#i just shout an insult into a crowd and whoever shouts back gets to be my friend

[thepepsislvt]

hear me out, barto with a 5’4 chubby reader (fem or gn..?) like I feel like he’d be so sweet with any insecurities! Maybe they meet in the dresserosa colosseum or something? (I love barto acting silly in the colosseum lol) maybe the reader was one of Rebecca’s friends so reader was helpin out luffy 👀?

this works perfectly because i am also chubby so im also feeding into my delusions only im taller :^)

also i know Rebecca is 16 so you are just 2 years older than her so Barto doesnt get a case

I didn't finish it because I lost motivation halfway so when I regain it I will make a part 2 :)

anw enough with my yappin

Did you enjoy the show?

Bartolomeo x Short Chubby GN Reader

Rebecca was your best friend since childhood and nothing could separate you two apart. so when she was imprisoned in the colosseum you made the decision to go and stay with her. She was one of the, if not the best, gladiators you ever seen but unfortunately the crowds hated her. You were always the one to cheer her on in the crowds.

Being in the colosseum all the time felt lonely when Rebecca was fighting but it was all worth it to be with your best friend. Each day you would see challengers come and go. the ones that stuck around for a few times were never any that good until someone new came along.

Bartolomeo the Cannibal. You have read about him in the newspaper before and saw how high his bounty had raised in such a short time. You would have never thought to see him in Dressrosa of all places! It wasnt until Rebecca told you of the prize at the end of the battle. The Mera Mera no Mi

You could barely believe that the Devil Fruit of the former Commander of the Second Division of the Whitebeard Pirates was here! Dressrosa was never a place that contained any excitement and now you wondered what storm was brewing here.

You were currently getting supplies for Rebecca to get ready for her battle when you ran face-first into someone

“Watch it kid, I coulda ran over you” a gruff voice called out as whoever you ran into pushed you away by your shoulders

It was Bartolomeo. You’ve never seen him up in person. He looks just like his wanted poster. You couldn't help but feel insecure at that moment. He was just so tall and strong compared to you.

almost as if he could read your mind he said in a quiet voice “Damn you're short” which made your face flush red with embarrassment.

The two of you stood there for a moment not saying a word before he released your shoulders and started walking away.

“Be careful out there kid! don't get hurt!” he called over his shoulder

you were too stunned to move, you just watched him walk away and stared at where he was when you could no longer see him. You felt butterflies in your stomach but then quickly remembered the task at hand.

When you reached back to Rebecca it was just in time for the announcing of the Block B fighters. You paid no mind to it as you helped Rebecca gear up until you heard a familiar name.

“The Irrepressible, Irredeemable, Bartolomeo!” You heard the announcer shout for the Colosseum. Upon hearing his name you ran over to one of the Colosseum windows to look at the battlefield. and there he was. standing by the entrance with his pockets in his hands.

Rebecca noticed this and walked over to the window to see what you were looking at

“Bartolomeo? Why’d you come over here to see him?” She asked, pausing for a moment to continue “Don't tell me you have a crush on that pirate.”

“What? No!” you defended yourself, glancing at her for a moment before looking back down at him “I just… I'm just curious. I ran into him in the hallway earlier when I was getting things for you”

You studied him carefully as he walked to the center of the ring and pointed out to the crowds

“All of you… Can go straight to Hell!” He said as the crowds booed him only making him laugh at them.

The sound of the crowds yelling insults and telling him to go to Hell instead filled your ears. You felt bad for him as the people threw their trash at him. Bartolomeo dodged the trash as he looked around the Colosseum before mocking the people even more.

Sure this guy may be a menace but you still couldn't help but be curious. There was something about him and you just couldn't place your finger on it.

Snapping out of your thoughts, you noticed he was making direct eye contact with him before pulling something out of his pocket. The crowd looked confused as to what he was holding before he pitched it into the air. someone yelled out it was a bomb. You gasped and watched the ball-shaped bomb carefully in the air, noticing it didn't look like a regular bomb. The Crowds started losing their shit and tried to run out of the Colosseum. it wasn't until finally when the ball landed people settled down realizing it was just a ball.

Taking a moment to look away from the scene you looked back over to Rebecca who was giving you a weird gaze.

“So tell me about this encounter you had with the Cannibal down there”

You gave her your best glare as you knew exactly what she was doing. She knew you all too well and read you like a book.

After you had told her everything that had happened you heard the announcer yell something you decided to check and see if the green-haired man was still in the battle.

“I don't believe my eyes! Is there no depth to which Bartolomeo will sink!? How low will he go!?”

Upon hearing Bartolomeo’s name from the announcer you were starting to get worried. You quickly jumped on the window sill and looked at the arena to find him. And found him you did… with his pants down and just freely taking a piss into the moat surrounding the arena.

“Well that's something” you said out loud causing Rebecca to come and see what the commotion was about

You saw one of the fighters, Hack, walk up behind Bartolomeo and get ready to strike him. you got nervous for him. When Hack started to attack him you yelled out Bartolomeo’s name and covered your face to look away. The crowd started to cheer. Knowing the cheering was a bad sign you felt lost. You started to gently cry. Why did you have to fall in love so easily?

Rebecca put her arm over your shoulders to comfort you. After a moment you heard the crowd stop cheering and then Rebecca started to shake your shoulders.

“Wait don't cry, look! He's still alive!” she said trying to get you to look

You lifted your hands from your tear-stained face to see Bartolomeo without a scratch on him. In fact, Hack was the one who was injured. He was holding the first he tried to punch Bartolomeo with while it was bleeding. Bartolomeo was standing there grinning mischievously at him while laughing. How did he manage not to get hurt? Did he have some kind of devil fruit?

You watched Bellamy the Hyena try to do the same thing and attack Bartolomeo only to get injured himself. You watched him intensely to see if you could see what he did but you couldn't find anything. Some time had passed and you kept a sharp eye on him to see if he would pull anything.

All of a sudden, everyone went quiet, and the competitors stopped fighting. Everyone was looking right at King Elizabello. You didn't know why nor could you see him since he was facing away from you.

“Maybe the rumors were true. If so, we’re in trouble!” you heard the announcer call out as the people watching started to run to the opposite side of the Colosseum. Two of the fighters tried to attack Elizabello when he threw an incredibly strong punch that broke the floor of the area and knocked the rest of the fighters into the water. Rebecca and you both watched in amazement at the incredible punch.

“Out of all the 138 competitors in Block B, I hereby proclaim the victor to be King Elizabe-” Before the announcer could finish his statement someone in the crowd pointed out that there was still someone was still in the arena.

When the smoke and fog cleared you saw Bartolomeo behind a blue see-through wall crossing his arms over his chest and his index and middle fingers were also crossed. You gasped and smiled, happy knowing he was safe.

“It's a barrier!” Bartolomeo proudly proclaimed “What's wrong? Can't create a barrier by crossing your fingers like this? C’mon, It's so easy a little kid could do it!” He mocked Elizabello

The crowd gasped and went silent as Bartolomeo continued to speak

“Well I guess it could be ‘cause I ate the Bari Bari Fruit”

Bartolomeo looked up to you once again and winked at you before drawing his arm back to throw his barrier forward

“Barrier Crash!” he said as his barrier flew forward to hit Elizebello

You blushed when he winked at you and apparently, Rebecca didn't miss it cause she elbowed you in your side with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes at her and saw that King Elizabello’s head was hanging out of the arena immediately disqualifying him. You gasped with amazement and looked at the remaining fighter with joy.

“He did it, Rebecca!”

“That means, the winner of Block B is, damn it all, Bartolomeo!” The announcer said with anger and frustration in his voice

You on the other hand couldn't be happier for Bartolomeo. you watched him take a victory stance and tell the crowds once again that they can all go to Hell. After that, we went back inside of the Colosseum. You hopped off the window sill with joy.

“Did you see that Rebecca? He won! I couldn't be happier for him! He did amazing!” you half yell at your friend excitedly as she smiles at your joy “Man what I wouldn't give to stir up the confidence to go congratulate him!”

“Awe thanks for the flattery, sugar” a very familiar voice said from behind you. Both you and Rebecca turned to see Bartolomeo standing there smiling at the both of you, showing off his sharp teeth.

Your stomach dropped. Did he hear everything you said? Why did he come to see you? Most importantly, did he call you sugar?

“Y’know,” he said, walking up to you. Once he was at least a foot away he started again “I was just showing off for you, shortcakes. I could have had it all done earlier but I wanted to give you a show” He smirked before kneeling in front of you

“I hope you enjoyed it”

Tags: (lmk if u wanna be added)

@residential-havoc

#x reader #one piece x reader #one piece #bartolomeo #bartolomeo the cannibal #bartolomeo x reader #one piece x gn reader #pepsislvtwrites

[meraki-yao]

The taylor zakhar perez hashtag just full of praise for Nicholas acting and twitter full of anonymous messages asking for his recast because he's not as good as Nick. That shit hurts and I can't even enjoy the new content I'm tired of the hate that man has been getting for a year and a half (it's not about Nicholas I love him so much)

First and foremost this is awful and Taylor doesn't deserve any of this unfair critism that are frankly insults, it's fucking sick

I will say this about the acting (and I'm typing this while listening to the podcast where Matthew talks about how well suited the boys are for the roles)

Both of them nailed their roles. But because of how the roles are written, certain things show easily than others.

Henry is more emotional sensitive and "broken", and because that's kind of an unhealthy mentality which isn't the normal state of human being, it's easier to pick up, which is why even with a surface glance audience can pick up on Nick's intensity and level of performing. For example, Henry spiraling on the lake. It's a crescendo of negative emotions, and you can see it go from opposite of the previous emotion (happy and content) to increasing panic and heartache.

Alex is the healthier one, in the movie he doesn't have much baggage as Henry does, but he does have baggage. At first Alex might seem like a sunshine puppy or something but if you paid attention to the details which Taylor does, you can read so much more. His fingers fidgeting whenever he's nervous like when Henry's taking off his clothes or Zahra barging in looking out. Like him clenching his jaw and watching every second of Henry's face when he goes in. Like how you can feel the aggressiveness in him die down as Henry shouts his thoughts during the Kensington confrontation. Like how fucking in love he looks all conveyed in his eyes.

So TL DR and this is my understanding of the performance: the tricky part for Nick is not to go overboard so that it's too dramatic to the point of being unrealistic, while the tricky part for Taylor is too not under perform it that Alex becomes one dimensional. AND BOTH BOYS NAIL IT PERFECTLY.

But for people who watch it passively, or watch it with negative assessment already in mind, it's easier to miss Taylor's details than Nick's details.

I WANNA MAKE IT PERFECTLY CLEAR THAT I DON'T AGREE WITH THE SHIT TAYLOR'S GETTING I DON'T AGREE WITH ANY OF THIS AND TAYLOR JUST IS ALEX TO ME

But this is a speculation from the acting perspective as to part of the reason why Taylor's getting so much shit

Also Twitter people are just another fucking type of crowd who mostly should use their life to do something better (I'm not on Twitter and never will be) and I'm convinced that there's still racism involved in these commentary even if it's internalized or latent

Anyone who says Taylor should be recast or is not as good as Nick either didn't actually pay attention to the movie or don't understand Alex. Taylor read the book 8 times. Matthew and Nick, the two most important people in regards to his performance, have nothing but praise for him.

Taylor is Alex, just as Nick is Henry.

Hopefully after a while these stupid "opinions" die down and only intelligent/genuine/constructive comments will be left and things will get better. And I truly hope Taylor can see more support than insults. He doesn't deserve any of this.

I'm sorry that this has affect you, and I understand it. Honestly this is why I don't directly look at tags, especially the actors' tag, block whoever I don't wanna see or deal with, and don't go on Twitter.

Just from my experience on dealing with shit like this, I would say give yourself some distance from RWRB and social media for a bit, even if it's a day or two, and come back when it hurts less. Take a bit of a break. And avoid places you know you will see shit like this as much as you can.

Both of the boys did amazing, and imo perfectly in the movie and in these roles, and they deserve all the love and support. Both of them.

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #rwrb movie #firstprince #nicholas galitzine #taylor zakhar perez #rwrb thoughts #Anon ask #answered #meraki essay

[praisethesuuun]

Hello, I’d like to request for Ares x reader.

The plot is: they have many fhildren. And one day, a random god publicly humiliated him then the reader and the children stood up for him.

I apologize if I request too much or I’ve broken any of the written rules.

this was so funny to write! I hope you like just as much as I love it💞

Ares x reader: what a wonderful family

Type: fluff

Warnings: swearing, mention of blood

You were running around from all Olympus. You thought your heart was about to explode and Hermes, who was beside you, was trying his best to make you feel at ease with everything that was going on. He also offered to carry your son Deimos in his arms, while you had the firstborn Phobos on your shoulders.

The fact is, your husband Ares can't stay away from trouble: every now and then, someone tried to make fun of him or take away his title of god of war; you and Hercules would always stand up for him. But now you had the kids and Ares was very protective of them, so much that they could barely escape his temple. Sadly, they don't have a good reputation due to their chaotic, sometimes violent nature, and your husband didn't want them to get in serious trouble.

"Mommy, let's hurry!"

"We can do it, uncle Hermes!"

They shouted, a determined expression on their chubby faces. Their father loved them, just like every member of the family (minus Poseidon, he hates kids) who knew them. They reminded you so much of Ares...

Deimos and Phobos looks so scary, yet their heart is full of compassion and love. "We're almost there, I'm going ahead, see you there, Y/N" said Hermes, accelerating. Deimos held on even stronger, a little fear ready to demoralize him, then he remembered his father's words: "Remember, kid! A true warrior is never scared, he always goes forward with his head held high"

And so, he did just that. Phobos, being slightly older than him, ended up to be the calmer in the group. Kissing the shoulder of his mom and hugging her from behind, he thought he could improve the situation this way. But, in reality, he knew what the lower gods thought of Ares, so he set himself a goal: to become the strongest god of Olympus to condemn anyone who dared tarnish his family name. Now his father was in trouble and the one who were picking on him were going to suffer.

On the other hand, you were mad. Ares' kind nature was the thing that most attracted you to him; you will never forget the way his sweet eyes looked at you on your wedding day, that intense blue brought dreams, hopes and ambition. "Beautiful" you thought, ready to begin a new life with your dear. Of course, everything good comes with consequences: Ares' kindness keeps him from harming others, no matter how cruel they are to him. You admire him for this, so since you love him, if he's the good cop it means you'll be the bad one.

You're not scared to intimidate or kill whoever dared to do something as stupid as insulting the family of the god of war. "Let's go get daddy" you shouted to your son with a grin. Oh, fun was about to start.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Ares needed to stay calm. He couldn't fight back, he had to be stronger than whoever was provoking him, but it was just so hard! Being a high-ranking god was like a doom to Ares: he couldn't mess with lesser gods like that, if he paid attention to them then the Olympian gods would scold him, tell him to not waste time any longer. And he couldn't afford it. He thanked Hercules, his wife and his brother for understanding the situation and coming to save him every time, yet there was a small voice in his head calling him "Weak!" everytime something like this happened.

"Dear Y/N...I wish you were here..." he said with his head lowered, watching the ground and ignoring the small crowd that had formed around him. And now you wonder: why didn't he just go away? Because according to him that was all a skit orchestrated by Zeus to test him. His father was strict, he demanded a lot from his fighters and Ares liked to think that this was a tough test to overcome, so he stayed still, doing nothing if not praying for someone to come and stop his suffering. "What the hell is happening here?"

Ares turned around to that familiar voice. "Diomede, go away" said the god of war to his son, begging him to leave, his voice louder than ever and full of authority. The last thing that should have happened was to get his children involved in this story, he was their father and he just had to protect them. "Are we already there, big brother?"

"ARMONIA?"

Now Ares was surely getting an heart attack. She was the youngest out of his family and the only daughter he's ever had; his panic increased dramatically. The god stood up, reaching for the children before a rock hit him on the head, causing him to bleed slightly. "Shit" he whispered, trying not to be heard by Armonia, she was still a child after all. "How dare you, dickhead" talked Diomede suddenly, a dark aura surrounding his slim figure. The eyes of the boy became full of rage, like the ones of a Cerberus ready to kill.

Ares' blood became as cold as ice and a shiver hit their back violently when he saw Diomedes take the stone in his hand to throw it back to the sender. The small weapon it was pulled so fast that it sliced through the air in an inhuman speed, hitting the lower god right in the nose. The latter fell to the floor, his nose reduced to pulp and his eyes rolled back in pain. Ares watched in disbelief, torn between worrying about the consequences or praising his son's strength. He chose the second. "Nice throw, champ! Give me a five" he said smiling, a new willingness to fight ready to get the better of other emotions. "Honey! You alright? You're bleeding..."

"Y/N?" he asked looking at his beautiful wife. His eyes filled with joy and Ares thought he might burst into tears at any moment. He wasted no time and ran to embrace you, while you reciprocated the grip, your smaller figure completely hidden in the other's arms. "I'm here" you talked in a sweet and motherly way, reassuring your dear. "Hi, dad" said Phobos after a few seconds of silent. "Hey, buddy"

"Don't worry, honey. We got this..." you did a little pause before your voice became as loud and threatening as a thunder "...LET'S FIGHT!"

And the fight began as soon as Phobos kicked right in the balls of an opponent. Armonia and Diomede started throwing as many rocks as possible, their aim unerring after years of training with their father. The god of war never felt more proud when he saw how much his family loved him: the way they were ready to stand up for him when no one wanted to do that, he felt real joy.

On the other hand, you were hyping up your squad of hurricanes, hitting someone every now and then. Your heart bursted as Ares decided to join the fray too, smiling more than ever and ready to stand by your side. You couldn't help but bursting out laughing thanks to the adrenaline of the moment. The battlefield became a majestic ballroom solo, where you and your husband were the only ones dancing, while the screams and the cracking of bones were the melody to your bloody dance.

But suddenly, a terrible doubt came to Ares. He stopped to count his children. "One, two, three...dear?"

"Yes?"

"Where's Deimos?"

You stopped too. You watched each other for just over a second, confused as hell. Then you talked: "He was with Hermes, he probably decided to take him somewhere safe"

"Yeah, probably"

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

In the meantime, right on the roof of the square where the brawl was taking place, Hermes sighed looking defeated. "I owe you big money, little one" he said, still looking down. Deimos laughed, counting the money he was holding. "Told you he was going to join the fight, don't understimate my father! Or you'll end up like them" he said pointing to a few biodies lying on the ground. "I would never, little lord"

And then, they watched the fight again, a sense of pride in their hearts. Ares might not stand up for his ideals, but his family would always be ready to defend him; and no matter how many enemies they had to fight, they would stick together, no matter what.

#record of ragnarok headcanons #record of ragnarok #ror x reader #ror x you #ror ares #record of ragnarok ares #shumatsu no valkyrie #shuumatsu no valkyrie x reader #ror imagines #snv x reader #snv x you #snv x y/n #snv ares #request rules #request

[gryfferin-gaybies]

Prompt - Please stay

When Harry walked into the pub, of course he noticed that platinum blond head of hair immediately. Of course his eyes were naturally drawn to the tall, lean, pale figure sitting at the bar.

And of course it hurt to see him again. It had been less than two months since they ended their year-old relationship. They'd fought frequently as a couple but that last fight was different. They'd yelled and screamed so much Harry lost his voice. They'd hurled insults at each other that hit hard and cut deep. Draco stormed out during arguments all the time, but he always came back. Harry waited over a week and Draco never came back, never reached out, never responded to Harry's owls, texts, calls, or Floos.

Harry's breath caught in his throat at the sight of Draco sitting at the bar with another man—who was leaning in way too close in Harry's opinion. His gait faltered but he quickly recovered, tearing his eyes away from the painful scene and refocusing on his coworkers.

They'd had an absolutely grueling day in the field so when one of the Aurors on Harry's team said drinks were on him, no one turned down the offer. A couple of hours after they arrived, they practically took up the entire back end of the pub, spread across multiple tables. A group of four played a game of darts while two others drunkenly argued over a game of chess. Some had formed a crowd around the telly to shout about the Quidditch match. No one seemed to mind; in fact, aside from them not many people were there at all.

"Harry. . . Harry. . . Auror Potter. . . Harry Potter!" Auror Kane snapped his fingers in Harry's face. "Do you want another," he asked when he finally had Harry's attention.

"Huh?" Harry hadn't even finished his first glass while most of his coworkers were working on their third or fourth. "Oh, no, I'm alright." Harry was sitting at a table with five other Aurors but he wasn't paying attention to them at all. He didn't have the energy to try to engage in conversation with them. He didn't pretend to try like he normally did when he was around people. He was too busy recovering from the shit show of a day he'd had. . . And staring at Draco and the guy he was with.

Draco was clearly inebriated, swaying slightly on his barstool and getting more handsy with the other man as the night went on. It concerned Harry because Draco didn't like being drunk in public. He didn't like being anything but clearheaded when he wasn't in the comfort of his own home or a close friend's.

It made something uneasy settle in Harry's gut and he had a feeling he might want to stay sober so he approached the bar to order himself a water. He made sure to stay a few feet away and on the side behind Draco, hoping to avoid being seen. He wasn't far enough to avoid hearing their conversation.

"What will it take to get you to come home with me?" Harry didn't mean to eavesdrop. Those words from whoever that stranger was just caught his attention.

"Like, three more drinks," Draco slurred. That was the last thing he needed, in Harry's opinion.

"We can make that happen, but why don't we continue drinking at my place where we can get more comfortable, hmm?" He trailed his finger along the inside of Draco's exposed wrist, up his arm, and stopping at his elbow to continue from his chest to his throat.

Draco nodded. "As long as I'm too pissed to remember this tomorrow." He giggled and swayed on his stool, taking another long gulp of whatever he was drinking.

The man laughed at that and it set Harry off. This man was very clearly sober enough to realize he was taking advantage of Draco, but Harry wasn't going to allow that.

He walked over to the two men, fueled by his own anger, and left his water behind on the bar. "I think it's time for you to go," he warned the other man, stepping in the small space between them with his back to Draco.

The prick just smiled at Harry. "Thats exactly what we were intending to do. Isn't that right, Draco?"

Harry spared a glance at Draco to find that he suddenly seemed very tired. Up close Harry could see the bags under his eyes and the worry in his eyes, things someone who didn't know him so well would've missed entirely. "Potter, what're you doing?" Draco pinched the bridge of his nose.

Things seemed to connect in asshole's brain and realization showed in his wide-eyed expression. "Potter? Harry Potter? You're . . . Oh ."

Harry ignored him, instead answering Draco's question, still glaring at the now-nervous stranger. "Keeping this prick from taking advantage of you."

"I didn't ask for your help! You weren't even supposed to be here. Would you just leave? I can handle myself." His words were so slurred Harry knew he wasn't in any state to make decisions.

Harry finally turned around. "I'm not going to let you do something you'll regret tomorrow, if you even remember it." He crossed his arms over his chest.

"The goal is not to," he mumbled to himself. "I'm an adult. If I want to go home with him I can, and I do so I will." He tilted his glass back and finished its contents. "Now if you'll excuse me." He pushed past Harry to drag the other man away by the arm, stumbling as he did so. The asshole allowed himself to be pulled away with a sly smirk.

Harry followed them, catching up with a couple quick strides. "Draco, no." He grabbed Draco's arm just above the elbow and pulled him back.

He whirled around to face Harry and paled, looking as if he was about to be sick, but he didn't pause. "What is your problem?" Draco yelled, drawing attention to the three men. Luckily, it was getting late and the bar was nearly empty. Harry noticed then that his coworkers had all left at some point.

"What is your problem?" Harry shot back. "You're getting drunk in public, going home with a stranger. Why are you being so reckless?"

Draco scoffed. "Don't act like you care, Pot—" Draco cut off suddenly and Accio'd a trash bin, puking as soon as it got to him.

"I'm going to go. Draco, you have my number. Call me if you'd like to meet up again, yes?" The other man began to retreat.

"No, don't go," Draco protested, but it was useless because he threw up again as soon as he said it. "See what you did? You ruined my night!" He said once the prick left.

"Yes, because that was all me. I'm sure it had nothing to do with your getting sick." Harry rolled his eyes, his voice dripping in sarcasm.

Deciding he wasn't going to be sick anymore, Draco walked to the pub's exit. "Just go home, Potter. You've done enough for one night."

Harry placed extra galleons on the bar as an apology, then followed Draco. "Oh, no. I'm not going anywhere until I get you home safe. You're in no state to be Apparating yourself." Harry pulled his wand and stepped close to Draco.

"I can Apparate myself home. I'm not that pissed." That was a lie.

Instead of arguing, Harry just wrapped an arm around Draco's waist and Apparated them back to Draco's flat. The moment they arrived, Draco scurried to the bathroom to puke again.

Harry followed him. He opened the cabinet behind the mirror where he knew Draco kept most of his potions. He pulled out some Sober-Up and then wet a towel with warm water. "Here, drink this." He handed Draco—who was seated on the floor in front of the toilet— the Sober-Up.

"Thanks," the blond mumbled, downing the potion in one gulp. He made a sour face at the taste and Harry offered him a cup of water he'd summoned from the kitchen. He sipped at it and then placed it on the counter.

Harry handed him the damp towel to wipe his face, then sat in the floor with Draco with his eyes closed, saying nothing. He wasn't sure how long they sat like that before he broke their heavy silence. "Do you want to tell me what that was about?" He looked at Draco then.

Draco cast his gaze downward and shrugged one shoulder. "I dunno," he murmured.

There was another pause before Harry sighed. "Do you want me to just leave?" Draco had been the one to walk out on him after all. He probably didn't want to see Harry.

"No!" Draco blurted, too loud for the small space. He took a breath and tried again. "I mean, no, I —" Harry noticed tears start to form in Draco's eyes so he moved closer, concerned. Draco allowed Harry to pull him into a hug. "I just can't believe she's gone," he whispered.

"What? Who's gone?" Harry's blood ran cold. He hadn't heard about any deaths recently, but that could be why his friends had prevented him from reading the papers.

Draco sniffled and pulled away from Harry, wiping at the tears that had escaped. "You really don't know?"

Harry shook his head, confused and concerned.

"My mother, she . . ." Draco broke off, unable to say it.

"Oh Merlin, Draco, I had no clue." He knew Narcissa hadn't been well, but he hadn't heard this terrible news. There was no way he'd have been willing to give Draco space if he knew he was suffering. Then it made sense why his friends wouldn't want him to know. He pulled Draco back into his chest. "I'm so sorry."

"I just . . . didn't want to be alone, didn't want to be stuck with my thoughts. I needed a distraction."

Harry could feel Draco's tears wetting his shirt, but he didn't mind. "Hey, it's alright," Harry tried to soothe him. "You're not alone. I'm right here."

Draco sobbed, his whole body shaking as he let himself fall apart in Harry's arms. He adjusted their position so he was sitting between Harry's legs, crying into his chest, his arms wrapped around Harry's neck.

Harry didn't know what to do so he just held him there, rubbing his back gently. "I've got you. It's ok." Minutes went by like this, with Harry just holding Draco and reassuring him that he wasn't alone.

Draco finally calmed down— seeming to be out of tears for the time being—but they stayed in that position on the floor. "Harry?" He said eventually. His voice was small and it broke on the name.

Harry's heart did a flip in his chest—that he pretended not to feel—at hearing Draco call him by his first name. His own heartbreak was not as important as Draco right now. "Yes, love?" The term of endearment was a habit and Harry cursed himself for using it then.

But Draco either didn't notice or didn't mind. "Please, stay with me?" Harry could hear the hope and need in his voice. There was no way he could say no. There was no way he'd ever want to say no to this man.

Harry nodded and squeezed him tighter. "Of course. As long as you need me."

Can also be read here on Ao3

#draco x harry #harry potter #drarry #drarry fanfic #fanfic #adult drarry #microfic #ao3fic #drarry microfic #drarry whump #hurt/comfort #minor character death #drarry angst #drinking

[jalwoorideul]

The Airport Incident

synopsis: the incident which made protecting yeona at airports, seungcheol's personal mission

year: 2016

warning: cursing, insults, slight violenve

------

Yeona had a rough time early in their rookie days. Likely because debuting in a group dominated by 13 men as the only female member didn't seem favorable to a lot of people.

She was subject to a lot of criticism and hate. She hated it. It absolutely broke her to constantly hear these for a year

Why is she there?

They would do better without her.

I wouldn't even be surprised if she seduced one of them. Probably all of them.

It became worse when they were scheduled to fly from Seoul to New York for Kcon.

Yeona had a security team plus her members to guard her if anything went wrong but some moments still surprises her.

Seungcheol was walking beside her. The rest of the members were either ahead or behind them. She had a mask on, her passport and ticket in her hands, and a bag craddling on her shoulder.

It would've been a normal airport day, until the unprecedented happened. They might have slipped passed their attention because the next thing Yeon knew someone was pulling on her hair.

"You're such a slut!" A woman, who could've been in her late teens or early twenties shouted at her after she took a good tug.

Shock would've been an understatement for everyone. "What the hell?!" Seungcheol shouted quickly putting himself in front of Yeona to cover her from the woman. The other members approached their leader and female member as well for defense while the security team was taking the woman away. "They would've done fine without you!", the woman added before she was finally escorted away.

Her and the members were also being asked to walk faster and to get away from the crowd, to get more privacy.

Yeona was stil recovering from the shock. Her hand was on the back of her head, and her other was holding onto Seungcheol's arms for support. The leader had his arms wrapped around the girl while rubbing ber back.

"Are you okay? Did she do anything else?" asked the elder, with his eyes on the girls face, which she replied with a, "No. I'm fine, just a bit surprised"

"What the fuck just happened?" Mingyu whisper-shouted who just recovered from the shock himself, and quickly came over to check on his friend. "What is their problem? That was so uncalled for!" Seungkwan exclaimed.

"Yeona, oh my god" Seokmin stated in a concerned voice as he touched her face. Wonwoo approached her next. Worry was clearly evident in his face and one look at her expression he quickly knew that she was holding back her tears. "You're not okay...", He whispered to her. It was a signal for her that it was okay to cry.

Seungcheol let go of his hold on her and passed her to Wonwoo so he can replace him in comforting her. "I'll talk to security"

"You know it's not true right? Whatever they said" She heard Jeonghan say from behind. "We want you here with us." Vernon adds to the conversation. One-by-one the members added words if affirmation, enough to help Yeona dismiss the thoughts of whatever was thrown at her.

We're glad you debuted with us.

We wouldn't want anyone else to debut with us.

You deserve to be here.

No one else could have done a better job than you.

"We need you with us" Wonwoo added as he kissed to crown of her head.

From the corner of her eye, she could see her leader talking to tge security team and their manager.

She couldn't hear well but Seungcheol was asking to double security on her because he now realizes how serious the hate around her was going that it would lead to the point that people would harass her in public, where he also asked their manager to quickly contact their company to have someone deal with it and have someone take legal action on whoever harasses her next.

Once he had returned from his conversation, he returned back to the girl who was being held by Wonwoo. "Yeona I'm so sorry I let this happen" Seungcheol told the younger member.

The 96 liner let go of his hold but still stood close enough, "Oppa, it's not your fault. Don't say sorry"

"I still should've watch out for you out there, I should've kept an eye op-" his rumbling was stopped by her hand touching his shoulder. "Stop beating yourself up over something you didn't know would happen. It was scary but I'm okay now."

"I'll protect you better from now on" He promised

She continued talking "You're doing a great job already"

#jalwoorideul: yeona #yeona.writing #kpop additional member #kpop female oc #kpop oc #kpop female addition #seventeen x reader #seventeen female addition #seventeen female oc #seventeen female member #seventeen 14th member #choi seungcheol #s.coups x reader #seungcheol x reader

[forgottenvice]

University roommates

Prompt: Bana - Roomates in Uni/ consoling after a date gone bad [either sabotaged by the other party or no 😂]

AO3

Mobei Jun sat on his bed, knee bouncing impatiently as he scrolled through instagram.

There were plenty of photos at the party. His teammates doing shots, classmates smiling at the camera, alongside a hundred other people he didn't recognize. None of them mattered because he hadn't managed to spot the tell-tale bun of his roommate in any of the photos.

Nor was he able to pick out Luo Binghe's iconic curls, the fact that neither of them appeared on anyone's feed made something dark and caustic churn in his gut.

He wondered once again if he should have kept an eye on Shang Qinghua's date. He was small and vulnerable. What if Luo Binghe tried to force him to do something he didn't want? The star quarterback had a reputation for getting his way and Shang Qinghua wouldn't stand a chance.

Then he saw it, a snapchat just posted by Sha Hualing with some girl he recognized as the field hockey captain, there in the background.

It was Luo Binghe crowding someone against a wall, his body was blocking the other person but Mobei Jun was sure he knew exactly who the man was towering over.

He was tensed ready to leap to his feet when the sound of someone fiddling with the door reached him. When it opened he knew it could only be one person so he tamped down on the panic and leaned back trying to affect an air of disinterest while glaring down at the insulting image on his phone.

He did his very best not to look up, it wasn't Shang Qinghua's fault Mobei Jun was upset. Mobei Jun knew it was his own fault for not making a move, but his traitorous heart lifted just a little, because if Shang Qinghua was back already perhaps Luo Binghe's moves hadn't worked.

He refused to look up as Shang Qinghua threw his keys and wallet on his own bed, and it took all of his will power not to make a sound as the man sat on Mobei's bed and tiredly placed his head in Mobei Jun's lap.

It wasn't unusual for Qinghua to seek Mobei out for human contact when he was sad or upset and that thought made the anger boil up once more.

"How did your date go?" he winced at his own clipped tone. It was always difficult to control his jealousy around the object of his affection, but he wished for Shang Qinghua's sake he could have been just a bit softer.

"Great!" the cheerful tone sounded forced, "A stunning success! Binghe got exactly what he wanted." There was a bitterness in that statement and Mobei Jun felt his phone creak in his grip.

"If he did something I'll--"

"No! no, he didn't do anything to me." He moved but Shang Qinghua pat his thigh, it was embarrassing how quickly the action placated him

Qinghua let out a world weary sigh.

"It was a fake date, Luo Binghe and I had arranged it to make the people we actually want to date jealous. It actually worked pretty well for him, Shen Yuan was very deep in the closet. Only took him shouting that I'm not good enough for Binghe and a minor mental breakdown for him to figure it out."

Qinghua sighed again, and Mobei Jun felt the sneer grace his lips.

"If anything you're too good for Binghe."

"Thank you!" Qinghua turned towards keeping his head firmly in Mobei's lap, Mobei's heart leapt to his throat. "I was the one who came up with the damn plan in the first place! And it only worked for him." He huffed childishly curling into himself dangerously close to Mobei's crotch.

He took a steadying breath before asking.

"Why didn't it work for you?" He swallowed thickly, watching Qinghua closely even as the man tried to hide under his bangs.

"Because the guy I was trying to make jealous wasn't even there. My master plan was foiled by statistics homework." Mobei Jun furrowed his brow. Why would anyone disappoint Shang Qinghua?

Whoever this guy was, he was a fool, except Qinghua was peeking up at him like he was expecting something.

And then it clicked. Mobei remembered his excuse for not going to the party, 'last minute statistics assignment' one invented on the spot so he wouldn't have to watch Shang Qinghua enjoy himself on a date with someone else.

"I dunno I think it worked." He pulled up the snapchat he'd been looking at, "Is this you?"

"huh?" Shang Qinghua leaned up to inspect the picture, "Of course not, she took that five minutes ago. Pretty sure Shen Yuan's about to get laid."

"Good," Not for Shen Yuan but for Mobei, the possessive jealousy warmed into something else, something he was eager to explore. He tossed his phone across the room to Qinghua's bed and leaned down.

Before the smaller man could move Mobei Jun pressed their lips together, a hand snaking around Qinghua's waist. The position felt right, like puzzle pieces locking into place.

By the time the kiss was done Qinghua's arms had wrapped around his own neck and a hand had buried itself in Mobei's hair.

He felt lighter than he had all night, and looking into deep brown eyes it seemed as if Shang Qinghua was very much on the same wavelength.

A small victorious smirk quirked at the side of his mouth and Mobei Jun wanted to kiss it away.

"All according to plan."

#Moshang #prompt fics #My writing #and they were roommates #modern AU

[helcria]

Sayato’s Story Chapter 1

i had an earlier draft of this but i felt like revamping it and splitting it more efficiently into chapters than i did first time writing it- this feels more prologue-y than anything really so i was torn between calling it chapter 1 or prologue lmfao. anyway i’ve worked on this for over a year now and maybe if i actually start posting chapters it’ll motivate me to actually get this full thing finished. 

this story series is going to get heavy. if you’re particularly sensitive toward the subject matter of bullying/abuse this story may not be for you. if other triggering material comes up in future chapters i will be issuing warnings for the things there, as things like the mention of self-harm and suicidal ideations come up later.

anyway enough preamble. story under the cut!

A fight breaks out in the training grounds; it’s a normal sight for instructor Shirou Katsuragi’s class, admittedly- at least, between this pair of students involved anyway. The rest of the class crowds around the two squabbling kids, eager to witness this mess. Shirou, however, was out on a lunch break on what was the final day of class before their graduation the following week.

A blonde girl had a brunette boy pinned to the ground. He struggled to fight back against her, his frame being quite a bit smaller than hers, so it wasn’t working out well in his favor. “You're so cute when you're pathetic and beaten down like this, Sayato!” The girl sneered.

The boy looked more annoyed by her than anything else and gave a roll of his eyes in response before finally speaking up. 

“Shut it Shiori. The mind games aren’t gonna work, haven’t worked in a long time. Everyone here knows you’re in love with Ak-” A swift punch to the brunette’s face shut him up real quick.

“I can't believe someone as weak as you managed to graduate. I feel sorry for whoever gets stuck on your squad considering you can't even fight back against a girl.” Shiori went to insult and degrade him, trying to move the subject on from Sayato’s earlier remark.

“Maybe if you weren't so heavy, I'd have a chance.” Sayato usually didn’t really care to make disparaging remarks like that about others, but landing a low blow on the vain Shiori was an exception to that.

“You FUCKING ASSHOLE!” Shiori immediately brought her hands toward Sayato’s neck. This went from a simple schoolyard fight to a serious one-sided brawl very quickly. She was already mad about Sayato implying who she had a crush on, but now to have him attack her body image was a step too far. 

A gray-haired kid, one who appeared to look a few years younger than the rest of his peers in the class, ran away from the scene. Other kids stood there, discussing it all amongst themselves in the meantime.

A girl who hadn’t been there however, came to the training grounds to see what was going on after having finished her own lunch. When she came onto the scene, the mood changed immediately. Many of the kids tensed up or took their distance from her. Her name is Hibana Uchiha, and she unfortunately has her sharingan activated at all times, unable to turn it off.. She was seen by many as emotionally unstable and intimidating as a result of this.

Despite her reputation, she knew she had to step in. It’s not like anyone else was going to do a damn thing. They’d rather sit around and talk about how funny it is that Sayato’s getting beat up by a girl or who they think Shiori has a thing for. 

Hibana made her way to the center, trying to pull Shiori off of Sayato and shouting “Stop!”

Shiori did as Hibana said, giving a glare to the Uchiha who decided to butt into the brawl. “Is this any of your business?”

“I’m...I'm sick of the way you pick on people like Kaiko and Sayato! It's awful! You're awful! You think you're better than everyone else and it's tiring! You don't mess with me, probably because you're scared of me just like Akio is, huh?!” As soon as Hibana said that, more whispers and murmurs started. “Now get off of Sayato, or I'll make you.” She growled, tugging at the blonde’s arm. She didn’t know it, but a second tomoe had formed on her sharingan. 

Before Shiori could respond in turn, the gray-haired youngster returned in tow with an older man. “Again? Jeez…” The white-haired instructor looked exasperated. Not the first time he’s seen Shiori and Sayato duke it out, but it is the first time he’s seen Hibana get involved.

“Kids, stop fighting… you’re all technically genin now, can’t you save this for the battlefield?” A half-hearted response. Again, nothing new. He was used to this, and he was definitely over it all.

“Aw Haine, why’d you have to go and snitch like this? The fight was starting to get good!” A slightly older student with face markings complained at the fight being stopped.

The fight broke up, Shiori getting off of Sayato, Hibana letting go of Shiori’s arm and helping Sayato off of the ground, and the kids separating off into different groups to talk amongst their peers.

Sayato was surprised that someone for once had actually come to his defense. He wasn’t exactly well-liked in class. He made no effort to really socialize with others, and treated class as if it were a joke a lot. Still, he managed to figure out the clone jutsu before anyone else in class could, much to the pleasure of Katsuragi who was probably thankful he didn’t have to deal with the class clown for another semester.

“Uh… thanks for getting involved back there…?” He said, a little awkwardly. 

“You don’t need to thank me!” Hibana replied back. “I’ve kinda been getting tired of her mean girl shtick and this gave me the chance to almost do something about it.” There was a faint blush in her cheeks.

“You’re an Uchiha, right?” Sayato said, asking the stupidly obvious.

Hibana nodded in affirmation.

“If you’ve got any relatives working at the Uchiha police station, do any of them still mention my dad? He liked to help out from time to time, and his birthday is coming up on our graduation day so I’ve been thinking a lot about him lately.”

Hibana gave a contemplative face. “Uhh… there’s a plaque for a guy named Shohei Yasuda there I think, if that’s your dad! It’s been a while since I’ve actually gone to the station myself. I’m not sure if they still talk about him there, adults don’t really like to discuss ‘serious’ stuff with us…”

“That IS my dad!”

Sayato and Hibana talked for a while longer, mostly about family stuff. Or well, in Sayato’s case, lack of family. Sayato had lost his parents when the Nine Tailed Fox rampaged a few years prior, leaving him an orphan. Other topics discussed were what they wanted to do in the future, how much they looked forward to graduation and obtaining their headbands, and getting to know each other. It was funny, neither of them really had reached out to one another outright before besides maybe something as simple as a “Can I borrow a pencil” type of conversation in class, but now that their time in the Academy was up and graduation was imminent, they were getting friendly. It’s the first time in a few years Sayato could say he’s had that kind of connection with someone.

The sun was setting and most kids had already made it back home. Two adults, a man and a woman approached the school grounds, coming up to Hibana.

“Hibana dear, it’s starting to get late.” The woman, presumably her mother, said with a tone indicating it was time for her to get going.

Hibana looked a bit dismayed. She was having a good time with Sayato, but unfortunately home was calling. “Bye Sayato! See you at the graduation ceremony next week!” She said, walking off with her parents.

“See ya! Thanks again for helping out!” Sayato said, being a bit vague about what that helping out entailed as to not snitch her out to her parents.

“Sayato? That's Shohei's boy, right? Glad to hear he graduated too. Maybe you'll be on the same squad as him!” Hibana's dad said, giving a small fatherly ruffle to Hibana's hair.

“Uh huh! And Shohei’s birthday is coming up soon, so you better pay your respects to him!” Hibana said, boasting her newfound information about a man who she didn’t really know, but knew that he obviously mattered to Sayato.

“Oh, is it?” Hibana’s mother said. 

That was all Sayato could hear before the family got out of earshot for him. And there he stood, the last kid at the academy. No parents, no guardians there to drag him home. And it was about time for him to take his leave too.

The lonesome boy made his way back home, greeted by a usual silence. Bunny themed knick-knacks adorned various places within the house. A few picture frames were there, but they were pushed down. Maybe a little too sad to have those up all the time and remind him of what he was robbed of, he thought.

Tonight’s “dinner” composed of a cup of instant ramen. Nutritious. But Sayato didn’t really know how to cook much, and admittedly was a little reckless in how he spent his monthly orphan stipend, but he felt the candy he liked to buy was more worth it than getting something sustainable.

After taking care of some other basic needs like showering and brushing his teeth, it was time for Sayato to go to bed, albeit getting to sleep was a struggle for him, as he did have semi-frequent nightmares. Going to bed was like a gamble, one he didn’t particularly like to take, but an unavoidable one. He flopped into bed, eventually passing out for the night.

#fic #sayato's story #i also didn't have this beta read lol #naruto oc

[em-writes-stuff]

“Can you hear me?”

@febuwhump day 12

warnings: cursing, kidnapping

characters: caretaker, whumper, whumpee

270 words

---

“Whumpee!” Caretaker shouted, “Are you there?” 

They pushed through the crowd, bumping shoulders with anyone in their way. “Whumpee!” they stared out into the sea of people and called out again, “Whumpee, can you hear me?” 

With no response, Caretaker shoved past people, they ignored muttered  insults thrown their way and tried to find somewhere they could stand so they could look out into the crowd. 

They step onto the table and strain to look over everyone’s heads, they cried out, “Whumpee! Where’d you go?!” 

They searched the crowd for Whumpee’s face, but everyone staring at them was unfamiliar to them. Their phone rang in their pocket and they jumped off the table, narrowly avoiding stomping on someone’s feet. “Hello?”

Whoever was calling was hard to understand, they were in a crowd that muddled the audio. “Caretaker?” 

They gasped, “Whumpee? Where’d you go? I turned around and you were gone.” 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see her, I swear-” his voice cut off and a new voice took its place, “Hey Caretaker. Remember me?” 

Their blood ran cold, “Whumper?” 

“You do remember me. That’s good. I just need a little time without having to worry about you fucking anything up for me, then you can have your Whumpee back. Deal?” 

“Let him go.” 

She scoffed, “I just told you you’d get him back. Don’t worry, I fired Henchman; the worst thing that’ll happen to him is a little rope burn. I’ll have him back to you by morning. It’ll be like he never left.” 

The call disconnected and Caretaker stood in the middle of the crowd, letting everyone bump against him. 

#febuwhump #febuwhump2023 #febuwhumpday12 #'can you hear me' #can you hear me #whump #whump fic #whump writing #whumper #whumpee #caretaker #kidnapping fic #em writes #em writes stuff #my writing

[thechroniclesofhadi]

Hadi and the Magic Ring storybook

Long ago, beneath the shimmering stars of an Arabian night, a fantastic tale began to unfold.

Kofir, advisor to the Sultana of Bajida, was searching for a ring hidden in a place known as the Chamber of Parisa. The ring had the power to remove a crystal from the palace’s tallest minaret, for whoever removed it had power over Bajida until it could be put back. Kofir wanted to take the crystal and rule forever, so he and his parrot, Giola, went to the wise woman Ashraqat, the successor of Parisa, for advice.

“The Chamber of Parisa lies on the Island of WaqWaq,” Ashraqat told Kofir. “But only he with the Gilded Heart may enter.” With that, both Ashraqat and her desert hut vanished, leaving Kofir and Giola alone.

“This is ridiculous! At this rate, we’ll never gonna get a hold of that stupid ring!” squawked Giola.

“Patience, Giola,” said Kofir. He thought for a moment. “The ‘Gilded Heart’. I must find him.” he said with a wicked smile.

The next morning in Bajida, two poor boys were helping themselves to breakfast. Their names were Hadi and Mamun. The food seller saw them and sent the Sultana’s chief guard after them.

The guards chased Hadi and Mamun through the streets, but they managed to escape. As they sat down to eat, Hadi noticed two hungry children. Like him and Mamun, they had no money for food. So, although he was starving himself, Hadi gave his food to the grateful children.

Inside the palace, the Sultana was having a difficult morning, too. Her beautiful daughter, Princess Yulia, had insulted yet another prince who had come to propose to her.

“Oh, Yulia, you’ve got to stop rejecting every prince who comes to call,” said the Sultana. “The law says you must marry a prince before your next birthday.”

“The law is wrong. If I do marry, I want it to be for love.” replied Yulia.

Later, Yulia thought “I’ve never been outside these palace walls. I must get away before it’s too late.” So she changed into ordinary clothes and climbed over the garden wall to freedom.

Yulia’s eyes grew wide with wonder as she explored the marketplace of Bajida. She had never seen so many strange sights before.

Soon Yulia spotted a hungry child. Without a second thought she plucked an apple from a fruit stand and handed it to him.

“You’d better be able to pay for that!” shouted the fruit seller.

“I’m sorry, sir,” stammered the princess. “I don’t have any money. But if you let me go to the palace, I can get some from the Sultana.”

“How about that pretty bracelet of yours?” suggested the fruit seller slyly.

Luckily for Yulia, Hadi and Mamun came by just in time. “Forgive my poor sister,” Hadi said to the fruit seller. “She’s a bit crazy. She thinks the Sultana knows her.”

As the fruit seller thought this over, the trio disappeared into the crowd. 

Meanwhile, in his secret lair in the palace, Kofir consulted his magic book. “Reveal to me the one with the Gilded Heart!” he commanded. 

Gradually, an image began to appear. It was the image of Hadi!

Kofir turned to Giola. “So, this boy is here in Bajida, eh? I have ways of persuading peasants like him.”

Hadi led Yulia up to his and Mamun’s roof-top home. “We’re safe here.” said Mamun. “Where do you come from?” Hadi asked the girl.

“I ran away from home,” replied Yulia. “My mother wants me to get married.”

“That’s awful!” Hadi exclaimed.

Suddenly, their eyes met, and they leaned towards one another for a kiss.

Just then, the guards arrived, searching for Yulia. Before Hadi and Mamun could get away, the guards grabbed them.

Angrily, Yulia threw back her hood. “Unhand them, by order of the Princess!”

“The Princess?” repeated the boys in surprise.

Stunned to see the Princess, the guards let Hadi and Mamun go. But all Hadi could think about was Yulia.

“She’s a princess!” Mamun said. “She deserves a prince, and we’re a couple of street urchins.”

But that didn’t stop Hadi. That night, he and Mamun crept into the palace to see Yulia. They didn’t know they were being watched!

“Our guy’s in the palace!” Giola told Kofir while the boys visited the princess. Just as they were about to leave, the guards grabbed them.

The two were brought before Kofir. “I can help you impress the princess,” he said. “if you will retrieve my enchanted ring from the isle of WaqWaq.” Hadi eagerly agreed, not knowing that Yulia had overheard them.

However, Kofir planned to take the ring for himself. So, with his knowledge of magic, he turned Giola into a human girl to disguise her.

“Once the ring is found, steal it from the street urchin,” he ordered her.

The next day, Yulia joined Hadi and Mamun as they met Daud the sailor. “Somebody has to make sure you don’t fail.” she smiled. Then away they sailed in Daud’s little ship for WaqWaq!

But soon, Mamun found Giola, who had stowed away. “Who are you?” he asked, not recognizing the parrot in her human form. “My name’s Halima,” the girl lied.

Just then, flying pirate imps attacked the ship! “Hand over your booty!” their leader shrieked.

“If I don’t do something, I could get hurt,” Giola said. So she threw hot spices into the imp leader’s eyes. The imps flew away, and the ship was saved.

The others were grateful, and decided to bring her along. “You saved our lives,” Mamun told her. “Thanks a bunch!”

Giola smiled. No one had ever said such a nice thing to her before. Certainly not Kofir!

Before long, they reached the island of WaqWaq. There, they passed through the Valley of Brass. Soon, they passed by a large stone building with a huge brass statue on top.

Peeking inside, they found gold and jewels - but it was all fit for giants! “Maybe we should move on,” Mamun suggested. But Giola picked up a giant pearl.

Suddenly, there was a loud rumble. The five ran out just as the statue came to life. Spotting the group, it tried to crush them!

But Hadi was clever. Thinking fast, he lured the brass giant to a cliff. “Come and get me!” he yelled.

At the last second, he jumped to the side, leaving the living statue to tumble off the edge and crash to the bottom.

Now that they were safe, they reached the Chamber of Parisa without trouble. Another living statue -this one with glowing eyes - greeted them. “Touch nothing but the ring,” it said. “and leave before the time is up.”

Hadi entered the dark chamber alone. In the first room, he found a friendly Mechanical Flying Horse. The Horse led him to another room and the magic ring. But just as Hadi grabbed it, the skeletal guardians of the chamber attacked!

Hadi jumped onto the Horse and they flew to the entrance of the chamber. But by then, it was almost closed! Right as the skeleton warriors surrounded them, Hadi rubbed the ring, wishing for a miracle.

Quick as a wink, Hadi and the Horse found themselves outside with the others, just as a genie appeared from the ring in a puff of pink and green smoke! The genie’s name was Jinda.

“You’re a lot taller than my last master,” Jinda said to Hadi.

“Hadi’s your master?” asked Mamun in surprise.

“That’s right,” replied Jinda. “I’m here for his every wish fulfillment.”

“What would you wish for?” Hadi asked.

“That’s easy,” said the genie. “For my freedom. But the ring has to be destroyed.”

Hadi tried to imagine living the life of a genie. Then he said “I’ll try to have you freed somehow.”

Later, Hadi managed to convince Yulia to go on a night ride on the Mechanical Horse. The couple enjoyed their romantic ride. Then they flew back to WaqWaq to rejoin the others.

Meanwhile, Giola had a problem. She was falling in love with Mamun, and she found that she couldn’t steal from his friend. Little did she know that Kofir’s little minion was spying on her!

As the group’s ship set sail for home, Kofir spoke to Giola through his magic. “If you wish for Mamun to live, you will retrieve the ring.” he said to the startled parrot-girl.

Giola was afraid of what Kofir might do. So she stole the ring from Hadi. However, the others caught her in the act. “Halima, what are you doing?” Mamun exclaimed in shock.

Kofir magically projected his image onto the ship. “The girl and my parrot are the same,” he said mockingly as he turned Giola back into a parrot. Then, he sunk the ship!

Luckily, the Horse was there to save them. Quickly, they followed Giola back to Bajida.

But it was too late. Now that he had the ring at last, Kofir had Jinda take down the crystal from the minaret. Next, he had Jinda give him stronger magic, imprisoned the Sultana and the group and decided to make Yulia his queen.

Giola felt so guilty! This was all her fault. At last, she came to a decision. She flew down to the dungeon and freed her friends. 

Meanwhile, refusing to marry Kofir, Yulia snatched the ring from him and escaped on the Mechanical Horse. Kofir was furious. He turned into a naga- half human, half serpent!

The group fought hard against the dark sorcerer. “Kofir’s bound his spirit to his magic staff,” Jinda called out to Hadi. “To get rid of him, we have to destroy it!”

First they had to retrieve the crystal. However, Kofir summoned a wild volcano. Everything in his path turned to fiery liquid. Then Kofir saw Hadi reach for the crystal, so he melted the ground all around him.

Hadi couldn’t reach the crystal!

Giola decided she had to help her new friends. The brave little bird snatched the crystal and gave it to Hadi. But Kofir zapped her with a bolt of lightning!

While Kofir was distracted, Hadi did the only thing he could think of. He threw the crystal at the sorcerer’s staff, knocking it into the bubbling lava. That was the end of Kofir!

As Hadi escaped with Giola, the magic ring slipped from his grasp, into the lava. Then it was gone. Jinda was free!

But by now, Giola’s spirit had slipped from her body. “I know someone who can help,” Jinda said. She summoned Ashraqat, who entered the underworld to retrieve the parrot’s spirit. 

“For this one,” said Ashraqat. “I give my magic and right as Parisa’s successor.” Soon, Giola’s spirit was reunited with her body. Only she could change back into a human whenever she wanted to!

After everyone returned to the palace, the Sultana said to Hadi “You have certainly proved your worth. It’s the law that’s the problem. From this day on the Princess shall marry anyone she deems worthy!”

“I choose Hadi,” Said Yulia.

Now that the crystal was back in its rightful place and the kingdom was safe, Hadi and Yulia shared a gentle kiss and flew off on the Mechanical Horse.

It was time for them to see the world!

[exemplarybehaviour]

sometimes i look at other people and wonder, “weird, how do you know that person is really your friend if they’re not constantly dragging you?” and then i remember other people make friends who aren’t fucking scorpios 

#scorpio #i just shout an insult into a crowd and whoever shouts back gets to be my friend #and 80% of the time it's a goddamn scorpio

[cardansriddle]

Tom Riddle- Possessive

Summary: When Tom Riddle sees you dancing intimately with two guys, he loses his temper. His jealousy gets the better of him as he drags you away from the party and decides to show you who you belong to.

Warnings: Implied smut, making out. 

A/N: REQUESTS FOR TOM RIDDLE ARE OPEN.

The Slytherin common room was buzzing with energy, as drunk students danced against each other all the while consuming more Firwhiskey, trying to let loose after a week of exhausting exams. `Some coupled were sprawled on the couches, kissing each other shamelessly like there was nobody else in the room, while some danced away as if there was no tomorrow.

You are no exception, with a drink in your hand, body swaying in the little dress that you decided to wear, basking in the moment of pure bliss. You were not drunk no, yet you were tipsy enough to be pressed against two bodies in the crowded room of sweaty people.

Abraxas Malfoy was behind you, hands on your hips as you moved against each other to the rhythm of the music, your head was thrown back on his shoulder. Then there was Avery, also swaying drunkenly in front of you as his hands ran over the entirety of your body.

It was all a girl could ask for really; two of the most desired guys having their attention focused solely on you, admiring you with their eyes and hands alike.

Avery’s hand trailed upwards from your waist, where it was previously positioned until it reached your face and cupped your jaw. He brought your face closer to his, smirking at your breathless and hazy state before laying a kiss on the other side of your jaw, before trailing kisses upwards until his lips hovered above your own. You held your breath, waiting eagerly for him to close the distance when he was suddenly yanked away, and a hand gripped your wrist before pulling you away from the crowd.

You frowned in confusion and tried to tug your hand away from whoever was dragging you towards the corner of the common room.

“Who the fuck do you think you are? Let me go, bastard! ” You shouted, stomping your foot like a child and standing your ground. You were about to hurl another set of insults when the unnamed person turned towards you, and the words died in your mouth.

“Riddle?” You asked bewildered, eyes wide and breath uneven as you stared at him. His usually perfectly styled hair was now tousled as if he had been running his hands through them non-stop, and his eyes were darker than the night as he glared at you with such intensity, you resisted the urge to look away.

He said nothing, instead pushed you against the wall roughly, his hands on either side of your head, leaving you trapped between him and the wall. He leaned in dangerously close, and your breath quickened at the proximity.

“Are you trying to drive me insane?” He hissed, his breath fanning your face. You furrowed your brows in confusion, not having a clue as to what he was referring to.

“What do you mean?” You gulped nervously.

“Merlin, you are making me mad. Pressed against not one but two men, are you taunting me?” He asked and one of his hands wrapped around your throat, causing your eyes to widen. You felt excitement bubbling beneath your skin at the action, and you cursed yourself for feeling so aroused all of a sudden.

“You’re jealous.” You breathed out, your words coming out not as a question but a statement. His glare hardened at what you had just said, and he tightened his grip on your throat, leaning even closer to you so that your noses were brushing against each other.

“But why would you be jealous?” You dared to ask him, not understanding his behaviour. His jealousy did not justify his anger that was directed towards you. Before this party, you and Riddle had never spoken beyond casualties, meaning you had been oblivious to Tom’s little infatuation with you.

“Because you are mine, darling.” His lips curled into a smirk, one that made your stomach twist wildly. You resisted the urge to shudder, and instead bit your lip nervously.

“Bold of you to assume I belong to anybody. Let alone you.”

He suddenly chuckled, yet you knew it was not from amusement. It was laced with something dark. “Be careful of what you say, you might not enjoy the consequences.” He stepped impossibly closer and pushed your legs apart with his knee. His hand left your throat, instead, it travelled downwards until it reached the hem of your dress. His hand slipped up, caressing the inner part of your thigh, his eyes never leaving your face as he watched your eyes close in pleasure. His smirk widened.

“Tom...” You said his name, your lips involuntarily parting. Had your eyes been open, you would have seen the way his eyes darkened at the way you said his name, and he did not hesitate before pressing his lips firmly against yours in a desperate attempt to feel more of you. You looped your arms around Tom’s neck and threaded your fingers within his soft locks and tugged at it, smirking against his lips in satisfaction once he hissed at the action.

He swiped his tongue against your lower lip and pushed his tongue inside your mouth, deepening the kiss. With his other hand, he jerked your hips closer to his and you pulled away with a gasp when his hands wrapped beneath your thighs and you did not waste a second before jumping and wrapping your legs around his hips.

He pushed his hips against yours, and you moaned at the sensation of him rubbing against you. He emitted a low groan, his eyes clouded with pure desire as he pulled away from your lips in order to trail kisses down your throat.

He kissed, bit and sucked against several spots, making sure to mark you as his for everyone to see later on. You did not complain. How could you when his lips were sucking on a particular sweet spot on your throat that had you seeing stars.

“Tom,” You moaned, “touch me.” You practically pleaded.

He pulled away from the assault on your neck, and you watched as he stared at the bruises on your neck with possessiveness and satisfaction.

“Oh I will. I will do more than just touch you.” He said before leaning and whispering against my ear. “I will fucking ruin you.” His eyes glinted with malice as he looked at your face to gauge your reaction, and was pleased when he saw you panting with desire.

“But not here for everyone to see what is meant to be seen only by my eyes.” He lowered you to the ground, grabbing your wrist and pulling you towards the dorms. As he was leading you there, he turned towards you. “I will teach you a lesson that will make you understand that you are mine, and mine only.”

#tom riddle #tom riddle smut #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle fanfic #tom riddle fluff #tom riddle angst #tom riddle one shot #smut #harry potter #tom riddle fanfiction #slytherin #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x oc #tom riddle imagine #tmr #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle fic #jealous tom riddle #minific #prompt #tom riddle masterlist #tom riddle imagines #posessive tom riddle

[wondernimbus]

two sworn enemies — draco malfoy

pairing: draco malfoy x female!reader

summary: there is only one thing worse than being hated by draco malfoy; it’s being fancied by him.

requests are closed for now! please refrain from plagiarizing my work.

After being on the receiving end of Malfoy's torment for four whole years at Hogwarts—a place where she's supposed to be making friends and learning and making the most out of all her youthful years—[Y/N] is beginning to grow tired.

The last thing she’s supposed to be worrying about is a snarky Slytherin boy who always has some sort of rude remark resting on his lips every time he comes across her in the corridors. Or anywhere, for that matter—Draco Malfoy's incessant jest seems to stay within no boundaries.

Eleven-year-old [Y/N] used to be fazed by it; she used to cry herself to sleep every time the platinum blond would push past her in the hallway, yelling out something offensive on his way, usually to do with her friendship with blood-traitors and the "big-headed" Harry Potter (or so Malfoy referred to him). She used to feel angry—angry enough to want to whip her wand out at him and hex him into oblivion every time he'd even as much as lay eyes on her. But the more Malfoy tried to bother her, the more it didn't anymore.

Fourth year wasn't so bad. Malfoy had already called her about a hundred nasty names at that point and was running out of them—his creativity was dwindling and [Y/N]'s concern along with it. She'd even laughed at him, one time during Transfiguration class—genuinely laughed, not out of frustration or anger but because she found something that he said to her funny.

"How does it feel being surrounded by blood-traitors and Mudbloods, [Y/L/N]? Pity you chose the wrong crowd to hang around."

"How did it feel to get punched by a girl, Malfoy? I hear Hermione packs quite a punch."

Malfoy’s nose had wrinkled into his signature sneer before he scoffed. "Tell Granger she can improve her right hook." At which point [Y/N] had snorted out a laugh—and yes, it wasn't a full-blown burst of chortles, but it was a laugh nonetheless.

Fifth year rolls around and Draco Malfoy is the least of [Y/N]'s worries. She's gotten over his nagging at this point; all his jabs have lost a bit, if not all of their luster.

But then a week after classes have started, Malfoy starts acting—weird. Very weird. [Y/N] has no idea what's gotten into him, but Draco's cruel insults seem to have veered off course and taken a very dramatic turn. He still yells at her in the hallways, but not to make some harmful jibe [Y/N] has heard thousands of times before. Instead Draco—yes, Draco Malfoy, the same boy who has never once failed to torment her in the past years they've known each other—has now made it a habit to yell pick-up lines. At her. At [Y/N]. At the same girl he's been bad-mouthing for the past four years.

The first time it happens, [Y/N] can't believe her ears. She thinks he's yelling at someone else other than her, because there is no way bloody Draco Malfoy is shouting "DO YOU PLAY QUIDDITCH? BECAUSE YOU SEEM LIKE A KEEPER" at her from halfway across the Great Hall.

But he's definitely staring at her, grinning widely in that conceited sort of way that [Y/N] has always despised.

"Is he talking to me?" [Y/N] asks Hermione, bewildered.

"Looks like it." Hermione looks just as surprised as her. "Knowing Malfoy, he's not up to anything good. Ignore him, [Y/N]."

But ignoring Draco Malfoy is not something [Y/N] is capable of; the feistiness in her makes sure of that. So instead of moving on and turning a blind eye, she cups her hands over her mouth and yells, just as loud, "ARE YOU A BLUDGER? BECAUSE I'D LOVE TO BASH A BEATER'S BAT INTO YOUR—"

Whatever Malfoy is up to, [Y/N] isn't entirely sure she's enjoying it. The next afternoon—also in the Great Hall, while [Y/N] is doing her homework instead of eating lunch (because Snape apparently thinks it's a good idea to ask for a four-page essay when the school year has barely even started), there's a thump and [Y/N] looks up to see that there's a little red envelope sitting on her empty plate. Looking even further up, she sees an owl flying away from the table and out of the roof of the Great Hall, where the owls always come from to deliver letters—although that only happens at breakfast. Which means this is from someone else, likely another student.

[Y/N] stares.

"It's a Howler," Harry says from next to her, like she doesn't already know.

"I'm aware," she mutters, narrowing her eyes at it before she sets down her quill to grab it.

"Who would send you a Howler?" Ron has looked up from where he'd been shoveling beans into his plate. He crowds into her space, peering at the envelope she now holds in her hands; and she can't really answer him, because only her name is scribbled across the front in handwriting she doesn't recognize. Whoever sent it to her didn't bother with writing their own name.

She hesitates, brows furrowed as she, too, wonders where it's from. Her parents don't have a reason to send her a Howler—unless she's done something wrong that she isn't aware of. But it's only been a week since school has started and as far as she can tell, she hasn't done anything worthy of being sent a Howler. Or at least not yet.

"Might as well," she sighs—it's going to deliver its message one way or the other, anyway, and [Y/N] prefers to open it herself than have it burst into flames, rain ashes down upon her homework, and then start talking—so she opens the envelope.

The Howler jumps to life in front of her, hovering in front of her face, and [Y/N] has never seen a piece of stationery look so angry before. A forked tongue slips out of the envelope—[Y/N] braces herself for the worst, despite not knowing who on earth might have sent it—until a familiar voice booms around the Great Hall.

"ARE YOU A BASILISK? BECAUSE WHEN I SAW YOU, I FROZE."

Ron's shoulders automatically start shaking with laughter. Most of the Great Hall—or at least the ones close enough to hear the Howler—have turned around to watch the spectacle unfold, giggling behind their palms and pointing at [Y/N] like she can't see them. [Y/N], in the meantime, stares, completely dead to the world and everything else around her, because she knows that voice.

But then the Howler keeps talking. "IF YOU LET ME TAKE YOU ON A DATE, I CAN PROMISE YOU THINGS THOSE FILTHY PEASANTS CAN NEVER GIVE YOU."

The entire hall has fallen completely silent. [Y/N] feels her face burning up, but not with embarrassment—[Y/N] is angry. She feels it thrumming in her veins, curling around her lungs, clouding all of her senses.

With a single flick of [Y/N]'s wand, the Howler bursts into flames with a final feeble wheeze of I'm also a fairly good snogger. Ron is roaring with laughter and Harry has also joined in. Two-faced gits.

[Y/N] slams her palms down on the table and vaguely even registers the pain this gives her as she steps out from behind the bench and turns around to face the Slytherin table because of course she knows who sent the Howler. Of course she knows who would go out of his way to humiliate her in front of the entirety of Hogwarts, because that extremely irritating, maddeningly haughty voice can only belong to one person—and sure enough, the idiot in question is standing there on top of the benches, arms outstretched towards her and that proud, snooty look on his face like he expects her to actually be impressed.

Over Ron and Harry's laughter, [Y/N] shouts angrily, "Malfoy!"

Malfoy drops his arms to his sides, hops off the bench, and swaggers towards her. She meets him halfway—and when she does, she doesn't hesitate to shove him angrily by the shoulders. He stumbles back a little, but he's still grinning annoyingly wide. "Have you come to me bearing an answer?" he says, his tone mocking, and [Y/N] just barely suppresses herself from whipping out her wand and jabbing it somewhere she wouldn't want a wand anywhere near. They are still surrounded by teachers. "I imagine it's a yes—who would turn me down, after all—"

"Drop the fucking act," she hisses; all eyes are on them, because Hogwarts never passes up a chance for gossip, and this might be the most exciting one yet. Draco Malfoy publicly asking out the girl everyone knows he's hated, and has hated him, for a long time—what a spectacle. But [Y/N] knows that his intentions are far from genuine; this is just another way to humiliate her and get on her nerves. And as much as she hates to admit it, it's a pretty good fucking move, because she hasn't been this annoyed by him in a long time.

Her teeth are gritted together so hard her words barely come out coherent. "I don't know what you're playing at," she practically growls, taking a step closer to get in his face, "But I encourage you to get yourself together."

But Malfoy seems unaffected. "Pity you didn't let the Howler finish," he drawls, still with that same smirk on his lips as he wriggles his brows suggestively. "I could've told you more about my superior snogging skills."

"Which is exactly why I didn't," she fumes. "We're in the middle of lunch—any more of you talking about your 'superior snogging skills' and the entirety of this hall would've thrown up on themselves. I know I would've."

At this, the smile on Malfoy's face droops a little, a ghost of his familiar sneer seeping in. [Y/N] takes a step back away from him, because she can't stand being more than a few feet near the prat. "You've got a lot of nerve, pulling this," she scoffs. "Try it again and you'll regret it. Now excuse me while I go do my bloody homework."

And then she turns around, goes back to the Gryffindor table, and does her bloody homework.

—

But Malfoy, as it turns out, isn't as weak-willed as he lets on. She's started receiving Howlers every morning at breakfast, all of which burst into flames every time to rain ashes upon her innocent plate of eggs and toast, but only after loudly blurting out some ridiculously bad pick-up line. It's been four days since the first Howler and they've only gotten progressively worse ever since—"you must be a Boggart because I'm terrified of pretty women"—and [Y/N] is beginning to grow so very tired.

Today, she hexes him in the middle of the hallway just as he's coming out of Potions class. She had warned him, all those days ago, that he'd regret it if he didn't let up. So [Y/N] watches, terribly amused as Draco starts wailing in the corridor, his hands splayed over his face in a measly attempt to cover the sardines falling out of his nostrils. It's an irreversible hex—or at least for eight hours—but until then, Draco will have to deal with the tiny fishes that shoot out of his nose at random intervals. [Y/N] can't bring herself to feel bad, not when he's humiliated her time and time again in front of so many people.

No Howlers arrive the morning after. There's a sense of what feels like disappointment coming off of the Great Hall; some people have actually turned around in their seats to watch her in anticipation for an owl to come swooping down upon her bearing a red envelope. Unfortunately for them, it doesn't happen. [Y/N], meanwhile, is finally at peace.

Or at least until Ron jabs her in the side and goes, "So are you?" he's grinning. "A Boggart, I mean."

It's a reference to the Howler she received yesterday. Her movements are dangerously swift; immediately she smacks the back of his head, sending him into a complaining frenzy. She rolls her eyes. "Stupid Malfoy."

"As much as I hate to say this," Harry begins, "I kind of wish you hadn't hexed him into stopping. His pick-up lines were pretty funny."

"Ha!" [Y/N] points a finger at Harry and nods approvingly, laughing a little. "That's a good one, Harry."

Harry stares at her dead in the eye. "Oh, I wasn't joking."

Her face falls.

"I suppose being on the receiving end of Malfoy's affection isn't any better than being hated by him," says Hermione, offering [Y/N] a sympathetic smile. "It's a good thing you showed him not to mess with you any further, [Y/N]."

[Y/N] tries for a smile of her own, but it comes out all stiff and crooked. "I feel like the past few days have been a fever dream," she says, shuddering. "This new form of—bullying, I don't know—has just been so weird. The bad names I've gotten used to, but—the compliments? The pick-up lines?"

"D'you think he's gone off his rocker?" Ron suggests.

"Maybe he fancies you," says Hermione off-handedly.

The effect this has on the three is instantaneous; Ron, Harry, and [Y/N] simultaneously blanch as though they've all swallowed something sour at the same time. Ron is choking on a piece of toast and Harry has spit water everywhere.

"Absolutely not," [Y/N] is shaking her head, nose wrinkled in distaste. "He can't possibly—that's ridiculous. We've hated each other for years."

"Feelings do change," Hermione shrugs, rolling her eyes at Ron and Harry, who have yet to recover from their initial shock. "And besides, it was just a suggestion. Although I don't see why he'd go out of his way to send you Howlers repeatedly asking you out if he doesn't fancy you."

"Because he wants to humiliate me in front of everyone!"

"Oh, alright, alright," Hermione sighs, sensing her defeat. "But you never know."

Ron has gathered his bearings once more. He turns to Hermione, genuine concern flooding his features, and blubbers, "Did I hear you right? Malfoy—fancying [Y/N]?"

"Yes, Ronald." Another eye-roll. "It's not that outlandish. Boys are boys—even Malfoy."

"Merlin's beard," he slumps down in his seat, shaking his head. "I don't think I've ever been this surprised. Not since I heard that Percy managed to score himself a girlfriend, and that was three years ago."

A few days pass, and while no more Howlers arrive, Malfoy is still as insistent as ever in his attempts to "woo" her—or, well, whatever it is he's trying to do. [Y/N] doesn’t quite know what to call it anymore; for some reason, it no longer feels like an attempt to bully or humiliate her. It's not as though he's insulting her, and it's not like her reputation is in any way being lessened. In fact, most of Hogwarts, it seems, enjoys the so-called "love-hate relationship" they've got going on, and expects them to get together sometime in the near future.

[Y/N] learns all of this from Fred and George, who are always a good source of gossip.

"What better love story than two sworn enemies falling in love?" George gushes, clasping his hands together.

"So romantic," Fred sings, closing his eyes and swaying his hips as though listening to a sultry tune only he can hear. “Setting aside their differences to answer the call of their hearts."

"Oh, Malfoy's still an arse, of course."

"But it's still romantic."

Part of [Y/N] wishes that the twins hadn’t told her that, because it makes it all the more confusing on her part. If, by some miracle, Malfoy does fancy her—what is she supposed to do? Ride off with him into the sunset? They are enemies—they have been for four, supposedly five years now, except this year Malfoy is being an insufferable twat who won't stop yelling pick-up lines at her in the hallways.

[Y/N] decides to turn a blind eye on him. If she ignores him for long enough, he's bound to stop.

Right?

—

Despite being a close friend to the famous Harry Potter, [Y/N] can say she’s made a name for herself at school that stretches far beyond just that girl who hangs out with the Chosen One. She’s been playing for the Gryffindor Quidditch team for two years and has contributed to some of the house’s most fantastic wins as a Chaser, and she’s also a fairly good student. She may have a penchant for trouble-making, but she knows how to limit herself. She prides herself for her work ethic and thus her grades are above average—enough for her to earn the favor of most of her teachers and for eager first-years to sometimes come up to her asking for help doing homework.

But enough for those very same first-years to come up to her in the hallway ready to do all of her biddings for the day, practically demanding her to hand over her books so that they can carry them for her? No. Certainly not. [Y/N] may have made a name for herself, but definitely not one renowned enough to earn the eleven-year-olds now crowded around her moments after she steps out of potions class, telling her that, “We’re here at your disposal! If you need us to do anything, just say the word!”

[Y/N] stares at the three children clustered around her, all wide-eyed and for some reason incredibly eager for her to start bossing them around.

Taken aback, she ushers them into a corner; the hallway is busy and people will keep bumping into them if they stay in the middle of the hallway like that.

Once away from the bustling main corridor, she bends down a little so that she’s at eye-level with all of them. “At my disposal?” she repeats, eyes narrowing playfully. “What do you mean?”

“We’re here to carry your books for you or grab you snacks from the kitchens or tie your shoelaces if you need us to!” one of them exclaims, bouncing on his toes.

Alright—this is getting ridiculous. [Y/N] pauses, lips pressed together into a thin line as she stares at each one of the first-years in turn; all three of them are staring at her as though waiting for her to start asking them to do push-ups.

She inhales. Someone must have put them up to this, because there is no way these children woke up this morning and simultaneously decided to become her servants for the day.

“Well,” she begins, smiling at them—and good grief, did she really look that young when she was eleven? “Thank you for offering to help me. I appreciate it, really—but lucky for me I’ve got some very capable arms and I think I can handle tying my shoelaces and carrying my books around and whatnot. But again—thank you. You’re all very nice.”

She pauses to look at their reactions; the smiles on their faces have drooped a little as they turn to one another, seemingly at a loss for words. “But,” the one girl says, frowning, “We’re supposed to help you.”

[Y/N] raises her eyebrows. “Supposed to?”

Someone definitely put them up to this—[Y/N] is certain of it now. And she has a good guess as to who.

She starts by saying, tone gentle, “Did someone tell you to do this? Because that’s really kind, and I’d love to thank them.”

The girl bunches up her lips in thought, shuffling her feet against the ground. “We’re not supposed to say,” she mutters, glancing at the two boys next to her nervously.

[Y/N] inhales. She needs confirmation, so she crouches down so that she’s the same height as them, and offers them all the friendliest, most trustworthy smile she can muster. The kind that wins over eleven-year-olds. “You won’t get in trouble if you tell me,” she tells them gently, and waits for them to nod in understanding before she goes, “Was it Malfoy? Draco Malfoy?”

They don’t have to respond—the looks on their faces are enough confirmation. [Y/N] suppresses the urge to roll her eyes, because of course Malfoy is the kind of person to somehow get first-years to do something like this. And she’s pretty sure it has something to do with bribery.

“Did he promise to give you anything, maybe?” [Y/N] presses on patiently.

The girl leans in and cups her hand over her mouth to whisper excitedly, “Chocolate frogs. Five for each of us.”

Ah. Of course. [Y/N] sighs inwardly and nods, standing up properly to once more tower over the tiny first-years. As much as she would love to have her own personal butlers, there is absolutely no way she is agreeing to take any part in exploiting these young kids. So she ruffles all of their hair in turn and promises to give them much, much more chocolate frogs than Malfoy will ever be able to offer if they swear to ignore him for the rest of their lives.

So she stands there in the hallway, a minute late for Transfiguration, watching the three first-years skip down the hallway, grinning excitedly to themselves—no doubt because they’ve just been promised what could be an infinite supply of chocolate frogs.

Which [Y/N] will now have to spend a lump of her summer savings on. Great. Bloody fantastic.

She didn’t think she could hate Draco Malfoy even more than she already did, but now, with the burden of buying chocolate frogs resting on her shoulders, she realizes that anything is possible.

[Y/N] finds Draco later on in the day when she’s heading to the Great Hall for dinner; as she’s passing by a window that coincidentally overlooks the Quidditch pitch, she sees him zooming around the stadium by himself, no doubt practicing to better his (in [Y/N]’s opinion) ghastly Seeker skills.

So she trudges off to the pitch, arms folded over her chest as she yells, “Malfoy!”

He notices, stops in mid-air, and immediately flies down to land in front of her, one hand on his hip and the other resting on top of his broom. That signature smirk is already on his face, mirrored by [Y/N]'s angry scowl. “Here to take me up on my offer for a date?” he grins, shaking his (sweaty, wet) hair out of his eyes. [Y/N] watches the movement, unimpressed. “Or were you just planning to watch me practice?”

She scoffs, tearing her eyes away from the way he’s running a hand through his blond hair. “Neither. I thought you were bad enough, Malfoy, but bribing first-years into doing my bidding for me? In exchange for bloody chocolate frogs?”

Malfoy’s hand pauses in carding through his hair. He drops it back to his side. “So you figured it out.”

”Why else would first-years be so eager for me to boss them around?”

”Maybe because they find you just as beautiful as I do?” he suggests, eyes glinting, the smile on his face growing even wider. [Y/N] lets out a quick breath of incredulous laughter, because is he really still keeping this act up when no one is around to see? Is he that desperate to get on her nerves?

“Just stop it, Malfoy,” she says through gritted teeth, taking a step closer to him. At this, he whistles a little, eyebrows rising, and for some reason [Y/N] tries very, very hard not to look at the sweat trickling down his forehead, the pale pink hue of his cheeks from the strain of practicing—“Please for the love of Merlin can you just drop the whole I’m-in-love-with-you act? You got what you wanted. You’ve annoyed me enough.”

Draco's nose wrinkles. “Oh, but that’s not what I wanted,” the smile on his face falters a little. ”Did you really think I did all of this just to annoy you?”

[Y/N]’s eyebrows furrow—and is that her heart skipping a beat? No. No, definitely not. Falling quiet for a few moments, she finally sniffs and says, “Why else would you go out of your way to act absolutely smitten by me?”

An echo of Hermione's voice from several days ago reverberates through her head. Maybe he fancies you.

Malfoy shrugs, his smirk falling just the tiniest bit to be replaced by a semblance of sincerity. But that can’t be. And then he says, “Maybe I fancy you,” and [Y/N]’s eyes widen.

That can’t be right. Flabbergasted, she blinks, taking a step back. This has to be some sort of joke—no, yes, that’s exactly what this is: another way to crawl under her skin and annoy the daylights out of her. She has to applaud him for his creativity.

Pinching the space between her eyes in irritation, she looks up at Malfoy, inhales, and says, deadpan, “I’m being serious.”

“I am too,” Malfoy counters, eyebrows raised innocently, and [Y/N] has never wanted to smack him more than she does now.

She lets out another incredulous laugh, because this entire situation is just so bloody ridiculous that she can’t quite wrap her head around it. Throwing her hands up in the air in frustration, she turns to him and says, “Alright—okay. Let’s say you do fancy me. I’m going to pretend for a few seconds that you do—okay?”

Draco watches her, evidently amused judging by his grin, shrugs, and nods.

“Okay,” she huffs. “If you do fancy me—why on earth would you?”

Draco opens his mouth, but she cuts him off: “We hate each other, Malfoy. We’ve hated each other since the moment you laid eyes on me and I laid eyes on you. What could have possibly changed your rotten mind?”

He rolls his eyes at this, shifting a little on where he stands. “For starters,” he begins, like he’s talking to a five-year-old, “I didn’t hate you. I disliked the fact that you hung out with the wrong sort of people.”

”The wrong sort of people,” she repeats, deadpan.

“The Weasleys. Blood traitors. Mudbloods.”

She scowls at him, brain struggling to fathom what the bloody hell he’s trying to tell her. Managing to once more plow through her confusion, she says, “Your point is?”

“I’d have asked you out long ago if only you were smarter with who you chose to befriend,” and there it is—that familiar, distasteful sneer [Y/N] hasn’t seen in a long time. “Your family’s one of the oldest wizarding families around. It’s a shame.”

She lets out another scoff of disbelief, but the first few of Draco's words have something inside of her stirring. She refuses to address it and instead says, “So—and again, I’m pretending—you fancy me because of my family?”

He lets out a little sniff. “Not what I said.”

”What is it you’re trying to say, then?”

“Blimey, how long is it going to take you to realize that I actually bloody fancy you?”

Draco has dropped all pretense of nonchalant arrogance; he’s staring at her, obviously frustrated and a little annoyed. He stops leaning on his broom and lets it drop to the ground in favor of advancing towards her until he’s mere inches away from her face.

”I fancy you,” he repeats, and it’s funny, how he says it, because declarations of love are supposed to be sweet and gentle—not scathing and angry. He’s scowling down at her, lip curling, brows drawn in together in the middle in a tight frown. “I’ve decided that I don’t care who you hang around anymore because I fancy you. Do you get it now?”

[Y/N] swallows, staring at him, momentarily frozen. Malfoy doesn’t seem as though he’s joking—and now she doesn’t know what to say. She’s never been this close to him before—close enough to see herself in the reflection of his eyes, which are a striking grey and remind her of thunderstorms brewing behind dark clouds—

She takes in a deep breath and swivels around, turning away from him. “Stop sending children to be my servants,” she says, and starts to walk away—until Malfoy grabs her wrist and forces her to look at him again.

For a moment the look in his eyes convinces [Y/N] that he’s about to apologize, but then his lips are splitting into a wide grin again and he says, “What if I bribe a seventh year into doing your homework for you?”

Another scoff. She tears her wrist away from his grip and stalks off, in complete and utter disbelief.

”Or a house-elf to bring you food?” he calls after her. “Someone to do your hair for you in the morning? Or someone to yell at me for you?”

She halts at the last one, and for some odd, unknown reason, she feels like smiling. But she doesn’t, because that will open a door into something she isn’t sure she wants to explore. So she turns around, suppressing that mysterious little smile, already twenty feet away from Malfoy as she says, loudly, “I like doing that last one myself, thanks.”

From this distance, she thinks Malfoy might be smiling. But she doesn’t stay long enough to find out.

click here to read pt. 2!

#harry potter #harry potter oneshot #harry potter oneshots #harry potter imagine #harry potter imagines #harry potter x reader #harry potter fanfiction #draco malfoy #draco malfoy oneshot #draco malfoy oneshots #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy imagines #harry potter fanfic #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy fanfic

[hanoella]

Deserving

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x healer!Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: When someone bad mouths Bucky in your presence, you set things straight.

Warnings: Angst, but with happy ending, and one vaguely 18+ insult? I'm new.

Speaking of- @wkemeup has inspired me to post my writing for the first time! For their 9k writing challenge, I used this prompt:

"Character A is the target of harassment on the street. Shamed, they pretend it doesn’t bother them. Until it happens in the presence of Character B, who reigns hell on whoever dared to upset [A]"

Enjoy!

..........

Bucky was used to the whispers he got from people the street when he passed by them.

“Is that-?”

“Don’t make eye contact, he’s dangerous.”

“They just let him walk around like he hasn’t killed a bunch of people?”

His enhanced hearing picked up more than he wished it did. He liked to believe it didn’t bother him but deep down it did. It was just one more reason to stay secluded. Isolated. Alone. And he had been successfully doing that.

Until you came along.

Having been the test subject of a super serum version that focused on health and regeneration, you used your healing powers to help the Avengers get back to world-saving shape. Bucky hadn’t been keen on anyone touching him, much less someone he didn’t know. Despite his best efforts, he had caved in when you noticed he was having a bad day with his shoulder and offered to help. Since then, your companionship has been like a guilty pleasure.

You had this way of making him feel like he was the most important person in the world to you. Regardless of what he thought was evident, you only seemed to notice the good in him, even when he protested.

“There’s nothing I can do to right the wrongs that I’ve committed. Redemption isn’t possible. I don’t deserve-”

“Stop.” You said, cutting him off. “You are amazing. You have been through everything that you’ve been through and you still give back to the world. You fight for a world that made you this way, a world that gives you nothing back and yet you fight. It’s the world that doesn’t deserve you.”

Bucky swallowed hard. Looking at you in your eyes, he saw no dishonesty. Only pure admiration.

After that, there was no hope of him being alone. You cracked open his shell slowly but surely and now Bucky couldn’t imagine life without you.

Which led him to his current predicament.

“Come on, please? It’ll be so good and only a few blocks away. I know tapioca sounds gross, but you’ll love it!”

Bucky didn’t know what bubble tea was but apparently it was worth begging him for the past 20 minutes while you worked on his shoulder. Your hands emitted a warm white light as you gently massaged his shoulder. The direct contact wasn’t necessary but Bucky hadn’t complained when you started doing it and it’s become routine every since.

“I don’t know. I know I’m old but I don’t have to resort to tapioca yet.”

Bucky let a moment pass before his lip twitched up into a smile. You feigned annoyance as you cut off the healing and placed your hands on his shoulders.

“How about you go with me and I won’t bill the heck out of you for my magical five-star massages.” You say as you squeeze his shoulders.

“Okay okay, fine.”

Bucky put his hands up in defeat as he got up from the couch he was sitting on and turned to face you.

You swallowed as you let your eyes drift across his chest before you grabbed his shirt from off the back of the couch and tossed it to him.

“Alright! I’m so excited!”

Bucky listened to you chatter on about the different flavors he could try while he put on his shirt. Sometimes, he couldn’t believe he actually had a friend besides Steve. Sure, it helped that you had been Steve’s friend first. But there was something about you having grown closer to him that made him feel special. Never did Bucky think there would be a time that he’d be jealous over a girl that Steve was friends with rather than the other way around. Times were certainly different.

“You coming?”

Bucky broke away from his thoughts and made his way towards the doorway that you were standing in.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

---

Yeah, he knew this was a bad idea.

As soon as you two had left Stark Tower, the whispers started. While the café was only two blocks away, you noticed something was off a block into the trip.

“You alright?” You asked as you tried to decipher his facial expression.

“Yeah. Fine.”

You looked at him skeptically and then shifted your eyes to follow his, glancing around you. You slowly nodded in understanding as you looked at the people around you who were trying not to draw attention to themselves.

“Okay. We can talk about it later.”

Bucky was thankful that most people talked quietly enough so that you couldn’t hear what they were saying.

Keyword: Most.

You two arrived at the café, where it was slightly crowded. It was a warm afternoon, the perfect time to get a cool drink. Before heading inside, you gently placed your hand on his arm for a moment to reassure him.

“If you want, we could look at the menu out here and then I’ll go inside to order it.”

Bucky shifted his weight slightly from one side to the other as he contemplated it.

“Nah. We can go in together.”

“Okay.” you said, gently smiling to hopefully reassure him.

You both enter the building and make your way to stand in line. Bucky looked around at the seating areas. It reminded him of a Starbucks but with a more pastel color scheme. You looked at him and he raised an eyebrow in response. You smiled, happy that he was with you. Bucky’s heart skipped a beat and he smiled back.

That’s when you hear it.

“Is that that Hydra goon? Hey, go back to Siberia you brainwashed Hydra dog!”

You spun around violently the same time Bucky did with an incredulous look on your face, making eye contact with the college aged boy further back in line who was currently sniggering with his friends.

You stalked over to them before speaking in a low even tone.

“Sergeant Barnes has done more for the world than you could ever dream of doing. Apologize.”

You had let the venom creep into your voice, shouting the last word and silencing the rest of the line. Bucky walked up to you and put a hand on your shoulder, trying to turn your attention to him.

“C’mon. It’s not worth it.”

You let out a slow harsh exhale from your nose but didn’t move. The man only sneered.

“Why don’t you scurry along. I don’t care if you’re where he sticks his-”

The next thing Bucky registered was a nasty sounding crack as your fist connected with the jerk’s cheekbone. A round of gasps came from the surrounding crowd as he fell on the floor, completely dazed. You let out a pained grunt as you bent over, holding your hand while trying to cover the white light that started coming over your hand where the skin had bust open and something had definitely cracked.

“Okay, time to go.” Bucky said as he made an executive decision to get you two the heck out of there before anybody could react further. He put his hand on your back and quickly guided you out of the store, walking until you were out of the vicinity and almost back to the tower. You could tell that Bucky was not happy with you since he hadn’t said anything the whole way back. You entered the building and then stood silently in the elevator as it made its way up, refusing to meet his eye.

The elevator dinged as it opened up on the team’s dorm floor. You both walked quickly trying to avoid other people unsuccessfully as Sam stepped out into the hallway from the gym.

“Hey you two, what’re you… What happened to you?” He asked with a furrowed brow, nodding his head towards your hand as you walked past. Bucky and you answered at the same time.

“Nothing-”

“None of your business Sam-”

You gave Bucky a look and started chastising him.

“Hey, don’t be mean to him just because-”

“Keep. Walking.” He said through clenched teeth.

You rolled you eyes and shrugged apologetically at Sam as Bucky punched in the code to your apartment and swung the door open. He nudged you inside and then followed, shutting the door forcefully behind him.

Sam looked down the hall for a moment longer before shrugging it off. Natasha popped her head out into the hallway from the gym.

“What’s all the commotion?”

“Not sure. I think Mr. Tall, Dark and Metal left a few brain cells behind in the pod the last time he was frozen.”

Natasha snorted and then turned back into the gym.

---

Bucky closed the door behind him and then swung his arms out in confusion, giving you the same look of disbelief that he gives Yori when he starts a fight with his neighbors. You gave him the same look back, as if he was crazy for questioning your actions.

“What was that?” He finally asked.

“That guy was crazy! How could I not say something to him?”

“You didn’t have to hit him and hurt yourself! People say stuff like that all the time, you just have to ignore it and move on with your day.”

You stayed silent for a moment, averting your gaze and holding your injured hand that was gently glowing. Bucky gently let out his breath. He closed the distance between you and put his hand under yours to help you support it. His other hand grasped your forearm, gently moving over your smooth skin. He glanced down and watched as the inflammation went away and a bone shifted back into place under your skin.

“Please,” He whispered, his hold on you tightening ever so slightly. “It’s not worth all the trouble. It’s not worth you getting hurt.”

“No.”

Bucky snapped his head back up to see you calm and determined. Speaking again, you look into his eyes.

“It is worth it.”

He blinked twice, not having expected that answer.

“Why?”

“Because if I had let him say what he was going to say. Then to me, it would be validating anyone who has ever said anything like that about you. I can’t let you believe that any of that is true.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“But you do.” You cried out, slipping your newly healed hand out of his grasp and stepping away.

“I can see it in your actions, Bucky. I see it when you deny yourself anything that would make you happy. I see it when you try to hide yourself from the world. I see it when you look at me.” You spoke, voice wavering with the last sentence, averting your gaze again. Bucky stood silent as you continued.

“I see a deep sadness in your eyes. I can feel it in your soul when I heal your shoulder. Or when you touch my hand to see if I’ve fallen asleep. I can feel it emanating off of you. But I know for a fact that you deserve to be happy. You deserve to rest and to be happy. How many times have you fought a fight that wasn’t yours because it was the right thing to do? And don’t say it was to redeem yourself because I know it’s more than that. You are a good man, James. You don’t need to prove anything to anyone. But if you need to prove it to yourself than just take a look at me.”

You gently hold his face and guide it so that he’s looking at you. He’s surprised to find your eyes full of tears, threatening to spill over.

“When you look into my eyes, there is nothing but love and admiration for you. When you touch me, I feel the warmth you leave on my skin. When you hear me speak, you should be able to tell from what I say that I genuinely think you deserve the world. When you are hurting, the only thing I feel is your anguish. It kills me, to see you punish yourself so undeservedly.”

You were whispering now, looking up at him. Bucky’s eyes were watering as well, his jaw clenched in an attempt to hold back his emotions. With your hands still gently caressing his cheeks he slowly lowered his head so that his forehead was resting on yours, swallowing hard.

Bucky lifted his head slightly so that he could look at you and he saw nothing but love. Your eyelashes were wet and shimmering from tears you shed for him. Your cheeks were flushed from the overwhelming feeling that you had for him. He looked into the depths of your eyes and saw only his future with you. Finally, his gaze settles on your lips, soft and supple.

“Please,” you begged. “Please do not ask me to stand idly by as the world tears you apart. You are worth more to me than anything else in it.”

Slowly, his hands touch your waist and slide back until he’s holding you against him. Closing the gap between you, you kiss.

Nothing more in this world could assure him of your love. For once, he believes it.

#kas9kwc #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #fatws #bucky x y/n #bucky imagine

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part I

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader wc: ~ 9.7k Warnings: dubious consent (because of alcohol), just copious amounts of sex, oral, squirting, 69ing, college shenanigans, obnoxious frat boys, terrible fashion choices A/N: At long last, here we have the beginning. Massive thanks to @pleasantanathema and @whats-her-quirk​ who have been cheering for me since I told them I wanted to right a “little college AU” for a “little collab” June and I have been planning for a while. Also, I don’t know where I’d be without Lauren’s fraternity knowledge, so extra thanks for that, babe. I hope everyone has as much fun with this fic as I did.

God, you hate frat boys. 

Their sense of entitlement, all their fucking house pride. Brother this, brother that. It's annoying. Add in the factors of being an athlete on top of it, and they're downright insufferable. 

So it makes absolutely no sense that you're at a fucking Pi Kappa Alpha party. 

Your friend, Hitch, dragged you here (naturally), and it wasn't like you could really object considering she's the only real friend you have on campus. You study together and switch off between dorms to watch movies and bitch about classes. She's the complete opposite of you in many different ways, but you soul-bonded over biology and that was that. 

Unfortunately, Hitch decided she would leave you to your own devices almost immediately, opting to skip over to a game of beer pong and flirt with a boy in her statistics class. You have no idea why considering he has a fucking bowl cut, but she's been talking about him for weeks now. 

The party is filled with loud music and too many people with red solo cups. There's no way they're all of age, so you're already paranoid that the cops are gonna raid the place, but there's nothing you can do besides leave. It's a tempting thought. 

Before you can, though, there's an uproar in the kitchen, and curiosity gets the best of you. Moving from your place against the wall, you make your way over to peek in and see what's going on. A large group of frat boys, what you think are sorority girls, and whoever else wants to join are raising their cups to cheer. An especially loud voice rings out above the rest, "One win down, eleven more to go!" 

Claps and supportive shouts are nearly deafening. 

"I think we can do it! Do you think we can do it?" 

More cheers, more hollers. 

"Let's hear it for UC lacrosse!" 

You have to cover your ears this time. Should have known this party was to celebrate the win earlier that day. 

When the crowd parts, you see the ringleader, Erwin Smith who is very well-known on campus for three reasons: he will talk your ear off about history if given the chance, he's irritatingly gorgeous, and he will fuck any pretty girl with a pulse. 

Again—you fucking hate frat boys. 

To ease your bad mood and possibly encourage you to have some semblance of a good time, you shuffle further into the kitchen to grab a drink. You feel a little exposed, not dressed like many of the other girls who are either in rompers or the classic sorority chick outfit (giant college shirts that cover their shorts). You are in a crop top, torn shorts, and a floral cardigan. Not your best outfit, not your worst. 

There's no way you're touching any of the pre-poured cups or the jungle juice, opting for an unopened can of mediocre beer. 

You feel someone approach you from behind, glance over your shoulder to see nothing but a broad chest covered by a fucking hawaiian shirt. 

Craning your neck, you're met with another familiar face, one Mike Zacharias known as 1) Erwin's best friend, 2) one of the tallest guys on campus, and 3) the best lacrosse player on the team. 

You haven't spoken a single word to him but that doesn't stop him from grinning at you, flipping shaggy hair from his face, and chanting a low, "Shotgun, shotgun, shotgun!" 

"Are you god damn joking me?" You ask with a raised eyebrow. 

"Hell no!" 

"I have shotgunned a beer literally once in my life, and at least half of it ended up on my shirt."

"That's alright," Mike's smile shrinks to a smirk. "We're all about getting chicks wet in Pike." 

Face falling, you scoff, "Yeah, okay, I'm leaving." 

You sidestep him, cracking open the beer, but he follows close behind you. It makes a little bit of fear spike in your gut—everyone knows the horror stories that accompany many fraternities—but you're mostly just annoyed. 

"Hey, what's your name again?"

Again. As if you've actually formally met before.

"Why do you care?" 

Mike does not hesitate when he answers, "'Cause you look like you're having a shit time here, and I'd like to change that."

You roll your eyes, let your head loll over your shoulder to look at him again. If you're being honest with yourself, he's kind of extremely hot with his undercut and flippy hair, not to mention the stubble that's grown out just enough to make you think thoughts for a split second.  

"A noble cause," you quip. "Truly." 

He chuckles, watching too closely as you take a sip of your beer. 

"So? Name?"

After too big of a swallow, you answer him, and light green eyes brighten a little. 

"Oh, you're Hitch's friend, right?" 

Of course that would be your only identifier on campus. Hitch is insanely pretty and very outgoing. It makes sense that people just know you as her tag-along. 

It doesn't stop you from feeling slightly offended, though. 

"Yeah, and you're Erwin's friend, right?" 

"Among other things," he snorts. "Mike Zacharias." He holds out a massive hand that you eye before taking, figure you shouldn't be too much of a bitch and make a bad impression on the most highly regarded frat at the college.  

"I know who you are, dude. Not many people don't."

"Aw, flatterer." 

That grin is back on his face, lopsided and far too charming, and you definitely need to get away from him before you down a couple more beers. 

"Freshman?" He pries, and somehow you wind up at the staircase, leaning against the wall and praying he'll just stand beside you instead of caging you in. 

He does, and you let out a breath of relief. 

"Sophomore."

His eyebrows shoot up for a second. "Fuck, you've made it through a whole year flying under my radar?" 

You give him a wholly unimpressed look. "Wow, you really know what to say to a girl, don't you?" 

"That came off as shitty, sorry. I just mean, like, you're super cute. Feel like I would have committed you to memory if I'd seen you."

Your face heats up probably more than it ever has in your life, but you still snap, "We haven't had a single class together, I never go to your games, and this is the first Pike party I've been to."

Mike nods. "Ah, that explains it. Just haven't given anyone a chance to notice you." 

"Sure, let's go with that."

Another several sips. You hiss at the taste, and Mike laughs. 

"Can't handle beer?"

"Can't handle shitty beer."

"Ouch. Want me to grab you something else?"

He really doesn't seem to understand the warnings all girls have heard over the years. That, or he just doesn't care. You don't know him well enough to pass that kind of judgement.

"Uh, no. I always make my own drinks at parties."

"That's understandable." Except it isn't. He doesn't have a clue. 

"Well, you can go grab one, and I'll just finish this one for you. Don't want it to go to waste."

It's your turn to smirk now. "That desperate to swap spit, Zacharias?" 

"Like this?" He laughs through his nose. "Nah. But I can think of other ways."

"We've been talking for literally two minutes."

"I'm perfectly capable of making decisions in two minutes."

"Not any good ones obviously."

Tilting his head, Mike thinks out loud, "Can't tell if that's an insult aimed at me or yourself." 

"Take it however you want. I don't really care."

His eyes glint with amusement. There's no way you're escaping this any time soon. 

Long, thick fingers close around the top of your can, and he gently tugs it out of your hand then keeps those eyes locked with yours as he takes a sip. 

"Gross." You try to keep the teasing tone from your voice. 

"Just go get another drink."

You actually listen, mostly to get away from him but also because you could go for something easier to stomach. 

A game of King's Cup is going on in the kitchen, a five obviously being drawn because everyone suddenly pantomimes holding a steering wheel. It's surprisingly fun to watch, so you post up next to the counter after mixing orange and pineapple juice with rum. 

"Four's whores!"

"Categories! Different beers!"

"Seven heaven!" 

"Ayyy, waterfall!" 

You shake your head as everyone drinks for way too long. Some people are already swaying in circles where they're sitting. Others are simply red-faced. 

"Wanna play?"

"Jesus! You came outta nowhere."

Mike looks too smug for your liking, but doesn't say anything, just crushes the empty can in his hand and throws it into the trashcan next to the back door, all gooseneck and perfect arch. 

"Let me guess—you're reigning champ at beer pong."

"Nah," he waves you off. "That's Erwin and Nile. King's Cup however…"

"King's Cup isn't even a competition. It's just flipping cards and getting fucked up." 

"Well, yeah, but it's still fun."

You let out a heavy sigh, eyes still trained on the game going on, then concede, "Once this one is over, I'll play. Just to get you off my back." And because he won't have the chance to talk to you for the duration of the game. 

"Excellent."

You manage to finish your drink by the time the round ends, have to rush to make another as Mike strides over to the table and steals the two seats that have been vacated. They're right across from each other. You don't know if you'd prefer that or just sitting next to him so he can't stare at you.

Sauntering over, you plop down and place your drink in front of you. The guy to your right is quick to introduce himself with hooded eyes and a self-assured smile. You give him basically the same treatment that you've been giving Mike, making him pout and turn away as a freckled girl deals out the cards. 

It's fast paced, and you find yourself drinking more than you'd planned. Mike picks you as his buddy (of course), and the guy next to you makes everyone drink for nearly thirty seconds straight when he pulls an ace. 

Still, you find yourself laughing as people scream and curse. You catch eyes with Mike often, and as you finish your second drink, he begins looking very attractive. More attractive than before. So attractive that you allow him to pour your third cup. 

"If you roofied this, I'm gonna be real upset with you," you tell him just before taking a sip. He added more rum than you did, but that doesn't surprise you. 

"Hey, one of Pike's virtues is being a gentleman."

As soon as he says it, about seven people around the table shout, "Pi Kappa Alpha!" like some kind of sports team, and you roll your eyes so hard it hurts. 

You're drunk after this game. And, then you make another drink and get plastered. Meandering around the rest of the party, bodies begin to blur together, the music fades in and out, and you barely know what you're saying to Mike anymore as he follows you close behind in the same state. For every drink you've had, he's had two, and now he's walking around with a cup full of jungle juice nodding at his brothers, smiling at all the girls who look at him.

His room is downstairs unlike most of the others, right at the end of the hallway. It makes it far too easy to end up inside, but as soon as the door closes and his huge hands find your hips, your world disappears entirely. 

*

The first thing you feel when you wake up is a nauseating pounding in your head. The second is a very large body behind you. 

God dammit, you think, trying to recall the events of the night before. 

Pi Kappa Alpha. Hitch left you, so you hung out with… Mike Zacharias? From the lacrosse team? 

Frowning, you try to look over your shoulder, but all you can really see is a head of hair. However, you can feel the coarseness of his beard against your bare shoulder, and that's enough to solidify that it is indeed Mike behind you. 

Shifting some brings more of your physical state to your attention—your naked chest under the blanket, the way your legs are pressed together, your pussy between your thighs… swollen? Jesus, what did he do to you last night? You can also feel something dry and crusty on your stomach which is both disgusting and relieving. At least he had enough sense to pull out. 

Luckily, his arm isn't wrapped around you which makes it much easier to sit up on your elbow. It takes you a while to locate your clothes around the room from where you are, and even then, all you can find are your shorts, shoes, and bra. You peer around, trying not to groan at the headache threatening to make you black the fuck out all over again, but that pounding as well as the nauseating churning of your stomach is making it difficult. 

You slide out of the bed, basically crawling to the little pile of discarded clothes. As you fumble with fastening your bra, you glance around one more time in search of your shirt and cardigan, but it’s no use. What you do see, however, is the obnoxious Hawaiian shirt  Mike had been wearing the night before, and well… You’d rather not leave the Pike house topless, so…

Snatching it off the floor, you slip your arms through the giant sleeves and somehow manage to button up about half of it. Then, you’re flying out the door, desperate to be in your own dorm, curled over your own toilet, in your own clothes. 

Oh, thank god his room wasn’t upstairs, you praise, trying to remember the way to the front door. There are numerous bodies and tipped over cups to navigate through, and you cringe at the various odors that assault your senses. 

You see the door from across the room, so close and getting closer as you try not to trip over anything, but as you pass the kitchen, you hear a smooth, familiar voice greet, “Good morning,” in a smug way. 

Erwin is leaning against a counter, smirking over a steaming cup of coffee. He’s wearing only sweatpants, his hair is a little mussed, and for a split second, you understand why he pulls so many girls. 

Still, you roll your eyes and continue moving—a classic DNE situation, but the frat boy doesn’t seem to get the message, instead calling out, “Nice shirt!”

“Fuck off, Smith,” is the only thing you utter before leaving, slamming the door behind you. 

*

Mike easily catches the frisbee that spins directly at his face then quickly throws it back to try and catch Nile off guard. It works, and the brunet curses and has to go running after the flying disc. 

A few girls watching from the nearby fountain clap and yell his name, wriggling fingers in a wave as if he can actually see that far away. Mike gives one wave of his own hand then turns back to the grass where Nile is jogging back to his place.

“You did that on purpose, you asshole!” He spits.

Mike shrugs his shoulders, yells back, “Get better at frisbee, and you won’t have this problem!”

Nile throws the plastic so hard that it flies off toward the fountain, making all those girls scream and dive for cover. 

“Yeah, I’m not getting that,” Mike shakes his head. Nile drags his fingers down his angular face before setting off on yet another trek, apologizing profusely then standing around to flirt like usual.

Blowing hair out of his face, Mike considers joining his brother, but before he can, he sees a familiar figure turning on the sidewalk, about to pass the fountain and head toward Hartley Hall. 

His feet are moving before he really registers it, glad his long legs can carry him quickly even at a walk. Mike calls out when he’s a couple yards away, and you turn to him, eyes growing wide before you start to move faster. 

He can just barely make out the words, “Nope. Not doing this,” and chuckles, catching up the rest of the way.

“Hey, chill, I just wanna talk.”

You turn to look at him, head tilted up, squinting against the sun, and Mike has never been more thankful for his height because you look so god damn cute all small and irritated with him. 

“What is there to talk about? I don’t even remember anything.”

“Yeah, neither do I,” he says, lacing fingers together behind his head. “Shame.”

“Whatever.”

Mike tries and fails to hide a snort, nods at Nile as you both pass him and the gaggle of girls surrounding him. Mike has no doubt his friend will get at least one phone number out of it, if not all of them. 

“Did you at least have a good time before you blacked out?” He ventures.

You shrug your shoulders, hitch your backpack up a little higher. “Maybe. But, if I was just around you the whole time, probably not.”

“Aw, come on! What did I ever do to you?”

“You need a list?”

Mike nods. “Would probably help.”

“For brevity's sake, I’ll just say that you started the night trying to get a literal stranger to shotgun a beer and ended the night fucking said stranger and… Not holding back, apparently.” Mike frowns, about to ask what you mean by that, but you elaborate before he can. Voice dropping, you question, “Do you have any idea how fucking sore I’ve been for the last few days? What the fuck do you even have hidden in those stupid shorts?”

“I’d be happy to show you again.” He grins sideways, and when you shoot him a venomous look, he figures it’s time to change the subject. “Anyway, I may have done that and more, but you’re the thief.”

“Excuse me?”

Mike tries to sound nonchalant as he accuses, “Stole my shirt and everything." Honestly, he's a little upset that he didn’t actually get to see you wearing it. 

“I—”

“That’s my favorite shirt, you know?”

You laugh. Finally. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.”

“That shirt is fucking heinous, okay? You’re lucky I didn’t burn it.”

“Does that mean I can have it back?”

You make a little noise in your throat, something between a grumble and a growl, but you check your phone and tell him, “Fine. My next class isn’t for another couple of hours, so just…Follow me.”

It takes immense effort to not skip to your dorm like a little kid, but Mike is excited. He’s not gonna try anything weird, but just seeing your space? He’ll be able to get a better feel for you. So far, all he knows is that you live and breathe sarcasm and can’t handle your liquor well. It’s enough to get him a little more than interested, but it’s not enough to go off of.

The two of you gain a few looks as you make your way through the shared study space of the dormitory, heads turning, eyebrows raising in recognition. No one should be all that surprised; it’s not like Mike and Erwin haven’t frequented a lot of these rooms. 

You lead him down a hallway, and Mike looks at all the little dry-erase intro boards hanging outside of every door. He’s a little surprised to see that the one by yours isn’t blank. Your name is written in bubble letters, surrounded by little hearts, and when you catch him looking at it, you’re quick to tell him, “Hitch.”

“Ah. Of course.”

He follows you inside, staying by the door to not invade too much of your space, but he doesn’t even try to be subtle as he looks around the small room. Pennant for the college hung up over a cork bulletin board that’s a mess of photos and sticky notes. Cluttered desk with just enough of it cleared to fit a laptop. Tiny succulents on the window sill. Double bed covered in a quilt. And there, in the open closet, Mike catches sight of his shirt—pastel pink and littered with palm trees. 

After dropping your backpack on your bed, you step over to the hanging clothes and grab it, muttering, “Ridiculous,” as you hand it over.

Mike laughs as he slings it over his shoulder. “You know what’ll make you hate it even more?” You quirk an eyebrow, probably doubting that anything could, but your entire face falls when he informs you, “I have matching shorts to go with it.”

“No you do not.”

“Definitely do.”

“That should be a crime. You should be arrested.”

He chuckles, has a retort on the tip of his tongue, but something catches his eye—a bookshelf tucked away in the corner by your bed overflowing with novels and knick-knacks. Mike sees a particularly thick paperback, recognizing the black background and small desert picture on the spine.

“Bro!” He walks over, plants a hand in the middle of your mattress, and reaches for it. “Is this fucking Dune?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“This is, like, my favorite book, dude.”

“Seriously?” You sound just as disbelieving as you do disinterested. 

Mike begins flipping through it, scanning over highlighted passages as he nods. “I have the whole series back home, but I only brought this one and Messiah with me to college.”

He straightens up but keeps a knee on the edge of the bed, and you plop down to sit on it, watching him closely as he continues to look over the notes scribbled in the margins. 

“I had to read it in high school," you tell him. "Then my cousin gave me a lot of the books after I talked with him about it one time. I haven’t gotten around to reading them, though.”

“You really should,” Mike urges. “I mean, I know you probably have a shit ton of reading for classes, but if you ever get the chance, you should at least read the next two.”

“You some kind of closet nerd, Zacharias?”

“Kinda,” he admits, putting the book back on the shelf only to grab a worn copy of Fellowship of the Ring. “I mean, Erwin and a few others are well aware, but I don’t really broadcast it.”

“Not good for the cool guy image?” 

“Nah, people are just more interested in other things,” he mumbles, eyes fixed on the tiny print.

“Mike Zacharias,” his gaze flicks to you as you laugh quietly. “Lacrosse god and big fucking geek.”

He closes the book and uses it to lightly hit you on the top of the head with it. You half-heartedly smack him right in his abs only to push against the muscle harder and ask, “Jesus Christ, what do you have under there?”

“You know, that’s the second time you’ve asked what I have under my clothes,” he points out, a little too satisfied. “Better watch out, or I’m gonna start getting ideas.”

You huff, but your hand is definitely still on his stomach, unmoving but warm through his shirt. Mike told himself he wouldn’t do anything weird once he got here, but you’re already on the bed and touching him, and he’d kind of really like to have this particular experience while sober, so he very slowly takes your wrist and moves it away. 

It makes you look up at him, a question dancing in your eyes as your lips part. Mike makes sure his own stare conveys everything he’s thinking, wishes he could just transplant his thoughts into your brain so that he can put you a little more at ease around him. 

You’re onto him, though, tugging your hand from his grip and blinking a few times. He figures you’re about to point to the door and tell him to take his fucking Hawaiian shirt and leave. 

Instead, you pull on the fabric covering his ribs so that he loses his balance and has to catch himself before crashing into you. It puts his face level with yours, and you take the opportunity to kiss him—hard, desperate, and a little confused judging by the way you’re frowning. 

Mike grunts, holding himself up with the arm on the side of your hips then uses the other to slide under the thigh closest to him and pull you further onto the bed. He’s straddling you in no time, up on his knees so that he doesn’t crush you. 

Hearing the sound of shoes hitting the ground, he tugs his shirt off over his head, and then he’s curling over you again. Your mouths grow slick with spit. He slides his tongue past your lips, and you arch into him, fingers tangling in his hair. Mike pushes you back down so that he can strip you down to your bra and panties then takes the time to rid himself of his shoes and shorts.

“Oh, fuck,” he hears you breathe, and when he glances up at you, he finds you staring at what he knows is an intimidatingly large bulge under his boxer briefs. “It makes sense now—the soreness.”

Mike chuckles, slots his forearms on either side of your head and mutters, “Yeah, sorry about that.”

You lick his lips and he bites yours, bodies clashing together as he grinds himself against your covered pussy. Eventually Mike is able to snake a hand down your body, making sure to brush over your ribs so that you squirm beneath him. Fuck, he already loves the way you squirm. And, when he moves your panties to the side and teases your little hole, already wet just from making out, Mike discovers that he loves the way you moan too. 

He’s slow as he pushes a finger in, groaning when you clench around it. Pumping it in and out, he gently works you open and wonders if he was courteous enough to do this the other night. He hopes he was. 

You spread your legs for him, start bucking into his hand, especially when he hits that special spot inside you. 

“Fuck, fuck, fu—” You grab his face, bringing it close to yours again so that you can muffle curses against his lips. 

When Mike adds a second finger, your jaw drops, and you start to tremble. 

“Too much?” He asks.

You shake your head, stutter a breathy, “N-no. Just—ah—slow. Go slow.”

He moves to suck on your neck, promising, “I will.”

Mike waits until you’re dripping into his palm and spread about as widely as you can be underneath him. Then, and only then does he shimmy out of his underwear and question, “Condom?”

“Bookshelf,” you huff. “In the jewelry box.”

When he opens it, a little ballerina spins, and Mike has to laugh at the ridiculousness of it. “That’s twisted.”

“Shut up.”

He grabs one of the gold packages and tears it open, then rolls the latex over his cock and discards the wrapper somewhere. 

Mike only gives you his tip first, sits right inside your entrance so that you can squeeze him and get used to the feeling before he pushes in any more. You barely shift your hips back and forth, like an experiment. It’s just enough for Mike to see slick coating the end of the condom, and he nearly starts drooling.

He presses in a little more, appreciates the way your eyes roll into the back of your head, then adds one more inch.

“Jesus Christ.” Your breaths are coming in short gasps, words slurring together. He’s not even halfway in, and you’re already fucked out. 

Your cunt is spasming around him, and Mike tries to get you to relax more by lightly rubbing your clit with the pad of his thumb. 

You leak around him, pussy slowly but surely opening up a little more so that he can slide in further. He gives a few shallow thrusts that make you whine, then reaches up to grab one of your pillows which only sends him deeper. 

“God dam—”

Mike lifts you and shoves the pillow under your hips, smiles in a way he’s pretty sure you hate, then jokes, “Better to fuck you with, my dear.”

“In...sufferable…” The annoyed tone is lost when you cry out. Mike buries himself as far as he can without hurting you. He isn’t quite balls deep, but you feel so fucking good that he doesn’t even mind. 

Starting a steady rhythm that has every upthrust dragging over your g-spot, Mike watches through foggy eyes as your mouth opens and closes, chest rising with stuttering breaths before you exhale and moan. He dips his thumb between your folds to gather a little bit of slick and return it to your clit. The circular motion makes you arch again, and Mike abandons the little bud for just a moment so that he can unclasp your bra and pull it off. The sight of your tits bouncing in time with his thrusts almost does him in, but he holds back, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment to gather himself.

You’re just clamping around him so perfectly, pussy drooling and creaming on his cock, and Mike is not a quickshot, but for you—

He pulls out all at once, flips you so that you’re on hands and knees, then spreads you open to lick into you from behind. 

“Holy—” 

Mike’s cock is throbbing where it bobs against his stomach, but he can ignore it for the most part, focused on eating you out, sucking at your messy lips then dragging the flat of his tongue over your hole. He moves his face back and forth, wants to leave his mark on you in the form of stubble burn between your legs. 

“Mike, Mike, fuck, please.”

He’s positive you can’t actually hear him when he teases, “Please what?” right into the crevice of your ass. 

You growl, push against him, and swallow enough pride to beg, “Please fuck me.”

Biting his lip, Mike straightens up enough to watch his fingers disappear into your pussy. One, two, then a third that makes your messy entrance stretch for him. He lowers his face again, feather light licks around your sensitive hole, and when he twists his wrist so that he can tap on your spot, you come immediately. 

A mixture of slick and squirt drips from your cunt and soaks into your quilt. Mike pushes more out as he continues to finger fuck you, humming at the way your arms give out and you fall against the mattress. 

This is the perfect position for him. He replaces his wet fingers with his cock and ruts into you quickly, chasing after his own impending orgasm. Pretty little whimpers fall from your lips, fuck drunk as you babble, “Oh, god, Mike, Mike, fuck…”

He’s gripping your hips too tightly, pulling you back against him, shoving his cock deeper and deeper until he finally comes with a shudder and a low groan. 

Mike pants for a few seconds, then leans down to press a few kisses to your spine, but instead of the usual happy sighs he gets from most girls, you just roll your shoulders and mutter, “Stop that.”

He does, then pulls out, takes a second to stare at your pussy—worked open from his size and still dripping. It would make a very pretty picture, but Mike wouldn’t dare try that with you. 

You roll onto your back, a huff of air leaving your lungs as you scrub a hand over your face then tilt your head to him. It looks like you have something to say, but you just chew on your bottom lip, eyes moving from Mike to the door.

And, he can take a hint. You don’t have to say it. 

With a self-deprecating snort, he pulls the condom off, tying it then tossing it into the trashcan by your bed. 

“Yeah, okay,” he nods. “Let me just…” Mike tugs his clothes back on, kindly tosses you your top so that you can cover yourself like you obviously want to. 

He makes sure to grab the Hawaiian shirt that brought him here in the first place, tossing it over his shoulder then striding to the door. 

Chancing one more glance at you, you force a smile and try to pad his bruised ego. “Don’t worry, it was good. You were good. It’s just not gonna happen again.”

Mike fights a smirk, raises a hand in a wave, then steps out.

Not gonna happen again, he chuckles to himself. Yeah, right.

*

You don't understand how this keeps happening, how you keep ending up in bed with Mike fucking Zacharias. 

This time you had gone to the disgusting bar right off campus, got one whole drink in your system before the familiar trio walked in. They were all in khakis and pastels—Erwin in blue, Nile in yellow, Mike in pink. Again. 

You actually slammed your head down on the bartop because despite how basic he looked in his light polo, Mike was still hot. 

Is still hot. 

Back at the Pi Kappa Alpha house, you're a mess of limbs on his bed. You take immense pleasure in tugging his shirt off, and once his arms are free again, he's lifting the hem of your little skirt and mouthing over your thong. 

You're more than tipsy after a couple more drinks but nowhere near as drunk as you were the first night. It hadn't taken much convincing from Erwin for you and Hitch to play pool with them, and when Mike had come up behind you to help you line up your shot, you knew you were a goner. 

While he's busy between your legs, you take off your shirt and bra. Green eyes flick up as soon as you toss both articles on to the floor, and without any hesitation, Mike reaches up to grope your tits. 

He's clumsy and distracted as he tongues over the warmth pooling in your underwear, squeezing plump flesh and pinching your nipple so that you whine and push your hips further into his face. 

Mike groans, just as drunk if not more so. He's messy as he kisses your thighs, nearly rips your thong when he pulls it off of you. 

His tongue feels good, too fucking good as he laves over your entrance, soothing an ache that isn't quite there anymore but definitely was a few days ago. 

"Taste so fucking good," he grumbles, slurping and sucking and making you squeeze your thighs around his head. 

"Okay," you pant. "Okay, okay." You grab him by the hair and lift his head from you, stomach flipping at the sight of the bottom half of his face absolutely covered in slick. 

God dammit, why is he so sexy? 

Your mouth waters, and the thought of possibly giving him head this time crosses your mind. You're just inebriated enough to stay relaxed, didn't drink to the point of throwing up, and he has gone down on you the last two times so... 

Lizard brain taking over, you sit up, tell him to flip over, then start making your way down his body. 

Mike grabs you before you can turn to face him, fingers digging into your thighs and pulling you down to sit on his face. 

"Fucking—I'm trying to blow you, for Christ's sake."

He moves his head just enough to tell you, "So? You can do that while I do this."

And, he's not wrong. It just means that you're gonna get distracted. 

For a while, all you can really do is control your breathing and undulate on top of him, but eventually you fall to your elbows and lick up his shaft from base to tip. 

Mike really does have a nice cock—a beautiful cock—bigger than you've ever taken in terms of both length and girth, and veiny in the perfect way. Even his balls make your pussy throb, large and round, the right just slightly bigger than the left and now dripping with saliva as you lower your mouth further and further onto his cock. 

The feeling of his tongue buried in your cunt is making you delirious, eyes rolling, muscles going slack as you gurgle around the tip hitting the back of your throat. 

Mike groans into you, his legs starting to shake, and you assume in your half aware state that he's trying to not just skull fuck you into oblivion. 

You know you're making a mess, both on his face and on his cock. The fingertips that have been holding you open shift, one of them slipping into your clenching hole, and your hips begin to move on their own volition, riding what he'll give you while moving your tongue back and forth. 

You've only taken about half of him, doubt you can take any more. He's hot and heavy in your mouth, and when you pull off to breathe, you can taste pre cum on the back of your tongue. 

It triggers something in you, makes you raise up and clumsily turn around so that you can work him inside of you. 

Mike groans a long, "Fuuuck," and immediately starts thrusting upward. 

You're lucky you're as wet as you are, but the burn that comes with getting so stretched out still makes you hiss. You brace yourself on his broad chest, feeling the dampness of sweat forming a sheen on him, and your own body starts to feel too hot. 

You had wanted to ride him to feel in control of the situation for once, but you quickly realize it's not gonna happen, Mike gripping your hips and moving you how he sees fit. 

He's raw this time, a thought that should scare you, but he feels so good even through the discomfort. Every vein and ridge hits all the sweet spots inside of you, the flared head of his cock smooth as it presses just where you need it to. 

You're squirting again—he just seems to be able to fuck it out of you. It's not the high you're looking for, but the release in pressure still feels divine. 

Mike seems to enjoy it too because he looks down at where you're connected, swears at the way you gush on his cock, then starts swiping fingers over your clit so quickly it almost hurts. 

More fluid leaks from you, and Mike breathes a low, "Come on, baby, come on, 'm gonna fuck you dry tonight." 

Hearing him talk like that—his hand rubbing over your overstimulated clit, his thick cock threatening to split you in two—causes heat to travel up your legs and down your arms until it settles in your stomach and floods you. 

You cry out, stars and tears behind your eyes as Mike keeps going, taking everything he can from you until he's laying in a huge wet spot in his bed. 

He lifts you just in time to shoot cum upward on your chest, white splattering then dripping down in strands to pool on his stomach. 

You stare down at him, mouth hanging open and find him looking up at you with the same expression. 

It's hands down the best sex you've ever had, but you're not about to tell him that. Instead, you dismount him like the fucking horse he is and stand on weak legs, actually have to lean on the bed for support. 

"Just stay the night." His voice is deep and full of gravel. It's entirely too hot. 

"Absolutely not." You shake your head, grab your shirt and his boxers then ask, "Where's the nearest bathroom?" 

"Down the hall on the right, but you don't have to sneak out the window or anything. Just use the front door if you're tryin’ to run away."

You can't help but snort. Stupid. "I'm not trying to escape, dummy. I just need to pee." 

"Oh. Right."

You slip out of the room, hoping it's late enough for everyone to be asleep, but you have no such luck as the door to the bathroom opens and fucking Erwin steps out. 

He hums, looking you over for a moment as his lips lift on one side. 

"Don't say anything," you grit through your teeth. 

He holds his hands up in surrender, chuckles, acting all innocent. "Wasn't going to."

You squint, not believing him for a second, then move around him to get to the bathroom. Before you can shut the door, you hear him mutter, "Another one bites the dust," and consider running out and strangling him.

*

"Please please please come with me to this game," Hitch begs, her hands clasped together, imploring eyes wide and doe-like. 

"No. You have plenty of other friends to go with. You don't need me there."

"But, I want you to be there. It's gonna be such a good match. Rival schools and all that."

You roll your eyes. "Hitch, in all the time you've known me, have you ever seen me give a single fuck about sports?" 

"No, but you'll finally get to see Mike and Erwin and Nile play."

"All the more reason not to go."

"Do you not like them or something? Why wouldn't you like them? Everybody likes them!" 

She doesn't know, and you don't want her to. She had been too caught up with that Marlowe kid at the party, then was kept busy playing pool with Nile to see you and Mike slip out of the bar together. 

It's the only secret you've ever wanted to keep from her. You will take it to the grave. 

"I just… I just don't, okay? I get a… Sleazy vibe from all of them."

You really don't. Not exactly. You're not a big fan of the 'fuck-every-chick-on-capus' mentality, but most college boys think like that. Only difference is these three can actually achieve it. 

Hitch crosses her arms over her chest and gives you a look you've seen on your mother's face many times, usually when she has a point to prove. 

"You know I'm just gonna keep bothering you until you come to one, so why not just get it outta the way?" 

And, there's that point. 

"Ugh." You know she's right, and you really can't put up with this all semester. "Fine, but I'm gonna bitch the entire time."

Hitch squeals and claps, bouncing where she stands. "Yes! Wouldn't have it any other way."

You dress in school colors, put your hair up so that it won't be on your neck as the sun beats down, then take Hitch's little hatchback to the field. You try to talk her into sitting toward the back of the crowd that's gathered on the bleachers, but she just pulls you to the front without acknowledging your request. 

Even with the helmets, you can easily make out who's who, mostly because of their size. Mike and Erwin are doing some kind of pregame ritual where they hit their sticks together, shout something, and chest bump. It's the most alpha thing you've ever fucking seen and makes you question why you ever thought screwing one of them was a good idea. 

To be fair, you never really did think it was a good idea. It just kind of happened. Three times. 

But, it needs to stop. 

You repeat that thought to yourself as you watch Mike sprint across the field and launch the ball into the goal several times. You repeat it as he dances around his opponents with ease, quick footwork until he can throw them off. You repeat it as he stands on the sidelines and takes his helmet off to shake out sweaty hair and squirt water into his mouth. 

And, none of it really helps. Mike is pretty incredible on the field, especially with Erwin and Nile backing him up. Everyone in the stands is screaming, yelling their names and chanting. It's a little contagious, you have to admit. You get as far as clapping but refuse to actually cheer. 

At some point, Erwin jogs over to the bleachers and waves his arms for everyone to get louder, and they sure do. Even through his helmet, you can see his sparkling white smile, and your own lips curl up as you shake your head at him. Unbelievable. He has all these people at his beck and call. 

Erwin has to get back on the field, though, fueled by the crowd like the other nine players. They end up pulling ahead of the other team and finishing the game eleven to seven. 

Naturally, Erwin announces a party at the Pike house, and naturally, Hitch drags you to it. 

This one is even bigger than the last. It offends every one of your senses—too loud, alcohol permeating the air, bad drinks, worse dancing, and strangers rubbing against you as you pass them. 

You give up on your beer before you’re even halfway through with it, just set the can on one of the counters and start milling around. You’d rather be anywhere else but here. Your head hurts from the game earlier, baking in the sun and not drinking enough water. Should’ve taken an Advil… And some Benadryl. Hitch wouldn’t have been able to bring you here if you’d been unconscious. 

All of the lacrosse team is there, flanked with guys who won’t stop slapping them on their backs and girls who won’t stop batting their eyes and squeezing their biceps. It’s comical, really, the fairweather trend. There’s no way this would be happening if they’d lost their last three games. Instead, the team would be getting harassed and pestered, not so subtle comments about practicing more and replacing members. You’ve seen it all before. 

Leaning against a wall, you watch it all unfold. It’s probably the most entertaining thing at the party other than the group of sorority girls dancing on a table. Things are getting out of hand already, and you would prefer not be here for the aftermath, but just as you're about to leave, Mike breaks away from the group and strides over to you.

“Hey, didn’t expect to see you.” He takes a sip from his cup, smiling around the rim.

You use your usual excuse: “Hitch,” and he nods. 

“Right. Did you watch the game today?”

Crossing your arms, you mumble a, “Yes,” that Mike can’t hear but can definitely see.

He beams then asks, “You gonna tell me I played well? ‘Cause I did.” He’s all cocksure and giddy, and it makes your body run hot in a few different ways.

“I don’t think you need anyone else fawning over you,” you say with a condescending laugh.

“You mean you don’t want me to flex for you?”

“I’m leaving. Right now." When you push past him a little too roughly, it causes him to drop his cup, and your shirt is suddenly plastered to your chest and stomach. The white isn’t discolored, which leads you to believe, “Fuck, is this just straight vodka?”

“No, Christ,” he cringes at your wet state, looking genuinely apologetic. “It’s just water. Sorry.”

You scrunch your top up to wring it out, wondering what he’s doing drinking water instead of liquor, but you’re not about to pick on him for staying hydrated. 

“It’s fine. I was about to leave anyway.”

He’s quick to stop you with a, “No, don’t. Just… change into one of my shirts or something."

Narrowing your eyes, you contemplate how many ways this can go wrong, how much you should not allow this, and even go as far as accusing, "You're just trying to get me in your room again."

"You wanna stay in a wet shirt?" Not really. "Come on."

He jerks his head toward the hallway, and you end up following him, grumbling the whole time because you swear to God if you end up on your back for him again, you're going to be very upset with yourself. 

Mike beelines it for his dresser as soon as you're in the room, much quieter than the rager outside. He digs around in it, flipping all the way to the bottom then pulls out a heather gray tee. 

"It'll probably still be a little big, but it's from high school, so you shouldn't drown in it."

He tosses it to you then, to your surprise, turns back to the wall to give you the privacy to change. You eye him the whole time, peeling off your top as well as your bra since it soaked through. His shirt still covers your little shorts, and you assume you look a lot like one of those sorority girls, but it's good enough, has that super soft feeling from being worn too much. 

"Thanks. You can, uh… You can turn around now."

Mike looks over his shoulder, like he's making sure you're decent, then turns around fully. 

"I was trying to get outta there anyway. Spilling a drink on you was a good excuse."

You open your mouth, choking on a scoff, then ask, "Did you do that on purpose?" 

"No! It really was an accident. I'm glad it was just water, but I still feel bad."

You're squinting at him, but now you're curious about something else.

"Why'd you wanna get away from the party?" 

Sighing, Mike shows a tired smile. "Honestly, I'm still worn out from the game. I'm already sore and covered in these god damn bruises. I just wanna relax."

"If you're covered in bruises, I can't imagine how the other team feels. You smacked the shit outta some of 'em."

"So, you were watching."

"I may have glanced up once or twice," you lie. "Anyway, why don't you just hide out in here?" 

He shrugs his shoulders. "Erwin insisted I show my face, and I didn't want him to give me shit about being a recluse."

You can relate. It's why Hitch drags you everywhere. You wouldn't even leave your dorm for classes if you didn't have to. 

Still. "Dude. You're definitely not a recluse. You're fucking everywhere. All the time."

"So? I can get tired too."

He's got a point. 

"Can we just chill in here for a while?" He asks you. 

"Why do you need me to chill? You basically just said you needed a break from social interaction."

"Yeah, but not all social interaction," he corrects with a small grin. "Please? I've got movies and video games, Zelda and shit."

Again, the contemplation kicks in, all the pros and cons. You know very well what this can (will) lead to, but you also want to escape the party. And, if Hitch whines about you leaving, you can tell her you were there the whole time. Not like it's a lie. 

"Fine, but I have some stipulations."

"Oh, do you?" 

"I do."

Mike waves a hand for you to go on. "Let's hear 'em then."

Holding up one finger, you tell him, "You have to let me snoop around your room—" he laughs. You lift another finger, "—and we are not, under any circumstances, having sex."

"Deal." 

You tilt your head, taken aback at how quick he is to agree. "Wait, seriously?" 

"Seriously. Go ahead. I'll pull up Hulu."

You hum, still suspicious, but start making your rounds, taking in photos from what you assume to be the high school soccer team he played on, then a fishing trip with Erwin, a middle-aged couple with a dog, and some pinned up tickets to sporting events he's attended. 

He has a bookshelf against a wall, textbooks at eye level, but the top and bottom shelves are filled with sci-fi and fantasy novels that make you smile. His TV is fairly large, big enough to see the picture from his bed which is also sizable and draped with a plush comforter. The last thing that catches your eye is his closet, halfway open and full of jerseys and Polos. A few different pairs of shoes sit at the bottom, but pushed all the way in the corner are a few boxes of fucking Magic the Gathering cards. 

"Oh, man. You really are a closet nerd. Like, literally."

"Huh?" Mike looks over at where you're kneeling, realizes what you're looking at and actually sounds self-conscious when he admits, "Yeah, uh, I wasn't joking the other day." 

"I've never played—too technical for me—but my friends in high school did."

"There are baseball cards back there too if that makes me any cooler."

"It doesn't," you say bluntly before straightening up and reaching to shut the door to his room. Plopping down on the floor next to him (where he was smart enough to sit), you add, "But even I can admit it's kind of endearing."

"Oh yeah?" He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, that stupid lopsided grin on his too-handsome face. 

"Don't get cocky, Zacharias." 

"You wouldn't let me if I wanted to."

Both of you agree to a Batman movie, and you make yourself comfortable, kicking your sandals off and leaning against the bed behind you. You're a little too aware of Mike's body beside yours, but you're able to ignore it for the most part, keeping a few inches between your arms and legs. Of course, he still brushes against you when the movie ends and he takes the time to stretch. His shoulders roll, making his shirt strain over his back, and when he holds his arms out, linked at his fingers, you can't help but take a quick look at his bulging biceps. 

"Fuck, I'm gonna feel like garbage tomorrow," he complains. You can see the bruises littering his arms, some of them thick lines while others are almost perfectly circular from where he was hit with the end of a lacrosse stick. 

"You have any classes?" You ask. 

"Just my ten o'clock and three o'clock."

You make a noise of acknowledgement then fall silent. You're not sure how to hold a conversation with him that isn't sarcastic or snippy since you haven't actually done a lot of talking in the first place. 

"Sucks," is all you can come up with. 

"It's alright. I've probably dealt with worse."

"Probably?" 

"Well, nothing really comes to mind, but I'm sure I have."

You should get going. It's late, and you have a nine AM tomorrow. Plus, the longer you sit next to Mike, the more ideas pop up in your head. Dirty ideas. Ideas that will leave you disappointed in yourself. 

"Well, I'm gonna head back. This has been…" You're unsure of what word to use, don't want to get his hopes up by saying 'fun'. 

Mike figures you out and offers, "Tolerable?" 

"Yeah, we can go with that. I'll get your shirt back to you sometime soon."

Mike chuckles and gets to his feet. "Just whenever you can." He grabs your wet top from the ground and holds it out to you, then reaches for the door as you slip on your sandals. 

You feel him close behind you, close enough for his chest to push against your back when you straighten up. His arm is pressing into your side, hand curled around the knob and twisting it, but he's unable to open the door as you let your head fall against it. 

"God dammit." 

"Hm?" You can tell he's leaning down because his breath falls just over your ear. 

"I said we weren't—"

He cuts you off, "But, you want to."

He's too hot and too smooth, and you can’t stop yourself from turning around and breathing, "Yeah, I want to." 

It's different tonight. Mike takes his time undressing you, kissing and sucking your neck, your collarbone, your nipples that pebble against his tongue. It's unnerving even as you squirm and moan. 

He eats you out lazily, flattening his tongue against your folds then dipping into your slit so that he can slip into your twitching hole. 

When he adds a finger, you immediately grind down on it, silently begging him to work you open enough to take his cock, but he doesn't move any faster, apparently content to just drive you insane. 

You're nearly begging by the time he turns you on your side and moves to lay behind you, hiking your leg up and pushing most of his length inside of you in one faultless motion that makes you choke and sob his name. 

That stretch is back, delicious as it is painful as he splits you open. His thrusts are the same slow pace, cock dragging against gummy walls as he drapes an arm over you to toy with your swollen clit. 

It takes you both longer than usual to come, but when you do, your whole body trembles against him, and you have to suck in several deep breaths until you feel like your lungs start actually filling with air. 

Mike paints your back with warm cum, groaning right in your ear as he rubs against you, his cock sliding easily up and down your skin and making more of a mess. 

That unnerving feeling blooms in your chest again, crawls up into your throat. 

Tonight had been too casual, too natural. The way you hung out and watched a movie was already a little strange. Him fucking you from behind, holding you tight against his body, was too tender. And, now, after he leaves to grab a wet towel and uses it to clean your back, you find yourself searching for words again only to come up with passionate—intimate. 

And, words like that scare you.

[ n e x t ]

#miche zacharias x reader #mike zacharias x reader #aot x reader #snk x reader #aot fanfiction #attack on titan fanfiction #mels prima vista #mels frat house

[midday0nightmares]

28 - prove it.

Previous chapter pry on the weak (m).

m.list.

warnings: this series contains themes of yandere\mafia, blood, violence, mental health, drugs, non-con.

author note: this is pure fiction and it is not intended to romanticize any of the situations mentioned bellow.

Panicked footsteps echos over  the empty hallway walls, moving closer to you.

“sera..” 

It’s jaemin, his voice is unmistakable.

He crouches down in front of you, you don’t at him, “you ok? What happened?” His voices comes out shaky, maybe it’s guilt. 

Your vision blurs with angry tears, his question infuriating you.

you snap when his hands touch you.. “where the hell were you?” the loaded words cut through your throat, he flinch back when you look at him..

His jacket in his hand, the once neat white button down is now torn open missing a button or two, half of it hanging outside of his trousers. His slicked back hair is now a mess, lipstick stains on the side of his neck, he reeks with a feminine perfume mixed with alcohol.. he stutters unable to speak, adding to your rage.

You stand to your feet, refusing his help, your arms warping around yourself “just open the door..” you mutter insults under your breath while wiping your tears strained checks, he press in the code and let you walk in first keeping his head down..

Once your both inside and the door is closed he calls you, 

“Sera wait” he grab your arm, his hold on you is anything but firm.

“No! You left me.. you were with some other girl while I was ..” the word died in your chest leaving a bitter taste in the back of your throat, a new wave of anger washing over it.

you look down at yourself.. you cry harder, you felt sorry for yourself. he steps closer to you and dares to attempt to hug you, you push him as hard as you can, “you son of a bitch..” You throw one your shoes at him and miss due to your unclear vision..

“ooh my god you’er being crazy now!” He tries to duck down when you throw the other pair at him and you mange to hit him in the stomach, he grunts in pain.

 You launch at him, punching, slapping, scratching whatever you hands can reach of him “was she worth it? Was she better?”,

“stop!” His loud voice would have scared you before, but not anymore. he mange to restrain your hands and shake you but you still keep going if not with your hands then with your mouth, you shout every curse word you know.. 

His eyebrow knot at your meltdown ”stop!’ he shakes you “Who did this? Who was it?” his hands squeezing hard around your wrists almost snapping them, you wince in pain “you’er hurting me! Asshole” you try to kick his leg to free your arms bur he stays unaffected, “tell me who was it?” growls, his face is turning red, veins bulging around his neck.

“oh so now you care? Fuck you!” you retort back. still feeling betrayed, you lean closer into with all the hurt and the anger you seethe “Go back to her” .. 

Sudden silence falls upon you, you tow stand in each other’s face in the a the dark living room that was only lighted by the dimmed city lights, too stubborn to backdown the tension rises as angry pantings coming out of both of you while the muffled music of the soaring party plays in the background.

His hold on your arms loosens as they fall to your sides. a wise person would move away but you don’t, you still stare into his eyes with all the hatred and disgust you feel for him right now, he doesn’t look away as well, his hot breathes fan over your face.. 

He steps even closer, his lips almost grazing yours, his hands come to sit on his hips in a challenging stance, obviously ticked off, he shifts his weight to one foot before he speaks, “stop being a crazy jealous whore and tell me who did it?”.

a cynical smile tugs on your lips, “ a crazy jealous whore?” You repeat after him, arms crossing in front of you, not showing any signs of backing down. 

You would have missed the way his eyes squinted if you weren’t that close to him, his eyes scan your face before he speaks again “Unless you wanted it.. “ you were not expecting him to step this low, the accusationary tone catching you off guard.

You can’t tell if he was being serious or he’s saying it to despise you.. non the less, it still cuts deep, deeper than any physical harm you are suffering from, thus rendering you speechless.

He continue, “Walking around like a slut in that skimpy outfit, what were expecting huh?” his voice rising with each word, his confidence was being fulled by your hurt that was showing your face. 

He take one last jab at you, “you probably enjoyed it too” he scuffs and turns around, you stand frozen in your place.

As soon as you regained your ability to breath you fire back with a broken voice, “is that all you got? Quite the a man you are.. a crowd” your heart shatters and you can’t help the pathetic sob from erupting out of you, it seems to have an effect on him as he stops in his place couple of steps away from you. 

“ I loved you but you’er not worth it” you don’t mean it but you force it out of you, as loud and clear as you can,” go back to your sluts that’s where you belong”.

He turns to look at you, a shiver runs down your spine,

“you loved me?” The sarcasm is evident in his voice, although he’s calmer now he’s scaring you.

He comes closer to you, you wipe your tears to clear your vision and sniffle, embracing yourself for what’s about to come, his arm reach to your face, you tried to move away but he was faster, his hand clawing your jaw, fingertips digging into the soft flesh of your checks, yanking you closer to him, “you loved me?” He repeats your words to himself. 

your hands desperately wrap around his arm trying ease his hold on your face. “lair” he whispers, the subtle hurt in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed, your heart beats so loud to the point where he could hear it too.

“you are all talk baby” he exhales out a deep breath he was holding.

you swallow the tight knot in your throat and mange a small “no..”, fresh hot tears filling your eyes as you drown in his sad brown orbs.. “I do.. I love you”.

“Prove it” he challenges you.. prove it? How would you prove love to someone? Someone who’s far beyond broken?

You hesitate to speak, baffled by his request, he sense it and in disappointment he withdraw his hand, ignoring your attempts to hold his hand, he looks away. you panic feeling like he was slipping out of your grip. 

“Jaemin .. please”, 

but he turns away shaking his head “get yourself clean up sera, i’ll be back” he walks out the door slamming it shut ending the intense shouting match, somehow you felt at loss, he walked out the door taking a piece of your hat with him.

Dreadful fear sets in, the world starts to crumble around you.

When he comes back less than a hour later, he calls for you but no response. He walks towards his room looking for you but a whimper catches his attention, he gasp when he sees you on the kitchen floor with a knife in your hand, he runs to you taking the sharp object out of your hand, you don’t fight him, since you were done with it.

He shudders when he sees the blood leaking out the self inflicted wounds, his names carved on your left thigh.

“What have you done?” He shout at you but this time it has no anger behind it, the knife drops to the floor as he jumps and brings the kitchen towels roll, he starts ripping them and pressing them your wound to stop the blood loss.

“why did you do it?” He asks again, his voice’s breaking, you keep your head down your body swaying back in forth in silent grief.

He asked you to prove it..

He checks your wounds, he sigh wit relief and thank the gods when he sees them superficial. 

You didn’t notice before but he’s crying, he wipes his nose with his sleeve and pulls you to his chest, he wraps his arms around you tightly holding you like he was trying to glue you back together.

 “don’t ever do that to yourself ever again” 

 “I’m sorry” you pat his back trying to reassure him.

He pulls you away just enough to look at you, he cradles your head in his hands, “no no baby, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean any of it. I was being a jerk to you Im sorry, forgive me” his thumbs wiping your tears away, he kisses your face multiple times while whispering love confessions to you, “I love you, I love you”.

He brings you back into the safety of his chest, you lean your head onto his shoulder nuzzling his neck, finding solace in his arms.

“whoever did this to you will pay, I promise you” 

#nct dream #nct yandere #nct mafia #nct angst #nct smut #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct jaemin #na jaemin #nct reactions

[darkwalk]

Scenic Detour

“So... we’re lost.”

“We’re not lost. We’re taking a scenic detour.” 

Sunstreaker snorted, shielding his optics as he glared at the horizon. “Says the one who doesn’t know how to read a map.”

“I know how to read the map! The map’s just wrong!” Sideswipe thrust the datapad at his brother, “Why don’t you try to read it then, if you think you can do better?”

The pair glared at each other for a long moment before Sunstreaker snatched the datapad with a sigh and studied it. He reset his optics. “Who the frag drew this map?”

The red twin threw his servos up. “I told you! But did you believe me and my epic map-reading skills? No!”

An optic roll, “Alright, alright. Sorry I offended your honor, your highness.”

“You are so rude today. I can’t believe I’m being attacked like this, after I’ve spent the last three hours trying to make us un-lost.”

“So you admit we’re lost?”

“.....Frag you. I’m trying.”

With a sigh, Sunstreaker dropped the mocking. “You’re right, I’m sorry. Where do you think we are?”

“Hm....” They crowded close to study the inaccurate map, helms bumping against each other. Sideswipe pointed to a spot closer to the Tyrest side of the Wastes. “I think we’re just east of that ridge.”

“How can we be near that ridge? The closest ridges only have two peaks and the map shows three?”

“Artistic license.” He parroted Sunstreaker’s favorite excuse. The glare he got in return was completely worth it.

“Artistic license is for other artwork,” His brother growled, “Not maps. Maps have to be accurate.”

Sideswipe wobbled back and forth on his pedes, optics glancing between the map and the ridges. “Well, we could go north to see if there’s those broken giant statues the map shows. If we find them, we’ll know where we are. At least, I’m pretty sure that way’s north.”

That was a pretty decent idea, or rather, a very good idea. But Sunstreaker had spent half the day out in the dusty grubby Wastes under a hot sun with nothing to distract him from being lost, so he wasn’t about to admit that was a very good idea they should absolutely do. The closest he could make himself get to verbally agreeing was a grumble of “sure”.

Sideswipe seemed to understand, giving a blinding smile before bolting forward and jumping into alt mode. “Race you!”

“Wait for me, you slagger!” yelled Sunstreaker, flooring it after him, “I am not going to be lost by myself!”

It didn’t take long before they’d driven presumably north of the ridges, taunting and yelling insults most of the way. Swerving around an outcropping, they slammed on their brakes to stop from speeding down a sudden incline. There were no giant statues in front of them. With a yell of frustration, Sunstreaker transformed and kicked a rock as hard as he could. Sideswipe stood up and stared at what lay in front of them.

“So..... we’re probably a lot more north than we thought if we’re hitting lakes. Think it’s part of the Rust Sea?”

“Does that look like rust?!” Sunstreaker threw his servos in the air as he paced back and forth. “When we get back, I’m hunting down whoever drew this map and challenging them to a fragging fight just so I can pummel them into the ground! Cannot believe-”

As his brother stomped around in frustration, interspersed with rock-kicking, Sideswipe studied the lake. It glimmered under the sunlight, something the Rust Sea never did. “You’re right, it doesn’t. I wonder what it is.”

He took off down the slope towards the shore, ignoring Sunstreaker’s shouting. Sideswipe knew Sunny would follow him and he was right. He hadn’t even reached the edge of damp ground before his brother was right on his heels, scowling all the while. They slowed to a stop just outside of the waves’ reach and studied the slightly reddish-brown tinted liquid.

“Looks like water.”

As Sunstreaker strode forward, Sideswipe grabbed his elbow. “Don’t just jump in! What if it’s acid?!”

Holding optic contact, Sunstreaker reached out and stuck his hand in the waves before pulling it back out and shaking it with a straight face.

Sideswipe pouted. “Damn. An acid lake would’ve been so cool.”

Before he could do anything, his brother lunged to grab him around the waist and heaved, spinning to bodily throw him into the lake. Sideswipe shrieked in surprise before landing with a splash. “Pit-spawned slagger!”

Sunstreaker was already sloshing his way towards him, smirk widening as he got up and tackled him into the waves. The pair tumbled around, squealing and shouting as they splashed water at each other and tried to dunk each other’s helms under. Slowly tiring, the brothers finally gave it a rest and trudged back onto land as the sun started to sink into the horizon. Flopping onto the ground, Sideswipe cuddled into Sunny’s side, helm cushioned on a shoulder pauldron.

“I like this lake. We should bring Orion here.”

A hum of agreement, as Sunstreaker wondered what they were going to do when it got dark. An idea niggled at him. “We know which way’s west.”

“Uh...yeah?”

“.....Why don’t we just follow the sun that way? Even if we don’t hit the base, we’ll run into one of the patrols if we go far enough.”

They sat up and looked at each other, simultaneously turning to look at the sunset and then back at each other. Sideswipe grimaced.

“We’re idiots.”

“Complete morons.”

“Imbecilic fools not worthy of being called Knights.”

Sunstreaker sighed, dragging his groaning brother up to standing, “Time to go home, as all good Knights should. And no racing this time. I’m tired.”

“Oof, me too. But we are absolutely bringing Orion here sometime.”

“And fighting whoever made this map.”

“Absolutely.”

#sideswipe #sunstreaker #tgau #together au #knives in the dark #snippet #stories #orion pax #orion #transformers #the twins go exploring