him growl out a rough little noise against your skin, grinding his cock into you.

"I wanted to rip his fucking guts out for touching you," he says, working another finger into you, savoring the slick, velvet feel of you around them. "For trying to take you from me." His words make your cunt quiver. He can't help himself, has to pull them from you just to taste you, sucking the nectarine sweet flavor from his fingers, rolling his tongue between them, hungry for every ounce of it.

He moans around his own fingers when you reach back and take his cock firmly in your hand, jerking him slowly. "I want you inside me," you say, your legs spreading slightly, back arching into him. "Touch me until yours is the only one I remember."

Fuck. Yes, that he can do.

You let go of his cock, and he wraps an arm around your waist, guiding himself between your wet, soft thighs. You close your legs, earning a breathy noise from him as he rocks between them, the warm, wet heat of your cunt a tease along the top of his cock.

"Take me," he murmurs fervently at your ear. "Wanna be in you, feel you, fuck you, make your pussy mine."

Shuddering against him, you reach down between your legs. Pressing your fingers to the underside of his cock, you push it up as he moves forward, the thick head of it catching on your entrance and splitting you open in one long, slow thrust.

Christ, you're so fucking tight. He can feel your muscles contracting, flexing, pulling him deeper. Your cunt feels made for him.

No one will ever take you away from him.

His right hand goes across your chest, cupping your left breast and rolling your nipple between his thumb and index finger while he braces you tighter to him. He rolls his hips slowly at first, relishing the tight, slippery pull of your cunt before he begins to pick up a proper pace.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" He grits out, the slap of naked skin against skin loud in the shower. "Tell me how good it feels."

"Feels like being fucked by the fucking sun," you moan, gripping his arms, useless for anything other than taking his cock when he holds you like this. "Hot, you're so hot inside me, and I can feel... I can feel you holding back, it's like you're vibrating," you say, voice catching with every solid thrust. "It's like... it's like getting as much as I can take from something so much bigger than me."

He doesn't know what he expected to hear, but it isn't that. The idea that you can feel the true gravity of his power behind each restrained thrust drives him wild, makes him want to give you more, but he knows he can't. Not without breaking you. Sweet, frail, human thing that you are.

If he could, he would break you apart, fuck you until you fall to pieces in his hands, and then he would put every single fragment back where it belongs, but he can't. If he breaks you, he will lose you.

He needs you to survive him.

"Fuck, fuck," he rasps, holding you that slight bit tighter, lifting you nearly off your feet as he arches his back, lifting and dropping you onto every thrust of his hips. "M'gonna come," he says, voice reedy. "Come with me, let me feel you. I know you're close, can fuckin' feel it. Touch yourself for me, sweetheart."

Immediately, you drop a hand to your clit, the tips of your fingers brushing where he's pounding into you. The touch must be electric because you jolt against him. "I am, I am," you whine, rubbing yourself, the pleasure making you squirm.

"M'gonna count us down, alright? And you, mmmgh, you're gonna come with me," he says, already fighting to hold himself back. Your cunt is only getting tighter the closer to release you get, making it hard for him to stay focused.

"Five... four," he manages to say, desperately holding onto his final tethers of control. You're beyond speech now, reduced to nothing more than desperate, needy noises as you finger your clit, not even bothering to try and hold yourself up while Homelander mercilessly bounces you on his cock,

"Three... two..." His words are strained, balls drawn up tight, cock throbbing in the slick grip of your cunt. He needs to come so bad it makes his toes curl, but he won't let go until he feels you coming undone.

"One..."

One, two, three more thrusts, and you're screaming his name, knees curling up, your whole body tightening like a vice. The spasm of your orgasm rips his clean out of him, has him gasping into the crook of your neck.

He comes so hard his vision goes white, every movement halting, his focus purely on the ardent pounds of his cock emptying deep inside you, flooding you so thoroughly that the excess spill back down his shaft, his balls, mingling with the hot water and making him shiver from head to toe.

When he can, he takes in a deep, shuddering breath, easing his hold on you, though not by much. You're all but limp in his arms, panting, head lolled back against his shoulder. He lets the water run on the two of you a little while longer, savoring the aftershocks of your release before gingerly slipping out of you.

Carefully, he rubs the water between your thighs, tenderly cleaning you, kissing your neck, your shoulder.

"That was..." You trail off, words half slurred, and then you just laugh softly, the marvel clear in your voice.

He laughs, too, his own voice frayed. "Sure was."

The two of you put as much effort as it takes to get dry before making your way to bed, slipping beneath the cool sheets and rapidly warming them with your bodies, Homelander's in particular. He's always run hot, and you seem extra appreciative for it tonight, wrapping your arms around his waist and snuggling into his arms.

"I love you," you mumble sweetly.

Homelander draws the covers up over your shoulders before slipping his arm around you, drawing you into the warm, safe circle of his arms. "And I love you," he purrs, gently rolling his knuckles up and down your back.

You look peaceful, he thinks, watching as you begin to drift to sleep. He's sure it helps that he wore you out so thoroughly, but still, he'd anticipated that the shock of the evening would still have you worked up. It could be that you're still processing, that the trauma will return in nightmares that follow you into the night.

Maybe the threat of a rat simply makes less of an impact when you're cradled in the jaws of a lion.

Regardless, should you sleep fitfully or peacefully, he will be here.

No force in this would can keep him from you.

#homelander x you #homelander x reader #i blacked out and wrote 85% of this yesterday #i desperately wanted to finish it but had plans fghjkl #anyways wow! a brief reprieve from my writers block?? a temporary break in the dam???? #i had so much fun writing this either way #thank you for sending this!! #not proofread we die like men #my writing #darling anon #ask and you shall receive #smut

[thefirstvessel]

I think one of the things that a lot of humans fail into internalize about the Predator/Prey dynamic, especially in nature, is that millions of years of being shaped into Prey can often make incredibly territorial and fierce animals that will do anything they can to fight against millions of years of fighting being killed.

That's why horses kick and buck. Why rabbits are so infamously cantankerous and moody. Why deer have giant multi-pronged bone growths coming out of their foreheads that they can use for self-defense. Why rhinos are so dangerously territorial.

Meanwhile- a lot of Predators out in nature when they are not actually hunting (or play hunting) are remarkably chill. Especially macropredators. Think about how cats are known for the fact that they just lay around in the sun all day. Dogs are goofy guys who just want a friend.

The Predator/Prey dynamic isn't about the strong ferocious Predator taking advantage of weak and innocent Prey. When you're Prey, you're something that has spent millions of years being shaped into learning how to fight back. You're something that nature itself has pulled apart and put back together with all the sharp bits pointing out, just so you can survive.

You two have to be equal, otherwise there'd be nothing left to hunt.

#vessel talk #having weird pseudosciencey primal kink thoughts- don't mind me #like- not to err a little bit into CNC but one of the parts that appeals to me in primal play is the 'fight' #the idea of making someone submit is just 😵‍💫 #primal kink #primal play #nonhuman #voidpunk #(the way that i just blacked out and wrote this after seeing a antler shed that had a mountain lion skull impaled on it 💀) #(like it wasn't *sexy* per se... but it was kinda hot) #vessel writes

[tariah23]

aisjsjjensnJAJAJ

#because… we wrote one idiot 😭!!! #I guess wp and nbs just learned that black ppl have our own National anthem and are of course spazzing tf out #just… write one? #yourselves??? if this is such a big deal like kskskskskl #there’s no arguing with racists but this is still funny #I saw a few black folks not know about it but they probably either went to white schools or aren’t from America so they missed out on #having to sing lift every voice and sing for 5 days a week 8 years straight #I only sung it for 7 since my 8th grade teacher didn’t care if we did it or not #I just didn’t feel like standing up sorry and I’m sure her lazy ass didn’t either that’s why she didn’t care lmfao #no wait I did do it for 8 years because my mom made my teacher hold me back in 3rd grade 🗿…. so #crying #you can feel the antiblackness roll off of that ‘s’ #rambling

[closedownregulus]

Prompt: Feb 14th - Lips | 1183 words | @jegulus-microfic part two , three and four :)

Barty Crouch is an idiot. The first time James came to this conclusion he was only 11 years old and Barty was refusing to give him back his football cause “football is not for losers, weirdo”, since then, the thought crosses his mind from time to time – Barty Crouch is an idiot. Not only an idiot, but also stupid, not only fucking stupid, but also deadass ugly, not only ugly, he is also an arrogant piece of shit, not only that, he’s also a- argh, James could go on and on about all of Barty Crouch’s flaws, he could go for hours, days, damn, even weeks if someone gave him the time of day to do so. Honestly, he can’t think of one good thing to say about the guy, nonetheless, Regulus’ been kissing him senseless for the past 7 minutes – not that James is counting or anything – seeming fucking dead set on finding Barty’s hidden qualities, if he has any, in the inside of the boy's mouth. Not that James cares that his best friend’s baby brother has been snogging the most annoying man to ever walk earth for 7 minutes and 36 fucking seconds, like they´re stuck in a game of 7 minutes in heaven or something, or, more accurately to James, 7 minutes and 49 seconds in the deepest pit of hell – not that he’s counting (whatever).

Part of him, the hopeful part, is kind of holding on to the idea that this is some weird kind of practical joke Regulus is playing on Barty, he knows James' football story, maybe that’s the way he’s found to revenge him, making Barty fall in love with him and then leaving the guy tormented by the memory of a kiss with a boy he’ll never be able to have playing in loop in his head. Part of him, the protective part, hates that fucking Barty Crouch has even the memory of a kiss to play in loop in his head, part of him wants to yank it off. Part of him, ugh, part of him is scared that Regulus is not some boy Barty can’t have. Part of him – the possessive, petty and kinda insane part – hates that it’s Barty instead of James, who has known Regulus for years, he’d know what to do to make him feel good, he’s sure he’d figure out the right buttons to push in a matter of seconds. Instead, it’s another person in what should be his place, touching Regulus in places James never will, running his tongue over his lips and tasting Regulus in ways that James will never be able to – he hates to think about the sounds that he’s dragging out of Regulus, sounds that he’s getting to hear, swallow, save for later. Fuck. James might kill the fucking guy.

It’s not like James wants to be in Barty’s place - or whatever, it’s more of a protective big brother's best friend thing, he’d rather kill himself than actually kiss Sirius’ baby brother, it’s literally the most disgusting thought that could ever cross his mind ever, literally. Which, if he’s being totally honest, it does from time, but it only causes him to experience the deepest feeling of disgust, he can literally feel his stomach doing weird loops and stuff, which can only be translated to pure and utter repulse, literally. It’s not like it’s a recurring thing or anything, it’s just that he’s a fucking 17-year-old, of course the idea of kissing people he’s always hanging out with is gonna come to him out of fucking nowhere. And like, Regulus does have this freakish pink lips that look really soft and it's kinda hard to not stare at them when he's been going on and on for hours about some book he's recently read, specially when he keeps biting his lower lip every five minutes before saying the next sentence. Not that the thought crosses his mind in a weird, out of ordinary, creepy constancy or anything, really. It's just, you know, your ordinary 17 year old boy next door normal amount of thinking about kissing your best friend’s brother – which he doesn’t by the away, just, rarely, sometimes, in a daily basis, rarely.

The point is, James is Sirius’ best friend, and Regulus is Sirius’ baby brother, James remember him as a toddler, with his big grey eyes and messy dark hair all over the place, so of course he’s gonna be concerned about Regulus’ well being and not want him to snog some dumbass just cause he found the free time to do so. He wants Regulus to be with someone that is worthy of him, not that James can think of anyone that managed to meet the criteria so far, or that ever will. Well, if he stops to think about it, in an ideal world Regulus would grow old alone and a virgin, but is that really so bad? James will visit him everyday and they’ll play videogames and do star wars marathons. Fuck it. He’ll even listen to Regulus talk about his pretentious books and let him put his depressing emo music, he already does that all the time anyway, he might even sing some of the lyrics that he’s already learned from having to listen to it every time they hang out. Well, and if from time to time Regulus happens to feel kinda alone and horny, James would even be ok to helping him out with that, you know, in the sole interest of keeping him away from losers. If that’s what it takes to save Sirius from having to endure life as the brother in law of some dumb, ugly idiot, James doesn’t mind sacrificing himself for his best friend, call him a fucking altruist if you will.

James bets Barty Crouch has never touched a single episode of Star Wars, or a book in that matter, maybe he can’t even read anything with more than fifty pages or pay attention to any movie that's longer than one hour. Also, he doesn’t look like the kind of guy who’ll be able to appreciate Regulus’ music and try to actually understand and connect with the lyrics, which is the most important part to Regulus, he’ll probably try and change subjects every time Regulus tries to explain his interpretation. Basically, James is pretty sure they don’t even have anything in common to talk about, they won’t even be able to have a proper conversation! What are they gonna do? Just kiss the whole time they’re together? Every single minute without stopping so they can avoid awkward silence breaks? Ha.

The thought makes James want to instantly puke.

He hates this party, but he doesn’t want to, actually, he can’t, leave Regulus here with this idiot to do to him whatever the hell he pleases out of James sight. Fuck. He doesn’t even want to think about that. He hates absolutely everything that’s happening right now, but, most of all, he hates Barty Crouch. The reason? Barty Crouch is an idiot.

And he stole James’ football.

#jegulus #jealous james potter #dead gay wizards #james potter #barty crouch jr #regulus black #jegulus microfic #alternate universe #english is not my first language! #it's my first time posting anything I write and I'm kinda nervous #bare with me #wrote the whole thing whilst listening to disintegration by the cure so it turned out more angsty than I expected #light angst #repetitive wrong use of the word literally #clueless james potter #starchaser #jegulus fic #sunseeker