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manicpixiefelix · 4 months

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head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 7.

Summary: A chance to look through Oliver Quick's eyes as he watches through windows, decides he wants to be loved, and finally takes a chance with the reader. Until it comes crashing down because Michael Gavey called Felix a slag, and it's made Oliver's problem.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: SMUT (we see reader topping felix from last chapter but through oliver's perspective, cockwarming, vague somnophilia because of that i guess??, reader getting head and reader giving head but reader's AGAB is not specified), also some vaguely unsettling imagery i guess, and the scene in felix's room with the cleaning is made even more tense and uncomfortable

A/N: 7084 words. POV shift to Oliver! Also this chapter is FUCKING HUGE, i tried to find a good place to maybe split it, but couldn't find one. so you're stuck with 7k, eat up friends! also i would really appreciate if anyone has any thoughts about how i've written oliver, id love to hear them, i don't want him to 100% like the reader, and i think ive managed to have him come across more uh, cerebral i guess im going with? yeah thoughts good, would love some. holy shit this chapter goes so many places.

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

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Y/N's been rambling on about reading Anna Karenina for one of their classes ever since they'd met Oliver after his final class for the day, but he's barely able to focus on their words. Usually he likes to look like he's paying attention to their words, he knows it makes him seem attentive, and everybody loves to feel heard, but Oliver's mind is elsewhere. It's in the garden outside of Y/N's window. It's outside their door where he'd sat patiently, giving blithe smiles to your dormmates and telling them he was simply waiting for you to get dressed. The doors of the Oxford dormitories were thick, but not thick enough to hide sound on the other side from an ear pressed up against them when the hallway was empty.

It's not even close to the first time he'd seen you in these moments together; how no-one else in your group of friends, apart from Farleigh he suspected, believed you two were sleeping together was baffling. Wilful ignorance is a hell of a drug. He hopes the two of you never learn how to close your blinds.

But there was something different about yesterday.

"Any of youse seen Felix? Or Y/N?" He'd approached the group on the grass with the same kind of hesitancy he'd always put on for them, never wanting to seem too arrogant, to comfortable in their presence. He knew they didn't like him, but people like this liked feeling powerful over the 'lesser folk'. Anyways, it's not like he was particularly keen on befriending any of them, it was okay to hold them at arm's length.

Farleigh, beautiful, condescending Farleigh, looked up at him through his lashes; there was no sun in his eyes, the squint was more likely to be him half-pulling a face of contempt with plausible deniability.

"Maybe." Unhelpful.

"Y/N came through here like a fucking hurricane," Annabel told him; Oliver could only think of the irritating nasal in her voice as she'd listed off all the things she hadn't liked about him to Felix when they hadn't known he was around. Oliver fought not to make a face of his own.

"Took Felix and headed that way," a blonde boy -Rex? Reg? Oliver hadn't even bothered to retain his name - nods in the direction of the dorms.

"They're so co-dependent sometimes," India shakes her head, strange little expression on her face. Perhaps she did know and was trying to convince herself otherwise.

"Yeah," laughed Annabel, "they could have at least tried meditating or something."

"I don't know," Farleigh shook his head, clicking his tongue, "I don't think they have any other coping mechanisms apart from their co-dependant shit."

"They've always been like this?" India actually sounds a little fond.

"It actually used to be worse," Farleigh snorted, and Annabel pitched herself back in the grass, claiming that it couldn't be true.

"I mean, with that kind of money I think Felix is allowed to be weirdly close to his cousin," India says with a shrug. What? Why was the group laughing like it was an in-joke.

"They're cousins?" Oliver asks; Farleigh he knew about, but no-one had ever really talked about how Felix and Y/N had gotten so close. Considering all he'd seen them do together -

"Kissing, codependent cousins," Annabel sighs, sitting up.

"Hot, kissing, codependent cousins," India wraps an arm around her in solidarity, and the girls share an exasperated chuckle, though from looking around it seemed that a lot of the group shared that sentiment.

"You're hot too, Farleigh -"

"Thanks, but I'll stick with just that for now, I'm happy being the non-kissing, non-codependent cousin," he chuckled, before turning his attention back to Oliver, still awkwardly by the edge of the group as everyone else continued to gossip. However, catching Farleigh's eye, for the barest moment, his wolfish grin, Oliver had total and complete confirmation that Felix and Y/N were in no way actually related.

Which, if he were to guess, meant that Farleigh definitely knew the two of you were sleeping together.

And judging from all the times Oliver had spoken to you both, neither of you were aware of this well established gossip in the group, Farleigh was never ever going to correct anyone, considering how damn funny he clearly thought the entire bit was. It at least explained how the rest of the group was so unphased by the closeness you and Felix shared, while still apparently - kind of - dating other people.

Eventually, tired of putting up his awkward façade, though he was grateful for the slim amount of information he'd learned, he clears his throat.

"So -"

"That way," Farleigh doesn't look at him this time, voice flat, thumb jerking towards Y/N's dorm.

Its the afternoon, grey, most people are at classes, so the courtyard outside of your dorm room is empty of any other living souls. Whenever he stops in, or even walks past, he checks in your window out of habit to see if you're in; you don't close your blinds often so it's an easy way to tell. Anyone passing by wouldn't be able to see anything, not unless they stopped and made an effort, but Oliver wasn't most people, and knew the layout of your room and how to search it when granted even a sliver to look through like today.

And today, not only are you in your dorm with Felix, as predicted, but the sight of you both makes his mouth go dry.

Felix Catton on his back, arching, perfect mouth open in some kind of wanton, whorish noise undoubtedly as you masterfully worked his cock with your hand. Fuck, Oliver knows he shouldn't be here, shouldn't be watching this.

He steps forward into the bushes. They rustle, his heart jumps, but neither of you seem to notice.

He can't see your face with your back to him like this, but you must be saying something, because Felix's lips are moving and his chest is heaving as he's gasping out words. Oliver knows he's embarrassing flush, embarrassingly hard in these fucking slacks, but the courtyard is still empty, and he knows all too well how little the outside world matters to you and Felix in these moments.

He can feel his heart beating in his throat, in his ears, painfully against his ribs as you slide one leg so smoothly over Felix's hips, hand between your own thighs as you hover yourself above him. You're toying with Felix, taking your time, taking full and total control in a way Oliver's never seen you do. He didn't know anyone could make Felix act like this, look like this; he never thought Felix would let anyone. But he shouldn't be surprised that it's you of all people.

When you lean down over Felix, your chest against his, like a proud lion over its prey, Oliver feels sick with himself, with how he wants to burn this fucking image into his brain, with how fucking perfectly he can watch from here as you take the entire length of Felix's cock. Its impressive, both his length, and how fucking easy you make it look. You're kissing him. You're fucking him. You're riding this Adonis in a way that makes him pliant and desperate beneath you.

Oliver steps back from the window, finally glancing around to double check his surroundings. No-one peeking out of windows, no-one around. He heads inside. He knows he shouldn't but he does, pulls out the sweater he'd loaned from Felix and folds it in his lap when he sits with his back against your door, both as an excuse should anyone walk past, and to hide the visible hardness in his pants.

Sometimes you're too quiet to hear, but the way the bed creaks and the two of you moan, it's some kind of debauched symphony. Oliver swears he's not a masochist, but it almost hurts to hear you both like this, like something out of a dream or a fantasy, and to remain stone-faced at your bedroom door -

"I want everyone else you ever fuck to be jealous of the way you let me fuck you."

Oliver can't even begin to imagine the things this means, the things you want to do to Felix, but then he hears -

"Yes, fuck, yes- my Y/N, anything you want - please." Felix gasping, begging like Oliver's never heard before. Sounds he knows only you could have elicited from the man who makes people around him fall in love with him by accident.

Oliver Quick is never going to get these moments out of his head; he's never been so desperate to be wanted by anyone in his life, let alone two people. There is a shameless, lascivious kind of love between you both that he vows to get the chance to drink from the source.

It's again changed his perception of you, perhaps made him a little bolder once more. So the day after, walking to the pub after class, barely listening to you talk about your book, he's trying to see if anything's changed. As far as he was aware, your encounter with Felix the day before was unusual for you. Perhaps something's changed, and perhaps he's not subtle about looking.

It's something unspoken between you, it ebbs and flows depending on Oliver's mood, how bold he's feeling. A quiet, voyeuristic exchange you share, the pleasure of being watched, and the pleasure of watching. The roles reverse and your eyes are on him in the way eyes rarely are.

More the observant than the observed, he'd told you, yet he took pleasure in feeling your gaze upon him, taking the time that he knows is so precious to you to watch him. You are familiar to him in a way that is so foreign; you are watching and adapting and anticipating the desires around you. Not action, but reaction; a people-pleaser down to your bones, wrapped up Felix's brand of hedonism. You get off making people feel loved, but Oliver can't help but wonder about the desire you keep to yourself, just below the surface.

Neither of you have spoken about the night at the club; Oliver's desperate to see how long it will take you before you act, rather than get pushed into reacting. He doesn't know how long he can last.

Felix shows up to the pub with Annabel and a strained smile that doesn't reach his eyes. Which is better than Annabel's outright scowl. They sit in chairs across from the rounded bench that always took up half the table your group liked to tension filling the ample space between them. As the last to arrive, everyone else's attention was drawn to them, going quiet as everyone picked up the couple's sour mood.

There's a moment where Oliver catches the way Felix looks at you across the table. No-one else picks up on it, since in the next moment Felix raises his hands to cover a cough, and what Oliver suspects is a grin, but you've turned your head sharply, sniffing loudly and almost managing to press your face into Oliver's shoulder. After a beat you fake a sneeze, and apologise. Oliver brushes it off, and fights off a smile of his own. He doesn't have all the details, but clearly you made good on your promise to make Felix's other future fucks jealous.

"You know what? I'm desperate for a pint, anybody else -" Felix goes to stand, attempting to break the tension, but immediately Annabel scoffs.

"Desperate sounds about right." And she's not quiet with her scorn.

"Can you not do this now? We've been here two minutes, you want a drink?" He hissed, trying to keep up a positive façade despite the faint anger and embarrassment in his eyes. It doesn't last, of course, not with all eyes on the pair of them. It's Farleigh who speaks up first, not even bothering to hide his smug smile.

"You okay there, Felix?" He wears a grin that's all teeth.

"What?" Felix frowns, but Oliver can see exactly what Farleigh's talking about. When he brings it up, however, he does his best to sound genuinely innocent, concerned even.

"Have you got yourself hurt, Felix?" And when Felix meets his gaze he knows it's come across as intended, the conflict and frustration still somehow looking beautiful in his brown eyes.

"No, I'm fine," he tugs at the collar of his shirt, hoping it sits a little higher, hides the hickey that's clearly there.

"Burn yourself on a curling iron, Felix?" India teases, matching Farleigh's earlier energy, and while it did nothing to help Annabel's mood, at least Felix no longer seemed conflicted.

"Had a run in with a particularly aggressive vacuum cleaner?" You piped up from beside Oliver, and the minute Felix sees your own triumphant grin he starts to go pink around the ears and has to duck his head.

"Try several vacuum cleaners," Annabel snapped to the table, "or one whorish townie girl!" For just a moment, the group is quiet, contemplating what she'd said, the upset in her voice, but it's short-lived.

"How many vacuum cleaners?" Farleigh leans forward, elbows on the table and chin on his hands with a grin like the Cheshire cat. Felix tells him to fuck off, but his blush is still distinct.

"They're all over him," Annabel sticks her nose in the air, arms crossed and looking especially petulant. The lads at the table did actually cheer at that, much to her continued frustration.

"You spend entire nights hitting on other guys in front of me! You made eye contact while one latched himself onto your neck as I was trying to dance!" Felix argued back, and the jury of their peers began to shake their heads at this new information. Annabel pouted for a moment.

"That's different -"

"It kinda isn't," India tried to shoot for sympathetic, wincing as she said it, which was enough for Annabel to sigh dramatically, standing from the table.

"Fine, I do want a drink," and she immediately made a furious beeline for the bar. Felix, however, hesitated for a moment, watching her leave before he turned back to the group with a cocky smile, yanking down the collar of his shirt to show off several more bright, scandalous hickeys.

"Best vacuum cleaner I've ever had," he tells them all smugly, before standing up straight and righting his shirt, "okay, this round's on me." A cheer rises from the group, but as Felix walks off, Oliver catches the way he winks at Y/N. You snort a quiet laugh, but Oliver's pretty sure he's the only one who heard it.

Christ, you two weren't even trying to be subtle half the time.

Still, for all her apparent frustration at Felix's mystery partner, it seemed to only make Annabel cling to him further. No more flirting with strangers, no more sitting apart. She reeks of insecurity, but Oliver just watches you watching her. There's something in your eyes in these moments, like a lion too sated to be bothered with the hunt, but the instinct to pounce could resurface at any moment.

But Oliver's obsession with the intricacies of your lives still lead him outside of Felix's window after one of countless parties. Still watching with animal curiosity and a cigarette in hand, as Annabel works hard to stake her claim on a man she desperately wants to own.

Annabel is an unenthralling understudy, Oliver thinks.

Throwing the butt of his cigarette into the bushes, he can't bring himself to stay. He knows where he needs to go, knows what he needs to do; in his mind Annabel is a lithe and graceful performance of extasy, and Felix is all quiet focus and hard, gorgeous muscles shining with sweat from the exertion of it all. But there's no love. It's all performance, a pleasurable performance for them, he's sure, but it's just two beautiful people smashing their bodies together in sloppy ecstasy.

Fuck.

No only is a creep, and a pervert, but now he's a picky, creepy pervert.

But his thoughts stop in the courtyard outside of your dorm. You light is on. Your window is open all the way, and there you are, looking like a dream in your pyjamas, sitting on the windowsill and having a smoke.

"Ollie!" He'll never get sick of how you say his name, how you smile when you see his face. There's a split second where he has to make a decision, has to figure out how to approach you in this moment. At the club you'd all but folded on the spot at his bold approach, he knows he could have had you practically there and then if he'd been inclined, but part of him can't stop thinking about how you'd had Felix on his back, practically begging.

Oliver feels like every time he thinks he's close to figuring you out, he learns something knew about you that makes him rethink it all. He wants to know all of you, your hopes and dreams and the grotesque desires you will never tell the world, desperate to keep testing you and your reactions, and perhaps even your limits if it ever came to that, to figure out how to get underneath your beautiful skin the way Felix had. Part of him feels like you're never going to stop surprising him, one way or the other. You are intrigue and unexpected and he wants to carve a home for himself in your bones.

"Thought you'd still be out," you tell him, back flush with the frame of your window, one leg up on the ledge while the other dangled over the gardens he'd watched you from more times than he'd like to admit.

"'s not the same without you," he admits after a moment, hands in his pockets. Your endeared, bashful smile is predictable, but no less heart-warming to see. He loves the way you react to him.

"Is that why you're here," it sounds teasing, but he can hear a hint of something that almost sounds hopeful. When you look back at him again, there's that same look you've been giving him since he'd held you, kissed you, ghosted you at the club.

"I don't know," he lies softly, "I just started walking."

"Come on then," you grin, stubbing out your cigarette on the windowsill, "you came all this way, why not have a sleepover," and you swing your legs inside, hopping off the ledge. He moves automatically towards the window, but when you hear him moving, you frown over your shoulder, "door, Ollie."

He's never been inside your room at night.

It glows with the same gold light that all these old building with their old lamps glowed, casting all your knickknacks in shadow and sharp relief. Only your bed lamp was on, book open on your bed. Jane Austin's Emma.

"Sorry, I don't mean to impose," Oliver's voice matches the rest of how he wants to appear; small. Sitting on your soft, patterned duvet, he looks not at you, but around at the room you call home, cataloguing everything in this new light, trying not to think about Felix and Annabel fucking, Felix and Annabel laughing, Felix and Annabel joking about how -

He's a scholarship boy who buys his clothes from Oxfam; no-one wants to sit next to fucking Oliver.

"I love you Ollie," you tell him blithely, easily, truthfully, "you never impose."

Annabel grates on his ears and his nerves and his fucking memories. Your smile is like a balm for that the burn that snobby bitch leaves in the back of his mind when he thinks too hard about her.

You move with such ease around the space, not that he should be at all surprised at that. Perhaps it's more that he still feels like a stranger in his own room at times. Planting yourself against your headboard legs crossed and looking so at ease in your summer pyjamas, you ask, tone light, "you don't mind if I read for a bit, I'm not going to be up much longer, but like I said, you're always welcome to stay."

"What are you reading?" Oliver lets himself relax in your presence, lays himself back on the bed, looking up at the sculpted ceiling of the old building. He knows what you're reading, he just likes hearing your voice.

"Emma," he can hear the rustle of the pages, had seen the worn spine and yellowing paper, wonders if it's vintage, wonders how you got it if it is, "Jane Austen for my lit class."

"Finished Anna Karenina?" You make a quiet hum of acknowledgement. More silence and the warmth of company and lamp light, "it's been a while since I've read any Austen."

"Do you want me to read some to you?" Of course there's humour in your tone, but Oliver can hear it for the genuine offer that it is. When he looks at you, he can't help but smile. There's such fond affection in your eyes as you look at him over the top of the book.

"Please," he says it so softly, so sweetly, and it's enough to see you smile before you disappear behind the book again.

"I'm near the end, you won't get the context -"

"Doesn't matter," he sits back up, pulls off his jacket, kicks off his shoes, and settles back beside you.

"Settled?" Your voice is a murmur, barely a whisper, and when he laughs quietly, he knows you can feel the way it rumbles within him.

When you start, your voice is soothing, halfway through a chapter, through a conversation between characters he has no clue about. He's never read Austen but he'd devour her books if you were the one reading them. It feels like an almost perfect moment.

"- Seldom, very seldom," his head is on your shoulder, eyes scanning the page, the words as you read them, "does complete truth belong to any human disclosure; seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised or a little mistaken, but-”

"I did come here for you," something about the line makes the hairs prick on the back of his neck, he can't keep quiet; there is want still simmering beneath his skin, and each time his mind drifts to Felix and Annabel, something furious and desperate coils in his gut. You fall silent, book still open and aloft, cheek still resting against his head where he's kept it on your shoulder. When you take a deep breath, he feels it, both of you move in sync, "of course I came here for you."

This time, he doesn't reach out, doesn't touch you more than he is. Every time he's reached out, he's gone against the pattern you've observed of him, he's always made a connection with you where you know he holds back from others. This time, he waits with bated breath.

"If there's nothing more you want from me than moments like this, I'll never say another word about it," he assures, as if trying not to spook or pressure you. But still he waits.

"What do you want, Ollie?" To pick you apart like a vulture, to see the desires you keep so close they're written on your bones.

"You," he says instead, all gentle words and just as gentle breathing, "if you'll have me." Tell me what it is you want. Tell me you can want. Tell me you know you can want things for yourself, want things beyond a reaction to the wants and needs of everyone around you -

Carefully, you reach over to your bedside table, trying not to jostle either of you too much, and keep your place with a bookmark before you put the book down.

But you do make the first move. You take his face in your hands, holding him like he's fragile and perfect and porcelain, shuffling to face him properly. This kiss tastes almost like home, like finally from you both, until his tongue runs along your lips and you part willingly for him, the kiss turning quickly more passionate. Oliver's not even sure how he came to be straddling your lap, nor how he didn't notice you undoing half of his shirt buttons already, but when the kiss breaks he takes your hands in his.

"Of course I want you," tumbles from your lips, sounding heady, needy, and for just a moment, Oliver breath stutters in his chest. But he slows things down again, leans in to kiss you sweetly once more, before he's pulling off your pyjama shirt.

"I want to know what you want," he murmurs against your lips, kissing his way down your jaw slowly as he speaks, "wanna know how to make you feel good."

"Anything you do -" you try, but he looks up after pressing a kiss to your sternum.

"You need to be needed," he says softly, punctuating each statement with a kiss, refusing to break eye contact with you, "and you want to be wanted," his warm lips on your belly, he sees the conflict in your eyes, the desire and embarrassment all at once, "and you're very good at those things, one of the best, I'm sure." Hooking his thumbs into the waistband of your underwear, he pauses, "is this okay?" You nod quickly, enthusiastically, and he gives a warm smile.

"You're like me, sweetheart," he says softly, resting his cheek on your inner thigh for a moment, watching you still. Reaching out, you card your fingers through his hair, fingers trailing down his jaw, and he turns his face to kiss your palm, "I know that if I gave you half a chance, you'll figure out how to be all I could ever want, but tonight I want everyone to hear how you sound when someone's making you feel good-" he doesn't realise he's quoting something he should not have heard from Felix until it's too late, but you cut him off. You didn't even seem to realise.

Then your other hand is in his hair, a new look in your eyes, a newfound determination, a nervous excitement. You grip on his hair tightens.

"Yes?" He gives a cheeky grin, and you finally smile like you mean it.

"I get it," you roll your eyes, but there's nothing malicious about it, especially since the gesture has Oliver pressing his own chuckle against your thigh, "now you have one guess as to how I'd like you to shut up." There's that confidence he'd heard the other day, the confidence that was burned into the back of his mind, the confidence that had been part of the reason he'd spent a good hour in the shower after hearing it.

"Only if you turn out your lamp," he smirks, though inside all he can think about is how bright the whole room is through the gap in the curtains. It doesn't seem to bother you, it never has, and though he was grateful for it when he was on the outside looking in, there's something about being the one potentially being watched that causes him a faint sense of unease.

You call the moonlight more romantic anyways, and Oliver doesn't need to be told twice to go down on you.

When Oliver wakes the next morning, still in your bed, still in you, he almost wants to pinch himself. It's a childish sentiment, but you're in his arms, wrapped up in him and this early morning light through your curtains. Though he tries not to jostle you too much, the arm beneath his head is asleep and getting more uncomfortable by the second. Except the movement just makes you mumble around a breathy moan, hips moving against his.

"Fucking hell," he groans into your ear, and he gets a sleepy, contented chuckle in return, turning your face a little more towards him to give an affectionate bump against his forehead.

"Ollie~"

For just a second, Oliver thinks about living in this moment for the rest of his life.

"You okay?" He murmurs, watching your smile grow. Everything about you looks so pleased, so content, so satisfied.

"Never done that before," you admit, wiggling your hips a little. Oliver swears under his breath again, but judging by the mischievous smile you wear and the twinkle in your eyes, you knew exactly what you were doing. Then, with all the casualness of any other conversation, you manage to catch him off guard again; "anyone who thinks you don't fit in has clearly never fucked you; you fit perfectly -" his teeth sink into your shoulder before he can even properly figure out how he should have reacted.

But instead of finding it strange or off-putting, you let out a breathy laugh, tension easing in your shoulders. Your hips begin to roll against his, consistent, deliberate. He wonders how many people you've let fuck you like this, like they love you, like they care about you. Oh he knows you fuck your friends with love on your tongue, treat them like they're your last meal, like they mean something, but Oliver gets the feeling you don't expect them to return the favour. He's seen the kind of company you keep, he's pretty sure they never do.

How many of them have seen you grateful the way you look now, bathed in the morning light of Summer, laughing and unable to stop talking with such casual fondness in your eyes and on your lips.

When you go down on him in the shower, Oliver thinks he sees hearts in your eyes.

There might just be something very fucking wrong with you, and he's grateful for it every day.

But it doesn't last.

It's on a Summer day that's too hot, less than a week since he'd spent the night with you. Summer days around here seem to always be too hot, but this might be the worst. Felix still doesn't close his blinds, sun painting him golden where he lay on the floor of his room with a cigarette. Oliver had perched himself on the windowsill as you'd taken up residence on Felix's bed, sitting with your back to his headboard, engrossed in what appeared to be notes, or some kind of file.

Oliver has no idea if you've told Felix, or what you would have told him. The dynamic between the three of you appears to have remained otherwise unchanged. Sometimes, however, Oliver catches Felix looking at him out of the corner of his eyes, head tipped, curious like he was about Oliver's past; his expression is always unreadable, but it's started pitting in Oliver's stomach whenever he catches it. Felix always looks away. Felix has been looking at him less lately, that too causes some kind of anxious feeling Oliver would rather not dwell on.

"I don't like Michael Gavey," you announced from your relatively dark corner of Felix's bed. How did you even know Michael Gavey?

"Who?" Felix makes a face in the sunlight, whole expression wrinkling up, as if trying to wrack his brains. But you're looking at Oliver. There's no affection in your eyes, manila folder in your hands.

"He's-" Oliver feels like he's on the back foot again. All the comfort and good will he'd built up around the two of you feels suddenly so far away, "he's in my year." There's no precedent, no road map in his mind for where this could be going.

"He likes you," it's accusatory coming from you. Oliver looks to Felix for a moment, if only to avoid the intensity of your gaze, but he's closed his eyes, staying out of it.

Oliver considers bailing out of the window, but thinks better of it.

"He, erm, kind of was my friend, I suppose."

"Kind of was your friend?" Felix's voice is almost cold, surprising Oliver, but apparently not you. It's clear you're both looking for some kind of elaboration. Why did this feel like an interrogation? What had Michael done? Why was Oliver on trial for it? Felix cracks his eyes open as he takes a long draught of his cigarette.

"Back at the start of the year," Oliver wets his lips, fidgeting, focusing his attention only on the folder you held, desperate to know what was in it.

"Nasty friend you had," you tell him. It's so cold it almost stings.

"Is he the one who got you all riled up the other week?" Felix finally appears to connect the dots, sitting up on his elbows. Thankfully, however, his amusement breaks the tension, and you have to hide your face behind the file as you opened it and began to read. Oliver could feel his heart in his throat, confused, anxious -

"Impressive mathematic record across the board for his first semester, as well all throughout sixth form," you rattled off, eyes narrowed as you look at the paper, "several documented attempts to contact the Head of Math, Phys-Ed, and Life Sciences to," you cleared your throat, shaking your head with surprising disdain, "beg to be exempt from any potentially mandatory Humanities or Social Sciences courses. Unsurprising," you rolled your eyes, "since he bombed his English and French GCSEs, and I think he's the kind of person who prides himself on a perfect GPA."

Every fact you list you do so with such casual cruelty, momentarily folding the file closed and leaning down to make sure you could see Felix.

"He went to high school with us apparently," so casual it actually hurts Oliver a little to hear, "year below us he said," and you wiggle the file in your hands, "looks to be true."

"Still don't know him," Felix shrugs, like he doesn't give any kind of a shit how you got your hands on all of this information. Sitting back, you continued;

"Applied for scholarships - didn't get them; turns out you have to play sports to get a sports scholarships," you click your tongue as you flip through the pages of Michael's file like you were reading the newspaper, "no clubs, no social life, and a notably arrogant prick." You snapped the file closed, levelling a look at Oliver that he'd never seen you make. It was nothing, like a void, demanding a reaction, a response from him. Accusatory yet without any hint of blame, there's something about this look of intense, demanding neutrality that makes him feel actually sick, like you'll be able to know when he lies, know all his secrets if you look at him long enough.

Felix settles back down on the ground, seemingly immune to the tension so thick Oliver felt like he was choking on it. Even if he looks away he can feel your eyes boring into him, like a spider watching a futile fly in it's web.

"What's your problem with him?" Oliver can only bring himself to look out the window, bringing his hand up to scratch at his nose. Maybe if he covers his mouth he won't spill his guts under your gaze. Then, almost so fast it gives Oliver motion sickness, the tension drops.

You sit yourself back, kick your feet out in front of you, and toss the file to the end of the bed. That can't be legal.

"It's sweet that your friends are protective, but he knows you're your own person, right -?" God your light, flippant tone all but rings in his ears. Still, Oliver knows a warning when he hears it.

"He's not my friend; he was, but he's not," Oliver quickly insists, desperate to be on the other side of this deeply uncomfortable conversation. The tension eases in your shoulders when he looks over to you; the right answer. Something about the relief he feels doesn't sit quite right; why had you brought Michael up now of all times? Why had your gaze felt so constricting, even when he and Michael weren't even close; all you would have had to do was ask -

"Said some nasty things about us is all," your voice goes quiet, rueful even, and he follows your gaze to the edge of the bed to where you knew Felix lay, "called Fi a slag."

But there it was; the true audience for your show of force, and the blade that sliced so cleanly through any other attachment people think they have with Felix, all in one.

Its a simple nickname, the most basic nickname anyone could give to a guy named Felix, but no-one else calls him anything but Felix. No-one else calls him Fi the way you do, they wouldn't dare. He wears your nickname like a collar and he doesn't even realise.

"What a cunt," Felix groaned, so infuriatingly uncaring.

In the moments that follow, Oliver almost feels like his head's spinning from the interaction that had just been forced upon him. There's so many questions, new, anxiety-inducing implications for the information you've brought to them both today. Felix doesn't seem troubled by it, but that seems to be the point.

"So fucking hot," he sighs into the afternoon heat, finishing off his cigarette like none of what you'd said even mattered now.

"I know," Oliver finds his voice again, barely. He can't look at you, at the way you're lounging in what he could mistake for triumph. All he can see is Felix, the centre of the fucking universe.

There's something grotesque about you both in this moment, in this room, beautiful and terrible; the perfect picture of privilege and squalor.

"What's that smell?" Pizza, mostly empty drinks, plates and cups unwashed, dirty clothes -

"Uh," if Felix thinks about it, he isn't thinking too hard, clearly, "I don't know." Smoke rings from his pretty lips aren't enough of a distraction from the moment, from the filth of it all now that Oliver's starting to properly look around.

Again he finds himself realising that he has no idea about your background, how you came to find Felix. Sitting with your back to the headboard and eyes closed, even you seem to not care-

"Can't believe you let him live like this," Oliver actually scoffs, hopping from the windowsill, needing to do something with his hands, move, shake off the layer of moral grime that your verbal attack on Michael Gavey had showered him in.

"What?" Felix barely even props himself up, "what are you on about?"

"It's disgusting, Felix."

"It's fine."

"Right, I'm cleaning up -" Oliver moves without thinking, picking up a the waste paper basket and throwing out trash from every surface he can reach. He can't look at Felix, can't look at you, but you're both watching him, "only rich people can afford to be this filthy," he hears himself say. Then, after barking a laugh with no humour in it, he turns his shallow gaze on you, "and what's your excuse? Just picked the habit up after all those years?" For a moment you look at him with genuine confusion, but you give him no real response before Felix tells him to fuck off. But Oliver doesn't stop.

Even as Felix is growing more fed up, insisting he'll clean up later, Oliver's own frustration rises. Felix will never do anything for himself.

Except he doesn't mean to say that part out loud.

That's what gets Felix on his feet, gets him to grab the basket, irritation and resentment on his tongue. Oliver feels like he's touched a live wire, like he's pushed Felix too far, watching him tall, frustrated, glowing with sweat from the afternoon heat. It's the heat Felix complains about as he blows about him room, resentfully stuffing rubbish into the bin, complains about the building and it's age and it's wood fucking panelling that can't be ruined with an air conditioner.

In the moment Oliver chooses to glance to you, he's surprised. You only have eyes for Felix, watching him with an expression Oliver can't begin to fathom, curled up in the corner of his bed. You are waiting. You are holding yourself back. You are desperately trying to let Felix prove Oliver wrong.

"Stressing about the exams?" Oliver tries to pivot, tries to redirect the conversation to something he can claw his way back from, that will keep these relationships from being unsalvageable.

"I'm not stressed about the exams, Ol," Felix sounds like he could snap at any moment, sitting on the edge of his bed, wastebasket held on his knees while his other hand reaches out to you. Still half a foot of space between you, and you keep yourself compact, but the intention is clear; Oliver wonders if he even knows he does that, or if it's just instinct for the two of you these days. Felix, however, is looking at him, that same look he's been giving Oliver since you'd slept with him, "you're driving me fucking -"

Felix seems to realise what he's saying, however, with a sharp inhale as he looked away, moving his free hand from beside you to run through his hair. What is there to say now?

Felix says he's got revising to do, that he'll text later about going to the pub. Oliver desperately wants to believe it, but can hear that it's a lie. Felix can't even fucking look at him.

Oliver finally throws a helpless, hopeful glance to you. This time you are looking at him, but there's apology in your eyes. It's enough. It's the confirmation he'd dreaded, that makes his stomach drop.

"Ollie," even just a few hours ago he'd been in love with the way you said his name. Never like this.

"I'll catch you round," he can't look at either of you as he retreats, cant bare your eyes on him like that, and Felix's turned away.

A million thoughts, desperate ideas, all circle the drain that is quickly becoming his mind as the anxiety and the anguish sets in.

Unsalvageable. Past the point of no return. Irrevocably, awfully different.

With all he'd learned of you both, however, he couldn't just let it go to waste. Oliver had worked for all he had in this life, this prestigious place, among these self-important people. Despite his ongoing attempts to figure you out, he at least knew that if he was good to Felix, he was in good with you.

And Oliver knew exactly who Felix Catton wanted him to be.

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #saltburn x reader #felix catton x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagine #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #oliver quick x reader #head heart hand fic #oliver quick imagine #oliver quick x y/n #oliver quick x you #felix catton smut #oliver quick smut #saltburn smut

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thegnomelord · 5 months

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for the prompt game, if it's still open, maybe 8 with Ghost? maybe with hatefucking and at the point you're both at it's basically a routine but all of the nasty words and cruel moments are really just because you're both brutes that have trouble expressing emotions properly, and all you really want is just some kind of deeper connection with each other, but with your shitty use of words, arguing and eventual growling into into his mouth as you shove him down onto the nearest flat surface is the only way for you to get that. and perhaapps at one point, one of you, reader or ghost doesn't matter, let's something softer and more caring slip through the angry facade? ofc if you already have one for 8 or you just don't like this idea you can im really sorry and you can ignore me, no pressure and I love all your writing :')) <3

Okay anon holy shit this is GOOD! You should think of writing yourself like what I'm seeing in this prompt is good shit :D Play the game HERE

Prompt: "If this is a joke it isn't funny."

CW: NSFW, Sub Bot Ghost, Dom Top MReader, hatefucking, degradation, confessions, soft sex,

It always starts the same; Simon's roughly patting your shoulder and telling you to not cock it up, your equally harsh response for him to keep up with you, rough voices hiding the unsaid 'be careful's. Insults like 'dumbass', 'moron', 'dead weight' crackling over the radio when the other's pinned down by fire, the electric static and suppression fire muting the worry in your voice, the hint of care in Simon's tone.

And it always ends the same; harsh stares across the room while you debrief Price, casualty numbers turning into critiques of the other— you should have noticed the terrorist, Simon should have kept the sniper in mind — prickling barbs and venomed words turning into shoves and punches, leaving bruises on each other's skin instead of the kisses you want to lay down.

Soap loves comparing you to dogs, and that's what you are— animals; talking would kill you both so you end up expressing yourselves through teeth and claws. There's blood on your tongue as you push Simon onto the bed and he pulls you down with his teeth digging into your bottom lip, rough fingers pulling away clothes only to push into bruised flesh, drawing hisses and growls.

'I want you' Ghost wants to say, instead "Stop being a pussy," comes out, blunt nails dragging deep scratches down your back. 'I'm happy you're alive' "You fuck as bad as you fight." Simon tastes blood as he kisses you, both of you struggling to pin the other to the bed.

"Shut up." 'I missed you' you snarl and pin him on his front, trapping his massive arms behind his back so he has no support, his head pushed into the pillows and arse high in the air, your thigh parting his legs. You huff a laugh when you see his cock already hard, hanging uselessly between his thighs. "Slag, good for nothing but taking it up the ass." 'I care for you'.

'You're important to me' Simon swallows the blood and spit in his mouth, jerking in a half-hearted attempt to free himself. "'least ah have a use," he growls, chest stuttering for breath as you bear down even more weight on him. You push your fingers into his mouth to wet them and Simon bites down, loving you with his teeth first, the sting of pain binding you together.

"Yeah, as a cocksleeve." 'I'm sorry' You don't give him a warning, just pull your fingers from his mouth and push into his ass. It's only enough lube to not tear him, but the stretch hurts, burns, and Simon both loves and hates how this roughness makes his cock hard and heart flutter.

"That-hah-" Ghost pants into the sheets, eyes prickling with tears with how he tries to keep them open, body forced to submit to you as your fingers stretch him, fuck him, tenderly brushing against his prostate before pushing to the last knuckle, pain and pleasure burning up his spine. "-that's not true."

Pulling out your fingers you give him a sharp slap on his ass, "Sure is," You use what saliva you have on your hand to wet your cock, swirling the drool in your mouth before you spitting right on his hole for extra wetness, your sudden action making his spasming hole clench and relax reflexively. "Look at how you're clenching." You mount him, pushing your weight down on him until he can barely breathe, cock bobbing against his hole. "Acting like such a bitch!"

You ram in him to put emphasis on the word and Simon bites his tongue so hard it bleeds, resisting letting any noises out. He's never vocal in bed, no matter how hard you fuck him, how many bruises your hips leave on his ass or how many hickeys you lay on his throat, how often your balls slap against his, he never utters more than a low groan.

But he wants to; good god Simon wants to tell you how good you feel, how every brush of your cockhead against his prostate has him seeing stars, how much he loves feeling you pound into him, who bodies bound into one by such a primal connection. . . but he can't, his mouth clamps up when he tries and even if he manages to spit something out it just comes out as venom, earning him firm slaps on his ass and your weight bearing further down on him.

You spill into him, pinning him so hard beneath your weight he can barely breathe, only remembering to rub him into an orgasm when your balls are good and empty, cock plugging his hole full of your cum. Your hands are harsh, his panting ringing in your ears until his cock twitches and he cums onto the sheets beneath him, whole body shaking to hold his moans in.

You collapse onto him, just enough sense in your head to roll you two onto your sides so he isn't laying in his spend or suffocating beneath you. Uncomfortable silence rings in your ears as you pant, bile churning in your stomach; This is your usual, soon enough Simon will tell you to shove off, he'll get up, take a piss, and leave.

And this song and dance will repeat until one of you dies.

Even without sight you feel Simon open his mouth, vestiges of harsh words burning on his tongue. Maybe it's post-orgasmic bliss that makes you speak, "Hey," Your hands tighten around his middle, "Stay the night." You curl around him like a lover; something you know you're not.

He shuts his mouth so quickly you hear the 'click' of his teeth, whole body freezing because this is as new for him as it is for you. "If this is a joke," He growls, turns his head just enough for you to catch his glare. "It's not funny."

Your tongue burns with the usual words— 'Only joke here is you' — but you don't, instead a slow and low "I'm not kidding." escapes you, like something forbidden, something to keep secret lest you get divine punishment.

Simon's mind buffers like an old computer, too many thoughts stuffing his head that he can't understand a single one. This is too far removed from the usual, hummingbirds knocking on his skull as a warning. But his body relaxes while he's still thinking, a stagnant breath escaping his lungs. "Fine."

You think of saying something, but it's better not to. Instead you huddle closer to him, still connected in a carnal way but now it feels so much more. . . intimate. Your hands wander over his toros, a gentle exploration instead of a race for release, your fingers carding through his body hair down his happy trail and up again.

Simon's head tils back to give you access to his neck, your lips soft against his skin as you kiss the bruises you'd left, both of your bodies slowly moving to close the small space between you two, urged to share your warmth.

You shift your hips, only realizing you're hard again when Simon moans. Moans. "Sorry," You duck your head, hands gripping his hips to pull out but he stops you, a rough sound in his throat.

"No," Simon doesn't look at you though the blush across his face is easy to spot. "Keep going," Tilting his hips back into yours tears a moan from both of you. Your cum eases the slide in, his walls stretched and pliant, wetly sucking you in like a needy thing.

Another time you'd have laughed at how desperate he's acting, but the low moans and a little "Fuck, just like that," you earn by rolling your hips has your mind shutting off. You can't believe how vocal he's suddenly become, getting louder the slower and gentler you move your hips, your cock slowly pushing in and out of his hole.

You bury your head in his neck and blindly stroke his leaking cock, kissing the skin under your lips, your eyes closed shut as you thrust into him slowly, your tender and slow movements pulling moan after moan out of him. His hand winds back to cup the back of your neck, pulling you up just enough to give you an awkward kiss but it's sweet and raw and so desperate—

You don't notice he's cumming until his walls clamp down on you, Simon whispering "I love you," so soft and quiet under his breath that you don't hear him, too busy filling him up a second time, but your mind buzzes with warmth all the same.

You lay as you were, somehow so exhausted that even moving an inch is anathema to you. Both of you, it seems, if the way Simon's back is warm and pliant against your chest, his breathing slow and steady. Tomorrow you'll need to talk (or do your best substitution of it), but for tonight, you can hug him close and finally have an answer to what it would feel like to have him close without the sex, to just be with him. . .

#Gnome's Prompt Game #cod mw2 #x reader #gnome correspondence #male reader #top male reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x male reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod smut #cod x reader #cod modern warfare #trinckets of the hoard

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rockstvrdotcom · 7 months

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⪼ 10.07 KINKTOBER, DAY 4 HOBIE X READER

pornstar!reader/pornstar!hobie, sex tape

the camera was set up perfectly, showing your cockdrunk face and hobies fat cock sliding in and out of your slick cunt mercilessly, babbling incoherently as he fucked you stupid.

hobie was your favorite co-star; with him you fuck like you've never fucked before. whenever you collabed you barely ever got an orgasm, but with hobie? you couldn't even count.

you let out a broken moan as his tip hit that perfect spot in you with each thrust. "i love fuckin' this stupid pussy till it's sore." he let out with a grunt, sloppily rubbing at your clit and making you see stars.

"s- shit! hobie!" you whined, clenching around him tightly as he slapped your pussy lightly. his rough hands moved from your clit to explored the curve of your ass, gripping the flesh and leaving hand marks.

he reached towards the camera and tilted it down so your raw, puffy pussy was on display as his cock rammed into you; your nails digging into his forearms and making him groan in pleasure.

he takes pride in knowing he can fuck you better than anyone else ever could. "fuckin' slag.. can anybody else please you like this, dove?" he asked, biting his lip as he slowed down and made it clear there was only one answer.

"f- fuck! no, hobie! only you can!" you whined, bucking your hips against his desperately. he let out a deep chuckle before fucking into you again ruthlessly, another orgasm approaching as your eyes rolled back.

"y' gonna cum for me again, hun? c'mon, cum for me baby." he smiled, his thumb caressing your bottom lip. you bit your lip hard enough to draw blood, your vision going white.

your orgasm crashed over you in waves of pleasure after another, his tip hitting the entrance of your cervix so deliciously good as he fucked you through your orgasm. your clenching was enough to make him groan in pleasure, emptying himself in you and watching it leak out of your hole as his pace slowed.

"fuck.." you mumbled, orgasm dying down as hobie leaned over to suck at your tits, reaching over to the camera and shutting it off yet he still continued.

he gripped at your thighs, leaving kisses down your belly before slowly pulling out, watching his spend leak out of you.

"i love you hobie.. t- tell me you love me too." you babbled, your pussy clenching around nothing as you took his hand into yours, watching his face contort into shock.

"i love you too, sweets."

----

this was so half assed im sorry yall </3

#hobie astv #hobie brown astv #astv #hobie #hobie brown #hobie smut #hobie brown smut #astv smut

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jsuli · 1 year

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random jake sully headcanons

genuinely not joking when i say i had to bite into my duvet and drag it around the place like a dog to stop myself from moaning at 2 in the morning all because sam Worthington is worthy of this pussy <3

sfw

-deffo took Spanish in school - imagine how hot he sounds speaking spanish with his fucking voice...

-raised by a single mom, has that vibe

-feels more comfortable around women, not in a romantic way but he just feels more relaxed and free to talk around women since he was raised by just his mom and only really had female friends growing up

-had loads of tattoos, which we kinda see human jake has in the movie, but i hc he had loads of shitty stick n pokes, he was kinda sad that he had to leave behind all his tattoos on his human body

-fidgets with his hands alot, also a big nail biter

-veryy flexible [found this out when i was banging him btw]

-no but really, i feel like his mom put him in gymnastics as a kid cus hed never stop moving and always needed to be doing something

-does that slutty little head tilt alot - just his bimbo-y wide eyes and his empty little head tilted to the side while he looks at you confused, poor bby <3

-himbo jake <3

nsfw

-jakes not afraid to moan like a whore - his moans are loud and higher pitched than his speaking voice, from breathy moans to literal shrieks, this man does not give 2 farts how loud he is

-amazinggggg with his fingers and mouth, whether that be for jerking cock or sucking the skin off your clit

-human jake was a slut [not that thats bad], idc what anyone says he pulled bitches of all genders even without a working dick - thats how good he is with his hands and mouth <3

-had some interesting experience in the marines xx [finally learned how to suck dick without biting the mickey off some poor fella]

-ive said this before and ill say it again, the na'vi can pur and jake purs like a little hussey. gets so blissed out while fucking you he just goes brain dead and grins dopely, his eyes fluttering closed as the deep vibrations of his purs add to the sensory overload of him pounding you hard <3

sorry im a fucking slag

#jake sully smut #jake sully x reader #avatar 2009 #jake sully #why is this post not showing up in the tags

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lethalchiralium · 8 months

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please please please let missus’s home birth go well! 😭 i need them to stay consistently happy with their kids

also simon would either deffo name his son after tommy or after one of his teammates

–🪼

hi jellyfish anon!! i love this, i agree wholeheartedly

happiness au because i still haven’t decided the gender of the baby in real happiness yet 😭😭😭

warnings: mentions of home birth

You didn’t expect to have your husband deliver your son - but by the time your midwife had been called, he was already in Simon’s arms. Your son whined, a little cry from his lips as Simon looked to you, settled in your porcelain bathtub halfway full of warm water.

Simon didn’t waste any time cleaning his son’s face with a small rag after he cut the umbilical cord, holding him to his bare chest as he gently wiped his little body.

“Is he okay?” You whispered, watching the little hands move as Simon finally finished washing him up for you.

“He’s perfect.” Your husband answered, then moved closer to you and laid your son on your bare chest. Your little one grumbled onto your chest, hands gently grabbing your sweaty skin and pressing his little cheek into your chest to hear your heartbeat.

You looked up to Simon, tears in your eyes as you watched the proud expression on his own face fill with tears too. Your gentle hands held your newborn, lingering pain from gripping the bathtub with as much force as you could muster only a few minutes prior. “You did it.”

Simon merely laughed. “No, sweetheart, you did it. I jus’ caught ‘im.”

You shook your head, smile tugging at your lips. “What are you naming him?”

Your husband groaned, playfully rolling his eyes as he kneeled beside the tub. “I thought we had agreed you would name him.”

“And you’re mistaken.” Your son sneezed quietly on your chest, you smiled and looked down at him. “Bless you.”

“Nathan John Riley.” Your husband said, bringing a small dry towel over his son, wanting to keep him warm. You two didn’t have much time to prep as your son wanted out as fast as possible - you wanted so much to happen before he was born, like choosing his name. But sometimes life throws you a curveball.

Your smile was bright as you looked up to Simon, tears rolling down your face. “How do you think Uncle Price and Uncle Soap are gonna take that?”

“Bawl their eyes out.”

“You’re evil.” You murmured before Simon leaned down, kissing you with so much love that it made you dizzy. “You’re too sweet to me, Simon.” You reached a hand up to brush against his clean shaven jaw. “Thank you for being mine.”

His jaw tightened, nose twitched and he took a breath in from his teeth.

“Now you’re gonna make me cry, you slag-“

You burst out laughing, pain shooting up your stomach before you winced, your smile still wide as you gently patted your now sleeping newborn. “Don’t make me laugh, it hurts-“

He kissed your head, hand holding onto the back of your head as his gaze met yours. “You are one of the best things to ever happen to me. I love you with everything I have, I’m so lucky to have you for the rest of my life.”

Crystal tears met between your faces as you kissed his lips, then placed your cheek against his.

“Thank you for being my heart, Simon.”

please the happiness questions are so cute please give me more

#happiness series #lethalchiralium #lethal chiralium #simon ghost riley #simon riley #call of duty #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x wife!reader #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley x wife!reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley call of duty #simon riley x f!reader

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cybertron-after-dark · 4 months

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Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, here's how I think the tfa Decepticons would handle a Human Error incident (suddenly turned human with zero logical explanation)

-Megatron ain't doing great. God dammit he's fucking TINY. Just when he's gotten his body back after god knows how long of being a severed head on the floor, he's vulnerable AGAIN. He's still up and functional, doing whatever needs to be done and not letting his present weakness interfere with his goals, but he's in full on paranoia mode. He trusts nobody and he's not going outside if he doesn't have to. Too many things that could go terribly wrong while he's a pathetic creature of flesh with no fucking armor plating and no rotors to fly with. Doesn't give a fuck about trying anything he could only do as a human, he's too busy trying not to die. He'll only eat the nightmare that is organic food if he's in a human body long enough to nearly starve. He'll never admit that it actually tastes better than energon. His pride would never allow it.

-Starscream is miserable and will LOUDLY bitch to everyone present whether they care or not. Unlike Megs, however, it's less in a "I have no armor plating, anything could crush me" way and more in a "EW EW EW WHY IM I SQUISHY GET IT OFF GET IT OFF GET IT OFF OH PRIMUS IM HIDEOUS" way. He's grabbing the nearest paper bag and putting it over his head. He's not risking ANYONE taking pictures of this little incident to blackmail him. He's especially angry that he can't fly. What do you mean he has to walk everywhere like some kind of monoformer??? What the fuck??? He'd normally try to off Megatron while he's vulnerable, but slag that, he's vulnerable too, and he doesn't even have his null rays to slag him with anyway. Convinced human food is going to be disgusting, pleasantly surprised when it's not. Gets a little obsessed with garlic bread, but we've all been there.

-Blitzwing has lost not one altmode, but two, and given how reflexive his transformation is, he's going a bit stir crazy. Doesn't help that he's lost his wings either. To try and cope, he's got the zoomies something awful, and tries running around the mountain base, jumping off whatever high surfaces he thinks won't kill him for a taste of altitude again, laughing his ass off as Random when he hits the bottom (very uncomfortable for him that he only has one face, too). However, in spite of his physical discomfort, and how generally overwhelming the situation is, he is at least a little excited that he can partake in human culture without consequences. He gets swept up in an arcade for a couple hours and has the time of his life, and tries as much earth food as he can. He's generally the only reason his teammates haven't starved yet because he's the only one willing to go out and get it. He has decided he really likes pizza, beer and chocolate. Genuinely a little sad he won't be able to eat it in his normal form.

-Lugnut is a bit disappointed that he's been given such an unworthy form incapable of serving his liege. How can he aid the GLORY of Megatron and the Decepticon cause when he is so small, so weak, so... Organic? But, he picks himself up and vows to do everything in his power to remain useful. And that starts with testing his limits to see how much use he can be. When he sees Blitzwing jumping off cliffs, he's certain his comrade's had the same idea and joins in, determined to find the threshold for his new body's pain tolerance. It is not as high as he would like. He can't really see as well now that he has one eye instead of his usual five, so he kinda keeps falling off high places anyway even after he's done doing it intentionally. Eventually tries organic food because he needs to fuel up to be of any use, but still loudly condemns it as inferior to energon. He kinda gets a kick out of knowing it's made from organic beings, though. He feels like he's turning some of the life on this useless planet towards a good cause by using its energy.

-Shockwave was already having a really weird day, falling through the space bridge and ending up on earth of all places. But as nice as it was to eschew his cover for a bit and catch up with his true comrades, it was kind of undercut by being suddenly even tinier than his usual disguise and significantly less durable. Not too fond of losing his extendable reach, either. Though he may not be too thrilled, he's still determined to make himself useful. More useful than the two idiots launching themselves off a cliff, anyway. He does a bit of research into basic self care and how to not die in general, as well as trying to figure out what did this to them and how to reverse it. Not opposed to trying earth food, he admits he's curious, if a bit intimidated by how varied it is. Learns he's got a bit of a sweet tooth, ends up mildly addicted to baked goods. Especially cheesecake. Once this whole humanity business is over, he starts a small side project on an internal filter that makes some organic matter edible just so he can keep eating it.

-Nobody takes their newfound humanity worse than Blackarachnia. She already hated being partially organic, but now the detestable, disgusting side of her makes up 100% of her frame. It feels like the final nail in the coffin. She's completely shut down, she just can't take what she's become, unsure whether this nightmare will ever end. She's not holding out on Shockwave being able to fix the issue. It never got magically resolved the first time it happened, why would it now? Her only cold comfort is the other cons have to suffer with her. She's not eating human food. If she starves, she starves, but she's not stooping to that level. She didn't before, and she sure as hell won't now.

#maccadam #transformers #tfa #megatron #starscream #blitzwing #lugnut #shockwave #blackarachnia

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raven-the-claw · 7 months

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A Complete Guide To Chaotic Academia

bc its my fav aesthetic and there is not enough content about it

Outfits

most people say that chaotic academia is just dark academia but a little bit more messy, and, well, chaotic. the truth is, chaotic academia is A LOT more messy than dark academia. you can still use dark academia as kind of a "base", but you are going to replace your blazers with flannels, your turtlenecks with tshirts. as for pants, you can go with litteraly anything: cigarette pants, tailored trousers, ripped-up jeans or normal black leggings. i personally really ike ripped up overalls bc they give that "i dont really give a damn, im so misunderstood, my parents didnt love me, im a crazy lonely introverted teenage child" vibe...idk. whatever you wear, make sure you feel comfortable in it! even tho in chaotic academia there are almost no rules at all, here are some things that might help you!

colours: any earthy tones are fine, brown, caramel, dark green, dark red, white, etc etc

fictional characters that might inspire you:

-remus lupin

- any dpc character

- jess mariano

- sydney novak

accesories: flannels (a personal fav + they make even the most boring fit look better), cardigans, converse (bonus points if you draw/write on them or if you have them laced in a weird way), bracelets or necklaces that mean something to you, harry potter back packs, tote bags...

hairstyles: whatever you want, just make sure your hair is ALWAYS messy, looking like you just fucking woke up

Activities and Traits

ok now we're getting to the actually important part bc (repeat after me): chaotic academia is not about how you look, its about how you live and how you act. so here r some thing that might help:

- annotating books with the most unhinged random thoughts

- learning poetry or speeches word for word but not remembering most of the things for school

- studying in the (school) library and being besties with the librarian (optional)

- leaving notes (on trees, mailboxes or library books) for strangers to find

- "studying while listening to classical music" and then instead of studying you end up agressivly mouthing your favorite song

- im sure yall already heard this one, but yes, swearing and slag while discussing deep academic topics is incredibly important

- speaking of important topics: posting something important on social media knowing no one will read it

- doodles on your hands 24/7 (NO SUSAN, I DONT GIVE A DAMN THAT ITS BAD FOR MY SKIN)

- sarcasm. a lot.

- random thoughts

- random quotes

- knowing a ton of conspiracy theories that you dont even beileve in by heart

- listening to all different types of podcasts

- one day reading the classics, the next ya fantasy and day after that ao3 smut

- multifandom, multishipper

- tea/coffee addiction

- adding b.c. to todays date when writing it in school

- random thoughts and the weirdest annotations in your school notebooks, especially the classes that you find boring

- "going to the bathroom" and then spending half of your math class drawing/reading/smoking/crying/thinking/whatever the fuck you wanna do there bc ur tired of everything

- stealing random stuff from stores (tho it is not encouraged blah blah blah)

- watching gilmore girls every fall

- telling people ur favorite colour is green even tho it isnt just to let them know that ur gay

- reading in class, on breaks, at home, parks, meetings, aethletic events, and generally all the fucking time

- doing (mostly) everything last minute

- bad at photography, but you enjoy it

- cold tea my beloved

- wearing one item every day: it can either be a necklace, a flannel, a bracelet, a badge, headphones, earrings etc etc

- extremely messy handwriting, always writing with black pen

- crying at least once a day, but only when ur alone, being super emotional but never showing it

- hobbies include reading, screaming in your pillow, learning unique languages that you will probably never use, rewatching dead poets society, harry potter, enola holmes, end of the fucking world and gilmore girls

- massive bookworm, reads all the time, always has a book with them

- skipping class, not that often tho

- 💫anger issues💫

- hyperactive and lazy at the same time

- uses big words but makes fun of other people when they do it

- writes (rebellious) book quotes everywhere, every single one of their notebooks had IF WE BURN, YOU BURN WITH US written in them lol

- random useless powerpoints

- analysing taylor swift's folklore and evermore instead of sheakspeare because its just better

- retired almost-emo, had a phase when they wore black and acted all mysterious but were never really emo i cant explain it

- likes mcr. this one speaks for itself.

- gay and sad. no explanation needed.

Books, Movies and Music

Books:

- Harry Potter by you know who (WE DONT SUPPORT HER THO)

- The Secret History by Donna Tartt

- Night School by CJ Daugherty (is that how u spell it lol)

- The Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo

- Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo

- Heartstopper by Alice Oseman

- Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

- Emma by Jane Austen

- Hamlet by Do I Really Need To Say Who

- The Perks Of Being A Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky

- The Picture of Dorain Gray by Oscar Wilde

- Frankenstein by Marry Shelley

Movies/TV Shows

- end of the fucking world

- heartstopper

- harry potter

- enola holmes

- dead poets society

- gilmore girls

- httyd (no kidding lol)

im not really a film girlie so if yall have any recs please lmk

Music:

- Mother Mother

- Taylor Swift (obviously)

- Lana Del Slay

- Conan Gray

- Olivia Rodrigo

- My Chemical Romance

- Lovejoy

- Bowie

- Queen

- Radiohead

- Björk

- Those random Disney songs i know you scream to at 3am

also whoever sings the IMJUSTATEENAGEDIRTBAGBAABBYY song

here is my playlist if yall wanna listen to it

hope that helps lol

#chaotic academia #academia aesthetic #light academia #dark academia #jess mariano #dead poets society #dead gay wizards #why is everyone dead help #gay and sad #books #fanfiction #remus lupin #wolfstar #anti jkr #Spotify

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hiemaldesirae · 14 days

Note

Arrax here, Vox/Lucifer Bestie AU with a small interruption of Alastor's and Lilith's very awful no good partnership (they hate each other, your honor.)

Alastor clutches his Vox doll close to himself, the scent of his muse wafting up from the beloved doll. "Are you fucking that midget, My Vox?" He snarls, gently petting the dolly's rabbit ears and watching them spark. "Hmm? Has he ensnared you? Taken you from me?"

"If that isn't half as pathetic as I thought it'd be," the Queen of Hell's voice cut in, and Alastor bolts up, eyes wide as he stares at his benefactor. "My Lady," he murmurs

"Save it," Lilith says, a large bottle of apple flavored vodka in her right hand. "It seems we both have a problem. Our beloveds are moving on...and neither of us like that option."

Alastor give a snort: "Well if you hadn't had us disappear for 7 fucking years--"

A deep rumbling growl leaves the Queen's chest, and her demon form flickers in, before she gives a yank on Alastor's soul. "It's not my fault your beloved is a slag who throws himself at anyone with a Mediocrim of power." She hisses, voice cold. "He'd probably have a go at Michael, of all the Angels in Heaven--"

A bellow of rage leaves Alastor and he flings himself at Lilith, managing grab some of her hair before the chain around his neck burns and slams him down. "At least Vox isn't 4 foot nothing, and remembers his daughter's birthday! Velvette has always gotten gifts and trips. Charlotte doesn't even know if Lucifer even remembers her birthdate!"

Lilith gives a gasp, and opens her mouth to reply before closing it. Then she opens it again. Then closes it. "I....I'll have to get back to you on that. I'm sure he remembers it. At least the month....but that's not what I'm here for. Vox has gotten to close to what's mine, and I obviously can kill him--it would make you too useless to Charlie. It would make Lucifer too useless again too, and that's not acceptable either..." *she growled, frowning.* "So I'm giving you a permanent power up--to help you get Vox away from My Luci no strings attached--well except one. You can't kill my husband." *she raised her hand up, a smirk on her face.

Not trusting her, but wanting more power to get his muse back, Alastor grabbed her hand taking the deal.

Lilith's smirk grew: "You kill my husband and I'll kill your Vox," she vowed, sealing the deal, as her power enveloped Alastor sinking into the deer demon, becoming his.

HAHAHA oh my god no this is so good. the idea of lilith and alastor being bitter enemies while their beloveds are besties is sooo fucking funny to me. thank you for this image arrax im grinning wildly

IM GONNA PISS MYFGSELF LAUGHIGNN ALASTORS SPEJAKING TO A DOLL.... dum b FUCK IMGNOAA CRY HAHAGWDH and the fucing vodka too. never let it be said that im disrespecting a woman but. oh mygod shes the original girlfailrue i fucking love her HAGAHWJD

also oh.... more power in return for making sure that luci and vox dont get involved with each other? and als only agreeing to make sure that he'll be powerful enough to force vox to stay with him... plus those final words from lilith... ominous as hell. what the fuck would she count as getting lucifer killed... idk if al wants to know frankly

god this was so good though. absolutely scrumptious meal thank you ive got no notes 10/10

#ran rambles #hazbin hotel #radiostatic #general asks #lucifer/vox bestie au

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kicksnscribs · 1 year

Text

"Ah, you want me to talk about the Twins huh?"

"Not much to say about em, really. Used to run the subway system in Iacon way back before all the slag hit the fan. Damn good at it too.

Nicest lads you'd ever met and practically inseparable! Where one went the other was close by, almost as if they were joined at the hip. Rough upbringin's will do that to ya or so I've heard

Couldn't believe it when i saw the white one on the side of the 'Cons, even less so when i realized he was by himself. We captured him one day as a POW one time. Took a lot of us to pull it off but we managed eventually. That's when I heard the story of what happened to his...I guess brother is what you humans would call them if you absolutely needed a word to describe him. Figured the 'Cons promised him a way to get him back somehow if he joined up with them and he took the offer in a desperate attempt to find him.

Though I doubt they ever did give him anything to really go by. Recruiters will say just about anything in order to get bots to join their cause. Especially when it comes to getting their servos on big, strong fellas like the Twins.

He eventually escaped us somehow; found a way to cut through his bonds and was lost to the night before any of us could even blink. Heh, and I thought his brother was the more crafty of the two.

What d'ya mean 'creepy' smile? Rude lil' thing aren't ya?

He's always been smiling like that. Well...not exactly like that but... you know that mech never had a frown on his face that I'd ever seen. Though I will admit there's something...different about that smile now. Not at all like what I seen back in Iacon. Something sinister...

Not the only one to notice it either. Ol' Rung reckons that being separated from his brother for so long did things to him. Spark twins can't be without one another for very long without it messing with their coding n whatnot, you know?

Though, Ratch knows more about the kid's situation than anybody here on this ship. Says that he apparently had done some things in order to get his brother back. Supernatural things. Things smart mechs should know to leave well enough alone.

Wherever that mech went to get his brother, he didn't come back alone....

Such a shame, he was always a sweet kid. Had a bit of a mobility issue but only when he was excited about something I think? Which was a good thing for all I care. You need to have joy in the things you love 'n he had that in spades.

Did not really understand the concept of personal space though 'n it sometimes got 'im in loads of trouble *laughs*

The black one? Whats there to say about 'im, honestly?

Incredibly polite mech, always there to lend a helping servo or two when needed, a little older than his brother i think? He would always mess with him about that little fact.

Very gentle in situations where his brother would be very harsh, but not like in a mean spirited way, more like an excitable way if that makes any sense? You would never think that what with the constant sour look etched on his face at all times *laughs*

Never liked to talk much. Though not for a lack of ability but more of a 'can't control his volume' situation. He can hit Siren levels of loud when excited enough about something or other and feels bad about it when he does. I don't mind it though, means he's found something to be happy about and that's a good thing in my book if that's worth anything.

Really hurt to hear that he went missing millennia ago. His brother looked absolutely destroyed when I saw him in that camp. I'm glad to see he made it back.

Primus the years haven't been good to him, though. Wherever he went it did numbers on his frame.

He creaks when he walks now, and his gaze has that look of a mech who has seen far more than he should have. He still has that gentle nature about him, though. Which is good, because I think he is going to need it if he ever hopes to succeed at getting those demons running through his brothers brain module out.

I got faith in them though, they're as strong as they are inseparable. They'll get through this like they did every other thing they faced,

together.

[Pulled from the personal Datatracks of Ironhide, Chief of Autobot Security]

#hey ho i got bored again and came up with this while drawing lol #i am not a writer but that will not stop me from writing about my blorbos dammit!#long read #readmore #maccadams #submas #submas angst #i guess it can be called that?#i will draw something better for this but i had to get it out before my brain hated it #also i fucking love ironhide and for some odd reason when i was drawing all i could think about was him talking about the Twins #to some random curious human who suddenly saw two 35 foot train mechs appear on the base #i may do more with this idk #kicks' scribblings

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lyss-butterscotch · 5 months

Note

I had this mild realization about the Hunter campaign

NSH probably doesn't know if his plan to revive moon worked

See from Pebbles's dialogue during the Gourmand campaign. Five Pebbles mentions that he had locks put in place to keep creatures like gourmand out and unlocks the gate to outer expanse when he realizes his plan clearly did not work.

Although it wasn't specified when Pebbles put the locks in (not to my bad memory) I'd wager that it happened after Spearmaster.

Overseers of different colors can only spawn in outer expanse (except for Sun's red overseer and Nsh’s green one which can rarely spawn in subterranean)

At the end of rivulet's campaign, once Moon regain access says that she didn't know that it was NSH who sent hunter to revived her

Going with the theory that Hunter's rot happened because Nsh rushed making Hunter

So. Nsh doesn't know if his plan worked. He sent Hunter off with the slag keys, pearl, and the case of the rot (wheter knowingly or not) on a mission to revive Moon. He can’t watch over Hunter like how Suns did with spearmaster because Pebbles locked the region somehow.

Hunter's campaign happens, Moon is revived yippee!!! Except that she doesn't have the ability to communicate her revival to the local group nor can she do anything with her superstructure to indicate activity (since like half of it is sunken into shoreline) and Hunter will never go home. Either dying from the rot or ascending.

To Nsh, his plan probably didn't work. Sure, maybe he saw hunter going to subterranean without the slag key which could indicate that Moon is alive again but it could mean the keys failed.

I imagine this was the reason why NSH simply didn’t send another slugcat to assist moon, because he doesn't know if his plan worked and assumed moon is still dead

So yeah

I have another thought on the tragedy of the cycles but this ask is getting a bit too long

First of all jfc thats the saddest thing ive read today (have not read much of anything today)

Apologies if i get anything wrong here i am nit the best at remembering lore

But i remember that Suns mentioned once that Pebbles locked down his entire complex and that i assume happened after that fated 2nd spearmaster campaign which he did kill off Suns' overseer.

Im rather curious though if 'locking his entire structure' included the Outer Expanse gate, and slugcats can STILL slip in, why cant overseers follow them, theyre like smaller and more versatile than slugcats. Unless Pebbles can like mind explode overseers from the gate???

Still it is a sad thought that Sig really had no idea that his plan worked or not because his overseer is blocked and the messager is gonna die (this also he did not know so dude probably didnt know if Hunter even did reach Moon or not). Also does Moon really not know Sig was the one who woke her up? It was in Hunters stomach pearl. Unless hunter does canonically ditched the pearl like how i see people start hunters run.

#lyssten to my rambles

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mysterious-ocarina · 2 years

Text

Complimentary Quills

marauder!Sirius Black x reader

(A/N fyi, im american so i’ll prolly get alot of british terms wrong, or just call stuff by what americans say. Warning for calling sirius a massive whore many times)

Main Masterlist HP Masterlist Requests AO3

(2.6k words)

You are Remus Lupin’s twin sister. Y/n Lupin. Thankfully you didn’t share his monthly problem, though. People liked to joke that you and Remus were exactly alike, just different genders. That would be true from an outsider, but the Marauders knew your differences.

Both of you usually had your nose stuck in a book until someone *cough* Sirius *cough* distracts you from it. You and Remus were both studious and kept up with all of your grades. Lastly, you were both witty, sarcastic, and had a dry sense of humor. This is all that anyone outside the Marauders would see.

To the Marauders, you were excitable and loud while Remus was more calm and collected. You were known for being disorganized, which surprises people who know you have good grades. You were also easy to anger at any moment, which Remus only relates to when his moon problem comes around.

While you were a part of the Marauders, you weren’t a part of their pranks. This was because you were the subject of the pranks. This makes you even more studious because you get the privilege of having to learn all the reverse charms for whatever the boys do to you.

You have mastered reversing any kind of hair charms, charms that change the color green back to red, and charms that have to do with writing. The boys thought it was funny to try and read your diary but only read insults in return. They begged you for the charm, and in turn left you alone for a week. You still have no clue what they wanted the charm for.

Sirius always seemed to be the leader of the pranks thrown on you. Every once in a while, if it was too much, Remus would stand up for you but that wasn’t too often. He enjoyed tormenting his sister as much as the rest of his friends.

Right now you were in the library studying with Lily for an upcoming test. You were searching through the pile of textbooks you had on your table, “Do you have that book about the Goblin Rebellion of 1880?”

“No, it wasn’t on the shelf when I looked for it. Someone else probably has it,” Lily replied.

“I’ll go see if it's returned yet,” you told her, before walking away.

You read each section of the library until you came to the Goblin area. You found the book you needed but it was just barely out of your reach. You stood on your toes to try and reach it but failed. Just as you were going to pull out your wand to accio it to you, a long arm reached for the book above you.

You turned around to see who it was, but you were displeased to see none other than the stunning face of Sirius Black. He was caging you in between himself and the bookshelf.

“I need that, Black,” you huffed out.

“Oh, that’s too bad. This book looks mighty interesting to me. Might ask Madame Pince if I can check it out for a while,” Sirius fauxed seriousness. You knew that he didn’t need the book, he probably didn’t even read the cover. He just loved to piss you off.

“I didn’t know you could read, Black,” you quipped.

He smiled at your remark, “I’ll give you this book, but I think you should give me something in return.”

“What could you possibly want?” you asked, getting angry that he is taking away from your studying time.

He offered you a smug look before replying, “A nice long snog.”

Red in the face, you slapped him before seething, “Don’t you have a million slags? Go ask one of them.”

You missed the smile that Sirius had while he held his red cheek.

You stomped off back to Lily. She noticed your sour mood and your empty hands, “What happened?”

“I ran into a bloody twat is what happened,” you hissed. She immediately knew you were talking about Sirius Black. You both often went to each other when James and Sirius pissed you guys off.

You tried studying to cool off. You knew that you were kind of temperamental but Sirius just knew how to press the right buttons to get you fuming.

Not long after you sat down, the book you needed was floating down in front of you. You grabbed it before looking around for Sirius to yell at him but you couldn’t find him.

“What's that?” Lily questioned pointing at the book. There was a piece of parchment sticking out of the pages.

You pulled it out to show her. There was a moving doodle of a dog panting with some writing under it. You read it aloud to Lily, “You are paws-itively gorgeous.”

You briefly blushed before seething, “He’s as bad as Potter.”

Lily hummed in agreement before going back to her book. You briefly thought about crumpling the parchment, but decided to stick it in your robe pocket instead. There’s no harm in secretly keeping it.

Once both you and Lily decided that you had studied enough, you guys made your way to the great hall to eat dinner with Marlene and the boys. When you walked in, you saw Sirius flirting with a Hufflepuff girl who’s name you didn’t know.

You sat down next to Marlene before whispering to them, “I bet he doesn’t even know her name.”

“Careful, you sound jealous,” Marlene giggled.

“How could I be jealous of someone that everyone has access to?” you indignantly replied. “Every boy and girl in Hogwarts has a chance with him. Hell, even the Slytherins could sleep with him if they wanted.”

“I’ll let you know that Sirius hasn’t had a person in his bed for a while. He says there's someone special,” James teased.

“You’re telling me that the school womanizer has settled down,” Marlene questioned suspiciously.

Remus scrunched his nose before replying, “They aren’t together, but I think he’s genuinely interested in them.”

“The only thing Sirius is interested in is what’s between their legs,” you offered before eating your food.

Remus gave you a glare, “It wouldn’t hurt you to be nice or at the very least not insult Padfoot.”

You rolled your eyes, “It wouldn’t hurt him to not piss me off. Looks like we can’t always get what we want.”

Before Remus could reply Sirius sat down right in front of, “What are we talking about?”

“You,” James replied seductively. James and Sirius sent each other winks and kissing faces before bursting out in laughter.

“We were talking about this person you’re interested in,” Marlene clarified. “We want to know who it is.”

“You guys want to know who it is. I don’t believe it,” you quickly said.

“You don’t believe that I can be interested in someone?” Sirius pouted at you.

“I don’t believe you can be interested in a singular someone,” you replied. Remus kicked your foot, meaning he wants you to be nice.

“What house are they in?” Lily asked.

“Are they a boy or a girl?” Marlene added.

“I’m not telling you guys anything. I want to keep them all to myself,” Sirius replied smugly.

“I bet the boys know. I swear you guys gossip worse than Slytherin girls,” Marlene mocked.

“Of course we know, we are the best of friends,” James proudly claimed.

“He accidently told us when he was totally sloshed on firewhiskey,” Peter sofly informed.

“That would be a sight to see,” Marlene replied. That conversation soon ended and talk about other random things came up. You felt Sirius’ eyes on you all of dinner but pointedly ignored him.

The next day you were in Care of Magical Creatures with your assigned partner, who much to your chagrin was Sirius. You were supposed to be learning about the bowtruckles sitting in front of you, but Sirius wasn’t paying attention and was doing his best to distract you.

You were playing with one of the bowtruckles in your hand, this one named Kikwi, when Sirius asked, “What do you even like about these twigs?” (in case you are wondering I got the name Kikwi from legend of zelda, its a cute penguin creature with a plant on its back. really cute but i thought the name fit)

Both you and Kikwi stared at him in offense, “First of all, Black, They are not twigs, they are living creatures. And second of all, I like how playful they are. I often go down to the bowtruckle tree to hang out with them when I need a distraction.”

Kikwi jumped into Sirius’ shoulder before pulling on his ear, “Bloody hell, that hurt.”

“Good job, Kikwi,” you offered him a little high five. Sirius just stared in a mix of amusement and pain.

“And then the little twig pulled my ear really hard,” Sirius complained to the boys in their dorm room.

“You shouldn’t have offended it,” James laughed.

“You know, if you want my sister to like you, you should try to be nicer. Also making her jealous won’t work. She just thinks you’re a womanizer,” Remus supplied to a disgruntled Padfoot.

“I’m sure the dog puns are just making her fall head over heels,” Peter teased.

“For your information, she kept my very romantic and well-crafted note,” Sirius replied, saltily.

“Come on, we’re going to be late for DADA. We’re going to practice patronus’ today,” Remus informed the boys before getting his robes together.

You were sitting next to Marlene and Lily, waiting for DADA to start. For the past few weeks, you guys have been practicing the Patronus charm. So far you’ve only been able to make a non-corporeal patronus but you’re determined to make a corporeal one today.

As usual, the boys shuffled into the classroom the minute class started. You glared in Sirius’ direction before focusing to the front.

Once it was time to practice, you tried to think of the happiest memory you have. So far none of the ones you’ve used have worked to get a corporeal patronus. You’ve tried the day you got your first broom, when you got sorted into Gryffindor with your brother, and even the night when you met the girls.

You thought of a memory but you were embarrassed to use it. When it was finally your turn to cast the charm, with everything you had you put the memory to the forefront of your mind and exclaimed, “Expecto Patronum!”

In a matter of seconds a beautiful bloodhound was at your heels, licking your hand.

“Look Padfoot. It’s a big dog, just like yours,” James exclaimed.

“Actually it’s a bloodhound, not a dirty mutt,” you seethed, before taking your seat and sulking.

Sirius sat staring at you in what must have been awe but you ignored him.

“What was your memory?” Marlene whispered next to you.

“I’m not saying,” you blushed. Your happy memory was during 3rd year.

You were going to hogsmeade with the girls and you ran into the Marauders. You all decided to head to The Three Broomsticks for some butterbeer. You were sitting between Sirius and Marlene.

“Look what I got you,” Sirius whispered to you. He offered you a long, white box. Upon opening it, there was a red sugar quill. “Red for Gryffindor as well as for your fire spirit.”

“Thank you, Sirius,” you replied.

“I’ve also charmed it to write, but wait to use it until later,�� Sirius softly told you. You gave him a confused glance but did as he said.

Later that night, in your four poster bed with the curtains drawn, you had a piece of parchment pulled out. You uttered the charm that makes the sugar quill write and blushed when you read what it was saying. It was writing down compliment after compliment about you, ranging from calling you beautiful to how funny you are. This was the first time that you looked at Sirius differently.

Later on that night, you were outside a little ways away from the whomping willow. You were sulking as you watched the tree smack everything in its vicinity, while the sun set.

A black dog came up to you, standing in front of your face.

“What do you want, Black?” you muttered. Padfoot simply laid next to you, with his head in your lap, watching the sunset with you. You reluctantly took your hand and stroked his fur. He wagged his tail, letting you know he wasn’t opposed to your actions.

“Do you want to know what my memory was, today?” you asked. You might as well tell him. You knew he would probably just tease you about it but you couldn’t keep it in.

Padfoot picked his head off your lap and nudged your shoulder to show you had his attention.

“It was that day in 3rd year, when you gave me that charmed sugar quill,” you sighed.

Padfoot stood up and gave you a slobbery lick on your cheek making you laugh, “Ew! Gross, Sirius!”

By now it was dark so it was time to head back inside for dinner, “See you later, Sirius.”

At dinner, you felt Sirius’ eyes on you but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. You regretted sharing that memory with him. You were just waiting for him to bring it up and tease you about it. But by the end of dinner, the teasing never came. It was just a regular dinner with all of your friends.

You and the girls made your way back to your dorm. You saw a white, long box waiting for you on your bed. You opened the box to find a real quill. It was a beautiful, bright red color. You quickly grabbed a piece of parchment and let the quill start writing.

Dearest Y/n, the sunset in the sky can’t compare to the beauty you display. That day that I gave you the sugar quill is one of my favorite memories of us. The smile you gave me the day after to thank me for it had me lovestruck. Seeing your patronus today almost made me faint. The girl that I fell in love with has a patronus of a DOG. I know that you don’t believe that I could be into a singular person but I promise to prove it to you. If you let me, this quill will be the first of many attempts for me to win your heart. Signed, your favorite Mutt.

You blushed at the words written. With the quill in hand you made your way to the boys’ dorm and knocked on the door nervously. Remus answered with a smile, almost like he was expecting you.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of my dear sister,” Remus asked. You simply pushed him out of the way and walked up to Sirius who was sitting on his bed. He was blushing and was bouncing his leg. He must have thought you would slap him again but instead you leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek before giving him a big hug.

“Awe, I don’t get a real kiss?” he laughed out, while hugging you back.

You just smiled at him and teased, “Don’t push it, Black”

The moment was ruined when James exclaimed proudly, “I knew it would be a good idea.”

You glared at him before telling him, “Keep talking and I’ll make sure Lily never even looks at you again.”

James gulped nervously making Sirius and Remus burst out into a fit of laughter.

Sirius looked so good like this, so you finally did lean in and give him a real kiss. His breath stopped, but soon his brain caught up and he kissed you back. You could hear supporting whistles from James and Peter, and the sound of gagging from Remus. You can’t wait for what Sirius has waiting for you.

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