#reposting with a few major changes

[dahmersugoinyakkk880]

! Aiden Hale Info-Post !

(Reposting from old terminated account since I just saw that I had everything saved on my Samsung Notes)

⛔️Warning for those who might need it: this post contains talk of homicidal ideations, suicidal ideations and school shootings.⛔️

-Aiden Hale, better known as Audrey Elizabeth Hale, stormed into the Nashville Covenant School on 27.3.2023 and took the lives of 3 little kids and 3 adults, before getting gunned down by the fast-responding officers: Michael Collazo and Rex Engelbert.

Before entering the Covenant, Aiden sent these messages to a girl he used to be basketball teammates with while he was in middle school:

-Aiden Hale was a 28-year-old transgender male.

-He was born on 24.3.1995 to parents Norma Hale and Ronald Hale.

As a child,Aiden Hale displayed many developmental delays and his mother started suspecting that her child might have autism.

She took him to see a specialist, and while the specialist did note that Aiden wasn't the best at socializing and was quite anxious, there weren't found any signs of Autism Spectrum Disorder.

-In the early 2000s, Aiden attended the Nashville Covenant School, where he felt safe and accepted.

-Starting middle school meant having to switch schools.

Aiden got bullied in middle school and, at first, felt ostracized by others and had a drop in his self-esteem and self-confidence.

-In seventh grade, his outlook on middle school changed, when he made the school's basketball team .His new basketball teammates welcomed him with open arms.

Aiden considered some of those teammates to be his best friends , even had his self-confidence and self-esteem return for a while, until most of his "best friends" went off for high school.

When he transferred to high school, he managed to rekindle some of the friendships with his former basketball teammates, but he wasn't as close with them as he used to be before.

-High school was also the period when Aiden started contemplating commiting suicide.

-In 2011, Hale’s mother again took him to a therapist. A psychological assessment found that Hale “suffered from major depressive disorder, dysthymic disorder, generalized anxiety disorder, social phobias, anger-management issues and was underdeveloped both emotionally and socially.” He began therapy and managed his conditions with medication, for a while.

-After high school, Hale attended the Nossi College of Art & Design at the insistence of his mother. He remained isolated from his former teammates and others.He attended an eating disorder clinic amid concerns over his weight loss.Hale “remained lonely” and grew more resentful of ex-teammates he felt had “abandoned him".

While he was still in college, he had gotten rewarded a few times for showing remarkable progress in certain areas, in a very short period of time.

-Hale had a certain fondness for stuffed animals.He had a large amount of those and went as far as to give them names and their own personalities.

A car full of plushies that belonged to Aiden Hale was found in the school's parking lot, after the massacre.

-The police had recently revealed that the motive behind the Nashville Covenant shooting was "notoriety": in other words, Aiden wanted to be famous

-It has also been reported that Aiden didn't hold any grudges towards anybody in the school/connected to the school, which makes it more likely than not that he was randomly shooting at anybody he came across, not that he had specific targets.

The shooting has been made out to be some kind of "terrorist attack aimed at christians", but this has been proven false. Aiden didn't choose to shoot up that school because it was a christian school, nor did he care much about christians.

He chose to commit the shooting at the Nashville Covenant School because "he wanted to die somewhere he felt happy", but also because he knew that little children wouldn't be able to put up much of a fight

-Hale considered other targets. Detectives found research on four additional schools: another private Christian school, a private school with no religious commitments, and two public high schools. Hale also looked at the possibility of committing a mass shooting at Green Hills Mall, Opry Mills Mall, Belmont Boulevard just south of Belmont University, and several busy interchanges in Nashville and the suburb of Mount Juliet.

-Not long before the shooting, Aiden Hale payed a visit to the Nashville Covenant School.He made his visit look like a "tour through the school fueled by nostalgia", but he was actually carefully inspecting the areas of that school, probably so he could prepare better for his "death day".

-The shooter left behind 15+ notebooks ,which detailed his plan to shoot up a school (with diagrams and timelines) and dozens of videos, too, some spanning up to even 40 minutes in length.

-There was very little mention of Covenant in these journal entries.

What was found instead had more to do with what Hale’s parents said was a fixation with death after the loss of a friend that, "he worshipped his whole life.”

“I know Sydney is waiting for me. My time is coming soon to leave this realm behind. All my pain and all that I have…except you,” Hale wrote.

-In the diary entries, Hale appeared to be filled with self-loathing and repeatedly would state how he wanted to "kill my own race" and “destroy all the white people who are teachers,", “Being white sucks, but being black is so cool. Black people should rule. White people should fall, every white person who lived and died. I hate you all,” Hale, who was white, wrote.

“I hate the American people,” he continued. “America is not the land of the free, it’s a land full of idiots. It will only get worse in this country, not near enough gods like me. America and its people all destined to soon be destroyed.”

-The entries also detailed the gender frustrations Hale, who was born and raised as a female, experienced. “I only wore some nice girl clothes as a cover-up from the truth, which I denied myself all these years. And I hated all of it,” he wrote.

“It was miserable being raised a girl because I had no choice. There was lack of education, research, and medicine to help society or parents better understand transgender," he continued. Hale was angry that he had not been given puberty blockers earlier and feared it was too late to use them.

“I’m mad that no one told me until I was 22. I feel I’m too old and too late to become a man. Now, the process takes months to years. By the time that happens, I’m 30, and then 10 years later I got a bald spot on my head and looked like an old man. Hell no,” he wrote.

-Hale expressed admiration for the Columbine shooters Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold, the DC snipers, serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer and Oklahoma City bomber Timothy McVeigh, calling them "gods".

“I feel I am the reincarnation of Dylan Klebold. My thoughts of depression are forever linked to his and my experience as well,” Hale wrote.

Aiden purchased a copy of the Columbine Diaries in 2021.(his mom found it)

In his manifesto, Aiden wrote that he hoped to make the Columbine Shooters proud of him.

-Aiden wanted his shooting to be the deadliest in state history.

He stated that he'd be embarrassed if he got less than 10 kills.

-He originally planned for the massacre to take place on 17.1.2023, accoarding to one of his diary entries.

"I didn't mean to plan my massacre on the 17th, going to be a terrible sh** for leaving you. How bad my heart hurts. Tomorrow is my last day on Earth." He then followed the entry with a P.S., adding "not leaving yet. I couldn't do it....I'll wait as planned."

On the same day (Jan. 16, 2023), Hale also provides some context of his emotional state, writing "I can't stop feeling sad, angry, so sad how much, too long," "No one gets me -everyone misunderstands Autism typical" and "I want to die." Another entry in large letters states "I hurt bad enough + low enough that I need to die."

-Aiden Hale was apparently really skilled at making others believe he was "innocent" and "meek".

-He used a great deal of manipulation to convince people around him that he wasn't a danger to neither himself nor others

-Despite his best attempts at concealing his rage,loneliness and low self-esteem, they would all still occassionaly resurface, which led his parents and therapist to seek more intensive treatment for him.

This just made Aiden isolate himself more from others and become more manipulative towards his parents and therapist.

-In 2019, Hale admitted to his therapist that he was having suicidal and homicidal fantasies.

In 2020, he started visiting gun shops and made several gun/ammunition purchases then.

When Norma Hale(his mother) found the wrapper for a gun sock in the trash, that was when Aiden confessed to having bought a gun.

Norma was quick to reject the idea of Aiden having gun ownership, because of his history of suicidal ideation and depression.

Ronald Hale(his father) didn't have any problems with Aiden keeping a gun, as long as he knew how to use it safely.

Norma Hale later reluctantly agreed to let Aiden keep the gun.

-During an interview between detectives and Aiden's parents,Aiden's father told them that "none of the therapists ever felt that they had the duty to warn anybody about Aiden having homicidal ideations". They only felt the duty to warn his parents when Aiden was having suicidal ideations.

A police report summarizing this interview shows doctors told Hale’s parents sometime between five and eight years prior to the shooting that Hale, “needs to go to Vanderbilt Psychiatric Hospital because he is talking about suicidal ideations specifically about school shootings.”

Hale wasn’t admitted to the psychiatric hospital, but parents said Hale did receive some treatment

-Police has concluded that nobody is to blame for the Nashville Covenant School shooting that took 6 lives,because Aiden was constantly manipulating everybody around him.

-The parents of the Nashville Covenant School shooting victims have copyright over Hale's writtings, which is why they cannot be released.

One of the parents said that releasing those writtings would be giving the shooter exactly what he wanted: Immortality (which means that Aiden Hale would basically be able to "speak from the grave")

-Despite this, Tennessee Star managed to get ahold of a "90-page-exclusive" , referring to the shooter's manifesto, and released it in it's entirety.

[demie90s]

famous reader x dt, reader is drunk and simps for dt on twitter and the next day it blows up and reader coincidentally meets dt and dt just flirts w her

NEED MORE DT CONTENT I LOVE HER SM 💔💔

ᴅɪᴀɴᴀ ᴛᴀᴜʀᴀꜱɪ x ꜰᴀᴍᴏᴜꜱ ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Tweets with Tequila and Don

MASTERLIST | MORE

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You’re a little tipsy, a little too bold, and a little too obsessed with WNBA legend Diana Taurasi. One night, the tequila talks—and your Twitter fingers get reckless.

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: Flirty Comedy, Mild Chaos, Public Simping Gone Right

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Cursing, alcohol mention, one (1) feral tweet about Diana Taurasi’s hands

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: ~0.7k

ᴠɪʙᴇ: You talk crazy online, then she shows up in real life and plays your game better than you

It was supposed to be one drink.

One.

That was the rule: a little pre-game shot, post-glam, pre-bed. Something cute. Just enough to feel glossy. You were in your hotel suite, robe slipping off one shoulder, edges laid, face beat for absolutely no reason. Just bored. You had music playing and highlights of Diana Taurasi looping in the background like the masochist you were.

Then the tequila hit. And suddenly, your inner dialogue went full unhinged.

She was on screen doing nothing. Just walking across the court like her sneakers didn’t even touch the ground. Hair slicked. Expression unreadable. Wrist taped. You watched her drain a three like it was a yawn and suddenly you were clutching your chest like the Holy Ghost had tapped in.

“…yeah, she could destroy me,” you whispered. “She could end my entire credit history and I’d thank her.”

Then, like a demon possessed, you opened Twitter.

The first tweet was bold. Ridiculous. Thirsty. And honestly? Kind of a masterpiece.

“Diana Taurasi could ruin my life and I’d say thank you, ma’am. No seatbelt. Just vibes. I’m ready.”

You should’ve stopped there. But the bottle was open and you were bored and—let’s be honest—you had a lot to say.

“her walk?? HER WALK. I fear tall confident white women I’ll admit it.”

“Google how to become a WNBA sideline water bottle. This is an emergency.”

“she could run over my foot with a Gatorade cooler and I’d bark.”

You weren’t done.

You posted a chart. A color-coded chart. On Canva. With categories like “suit era,” “trash talk quotes,” and “could bench press me.”

Then came the tweet that would haunt you forever.

“her hands… no bc y’all not LOOKING at the hands. she could fold me like laundry at halftime and I’d moan harmonies. I wouldn’t fight back.”

It was 2:37 a.m. when you finally threw your phone across the bed, laid face down in defeat, and passed out still wearing one fake eyelash and a sock on the wrong foot.

The morning slapped you in the face.

Your phone was possessed. 400 notifications. Three missed calls from your manager. Your group chat renamed to “#FOLDED.” One message from your stylist that just said:

“girl you’re TRENDING 💀💀💀”

The tweets had gone viral.

You were top five on trending. ESPNW reposted it with three laughing emojis. TMZ quoted it. A WNBA fan account made a slideshow of your tweets to a Lana Del Rey instrumental.

And the comments? Absolutely no mercy.

“She ain’t even try to be subtle.”

“This made my hole week fr.”

“When Taurasi finds her she better run.”

“Imagine tweeting this then seeing her the next day…”

And that was the final blow. Because you were seeing her.

You had a press brunch later that morning. You weren’t supposed to talk—just show up, look good, maybe pose for a few pics. Nothing major.

You stared in the mirror for ten straight minutes.

“I can’t go,” you whispered to yourself, hair wrapped in a towel. “She’s gonna throw a basketball at me.”

Your assistant banged on the door. “We leave in twenty. Get your fine ass up.”

You showed up in sunglasses and shame. Hair slicked, lip gloss fresh, but emotionally? Defeated. You picked the farthest table from the front and didn’t even touch your mimosa.

Then the energy in the room shifted. Like… the air changed. You looked up.

And there she was.

Diana Taurasi. Walking into the room like she owned it—which she probably did. Black blazer, plain tee, long legs, gold chain. No smile. Just that cold, unreadable face that somehow made your thighs tense.

Your soul left your body.

You ducked. Fully ducked. Hid behind the centerpiece like a coward. Your friend next to you covered their mouth, whispering, “OH MY GOD SHE’S HERE. DO YOU THINK SHE SAW—”

“She definitely saw,” you hissed. “I’m gonna get sued.”

She made her rounds, shook a few hands, nodded to people she knew. Calm. Unbothered.

And then her eyes landed on you. You froze. She changed direction.

Walked straight toward your table.

You scrambled—moved a glass, grabbed your phone, tried to look like you were texting the president. Anything but what was actually happening.

She stopped right beside you, leaned in, one hand on your chair like she owned it—and smirked.

“Nice tweets.”

You blinked. “I was hacked.”

She raised a brow. “Multiple times?”

You cleared your throat. “Cybersecurity is… not what it used to be.”

She looked down at you, eyes slow and deliberate. “So you don’t actually want me to fold you like laundry?”

You nearly knocked over your mimosa. “I didn’t say that.”

“You kinda did,” she said, voice low and amused. “Very publicly.”

You were spiraling. “Okay but like… it was a figurative fold.”

She tilted her head. “You’re cute when you panic.”

You forgot how to blink.

She tapped her fingers once on your shoulder—light, like a claim. Then she stepped back, winked, and walked off without another word.

You just sat there, lip parted, hand trembling around your champagne flute like a Victorian widow.

Your phone buzzed. You looked down.

Diana Taurasi followed you.

Then she liked the “fold me like laundry” tweet.

Then she commented: “Hope you’re wrinkle-free, I’ve got time this week.”

You screamed. Out loud. In public.

The clip of you reacting—choking, kicking the table, screaming into a cloth napkin—made the rounds online before the event even ended. It became a meme within 24 hours.

“Diana’s little laundry pile.” (I’m dying😭😭)

“This you?” (with screenshots of all your tweets.)

And worst of all?

“Imagine tweeting that and she flirts back 😭”

You were cooked. Ruined. In shambles.

But then… She DM’d you.

“Dinner?”

One word. You stared at it for a full five minutes. Replied instantly.

“Yes. No hesitation. What do I wear? Where do we go? Do I bring a towel? Is folding still on the table?”

She left you on read for six minutes. Then replied:

“Pick a dress. You’ll want to look good when I have you speechless again.”

You dropped your phone. And called your therapist.

[writingforstraykids]

Echoes of Us

Pairing: Chan x fem!Reader

Word Count: 1777

Summary: You never thought you'd see him again and yet here you are, standing right in front of him after all those years. Your childhood friend has changed and somehow not that much...but do you really want Chan back in your life?

Warnings/Tags: angst, emotional hurt, childhood friends to strangers back to...something??, first kiss

A/N: I can't be blamed for the majority of Chan and Minho fics on this blog anymore. I offered you all EIGHT of the boys and they still got the first and second place😂😂

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

You never thought you'd see him again.

Bang Chan. The boy who had been your best friend. The one you grew up with, shared secrets with, dreamed with. The boy who had held you under the stars, promised you forever, and then disappeared into a world you couldn’t reach. Left the damn country, to be precise.

The first time you met Chan, you were six, and he was the loudest kid on the playground. He’d grinned at you with a missing front tooth, dragged you into a game of tag, and from that moment on, you were inseparable.

The last time you saw him before everything fell apart, he had the world in the palm of his hand, and you were nothing more than a shadow in his past.

And now, after years of silence, he stands across the dimly lit café, his fingers wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee. The familiar warmth of his presence coils through your chest, but it doesn’t chase away the cold.

You’ve changed. He has too.

Gone is the carefree boy with messy curls and sleepy eyes. The man in front of you is polished, posture tense as if bracing himself. His hair is straightened now and his eyes look tired. His fame has transformed him into someone untouchable - someone who no longer belongs to late-night drives or whispered promises.

But when his gaze meets yours, for the first time in years, it’s as if nothing has changed. God, his eyes still hold the same warmth, but there’s something else there, something unreadable.

Your stomach clenches. You shouldn’t be here. You should turn around, pretend you never saw him, keep walking -.

“Y/nnie.” His voice stops you. Soft, uncertain, so painfully Chan. As if saying your name is a wound reopening.

You swallow hard. “Chan.”

He looks at you as if he wants to say a hundred things but doesn’t know where to begin. Neither do you. His mouth opens and closes but no words leaves him as he takes in your appearance.

So, instead of speaking, you nod and walk past him. And just like that, you let him go again.

Or at least, you try to.

-

Fate is cruel.

You learn that two weeks later when a storm rolls in, drenching the city in sheets of unforgiving rain. You hadn’t planned on staying out late, but your best friend’s birthday dinner ran longer than expected.

By the time you step outside, the streets are nearly deserted, the downpour turning everything into a blur of neon reflections. You rush toward the nearest bus stop, only to realize the schedule is completely messed up due to the weather.

And then -

“Y/n?”

You freeze.

Oh, for fucks sake.

Chan stands a few feet away, shaking raindrops from his jacket. His hair is damp, clinging to his forehead and curling slightly, and his eyes widen slightly as if he can’t believe you’re real.

You grip your bag tighter. “What are you doing here?”

He glances at the rain, then back at you. “Same as you, I guess. Trying to get home.”

A gust of wind makes you shiver. The café across the street glows invitingly, promising warmth and dry clothes. But going in there possibly means facing Chan.

Chan follows your gaze. “We should wait inside,” he suggests. “At least until the storm slows down.”

You hesitate. Spending time alone with him feels dangerous, like reopening a wound that never fully healed. But the cold seeps into your bones, and before you can think twice, you nod.

-

The café is nearly empty. You sit across from Chan in a booth near the window, watching the rain slide down the glass. After a few seconds you pick out your now favorite raindrop and watch it race the others down the glass. The silence between you is thick, filled with memories neither of you can escape.

“You look good,” he says eventually, voice careful. “All grown up now.”

You huff a quiet laugh. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?” he asks, tilting his head in such a painfully familiar manner.

You bite back a frustrated sigh, focusing back at the window. “Act like we’re strangers trying to be polite.”

His jaw tightens, a soft hum rumbling through his chest. You still remember how that very sound felt like against your back when he hugged you from behind. “Isn’t that what we are now?”

The words sting more than they should, disrupting your silent race of raindrops. You stare at him, taking in the man he’s become. There are more lines on his face, a tiredness in his eyes that wasn’t there before. Success looks good on him, but it’s also weighed him down.

For a moment, you almost feel sorry for him.

Almost.

“I didn’t mean to leave you behind,” he says suddenly, his voice raw. “I never wanted that.”

You flinch. You don’t want to have this conversation. Not now. Not like this. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” you lie.

“It does to me,” he answers, eyes growing dark as those chocolate orbs drown in sorrow and guilt.

You shake your head. “You made your choice, Chan. You chose your career over everything you had back home. And I learned to live with it.”

A muscle in his jaw twitches. “I had to go. You know that. It's been my dream ever since we knew each other.”

“I know,” you whisper. “But that didn’t make it hurt any less,” you say with a defeated shrug, eyes lowering onto the table.

The rain pounds against the window, mirroring the storm inside you. You shouldn’t have come in here. You shouldn’t have let him pull you back into his orbit.

But it’s too late now.

-

The storm doesn’t let up. The streets flood, making it impossible to leave. The café owner announces they’re closing early, and you and Chan are left with no choice but to find somewhere else to wait out the rain.

His apartment is nearby. You don’t want to go, but the alternative is wandering the streets in a downpour. So you follow him, cursing yourself in your head for doing so.

His apartment is nothing like you remember from the tiny bedroom you once shared whenever you stayed over. It doesn’t feel like him as much as it fits him at the same time.

You watch him quietly as he moves around the space with ease, hanging up your coat, guiding you to his sofa and making you both something to drink. Your heart aches as you remember how much of a big brother and friend you had seen in him, slowly getting to that age where the lines of friendship and a first crush blurred. And then he left.

Left you all alone with all your worries and dreams. Left you with those girls at school who loved to irritate you. Left you to deal alone with your first heartbreak. Left you to get your driver's license all on your own. Left you for the stage, the many girls screaming his name, the bright lights and those boys he calls his family. A title that had once been yours.

You stand by the window, watching the rain, when he finally speaks again. “Do you ever wonder what would’ve happened if we didn’t lose each other?”

Your breath catches. You turn to find him watching you, eyes filled with something close to regret. “I try not to,” you admit quietly. “Because wondering doesn’t change anything.”

Chan exhales shakily, running a hand through his hair. “I do. I think about it all the time…About you.”

Your chest tightens painfully and you take a hesitant step backwards. “Chan-”

“I should have fought harder,” he interrupts fiercely. “I should have made more time. I should have been there even from here. I should have-”

“You should have done a lot of things,” you agree. “But you didn’t…and neither did I.”

The silence that follows is deafening.And for the first time, Chan doesn’t have an answer.

It happens fast.

One second, you’re standing by the window, and the next, Chan is in front of you, closer than he’s been in years. His presence is as soothing as unsettling and you take another step back, nearly bumping into the window as you look at him with questioning eyes.

“Tell me you don’t still feel it,” he says, voice rough. “Tell me, and I’ll let you go.”

You open your mouth, ready to say the words-ready to end this. But when you look at him, you can’t. Because you do still feel it.

The anger, the longing, the love that never fully left. And it terrifies you.

Chan must see it in your eyes because he reaches for you, hesitates, then cups your face like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I’m so sorry for being so stupid.”

It’s all it takes. You break.

His lips crash against yours, desperate and aching. Years of silence dissolve in the heat of his touch. Your fingers knot into his shirt, pulling him closer, needing him like air. For a moment, you let yourself pretend that nothing changed. That you’re still his and he’s still yours, just so differently this time.

But the past doesn’t disappear so easily. When you pull away, your heart is in your throat. “A kiss won't fix anything.”

Chan nods, but his grip tightens as if he’s afraid to let go. “I know, Y/nnie. I know it won't.”

And yet neither of you moves. Because letting go is the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do.

“I can't blame you for chasing your dream. You worked hard…you still do. And you deserve this more than anyone else,” you tell him quietly, swallowing roughly. “I just wish you left some room for me.”

Chan's dark orbs brim with tears, a shuddery exhale leaving him. “Give me a chance, Y/n. Give me a chance to make room. Let me show you the place where I work, let me take you on tour, let me introduce you to the boys. I want you to be a part of my life again so bad. Give me a year of your time and I'll try to make up all the years we've lost.”

You swallow harshly, your own eyes far from dry as you take in his desperate pleas. “And then?” you whisper shakily.

“And then you'll decide if you can imagine spending the rest of your life by my side or if you'd rather never see me again,” he whispers back.

It only takes you a minute to think it through. “Deal.”

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):

@zehina @jinnie-ret @slutforchanlix @atinyniki @galaxycatdrawz @silverstarburst @aaa-sia @lilmisssona @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @rebecca-johnson-28 @lixie-phoria @kibs-and-bits @xxstrayland @ihrtlix @pheonixfire777 @mellhwang @palindrome969 @theo4eve @harshaaaaa @rylea08 @heeyboooo @manuosorioh @gisaerlleri @andassortedkpop @lailac13 @bbokari711 @kazuuuaaa @rssamj @wolfyychan @stellasays45 @chrizzztopherbang @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @silentreadersthings @myforevermelody143 @sapphirewaves @minh0scat @dis-trict9 @lost-in-avoidance

[hardknifeplays]

'*•.¸♡ relationship with könig: headcanons ♡¸.•*'

tags: gn!reader x könig, he's older than you, mostly domestic, nsfw-ish!

NOTE: Please do NOT repost anywhere | reblog, likes, and comments are appreciated! ♡

✧ the beginning of the relationship was a bit difficult, he was so used to the hard and rough military life. knowing he has a higher rank in his team, he treated you like you're his subordinates, not his partner.

✧ he was too commanding until you snapped and brought him back to reality one day. you told him that when he's with you he's not supposed to act and/or treat you the way he treats his soldiers in the field.

✧ that was the first time he saw you snapping at him, and it scared the life out of him. he never thought someone whose figure was so small compared to him could be THAT fiery and going against him.

✧ he was a bit pushy and almost always forced you to do whatever he suggested (about anything, really), and let's say he was not on his best behavior back then. you realized you shouldn't let a man step on you like this, especially when you're his partner.

✧ you dared yourself to be more vocal and direct to him. it worked; you told him where he was wrong and how you wanted him to improve next time. sure, he still made some slip-ups but he definitely got better.

✧ he told you he was sorry for the way he treated you, he was never good with communication. he never wanted to be mean to you, and you saw major changes within him from that point.

✧ he started to show his gentle and clingy side, you almost forgot that this is the same man who was a little too stern to you a few months ago.

✧ morning sex is a MUST, inhaling your natural scent from behind while his hips are drilling against your ass is the best way to start a morning.

✧ his love language is eating together with you. either eating some meals made by you, made by him, or even take-outs, he always wants to eat with you. if you're not hungry? well, he can tell his stomach to hold the hunger a bit just for you.

✧ this man LOVES dirty jokes and puns you throw at him. always get him all flustered and red like a fucking tomato. run your mouth, sweetheart, this Austrian giant is head over heels for you even more! ;)

✧ he's becoming more and more vocal and open about his feelings and thoughts to you, despite feeling extra anxious whenever he did so. soon he realized that you're here to listen to him, and not to judge him.

✧ the most romantic moments happens after work, you're serving him a cup of coffee or tea while he's resting himself on the dinner table. you two will spend the rest of the evening talking about your day, his day, and sometimes some gossips in your or his office. drinking tea while spilling some tea, if you will. 🍵

✧ the man is a massive science nerd 😅 he's subscribing to youtube channels like michael reeves, kurzgesagt, and NileRed. he'd love to watch science documentaries with you until both of you fall asleep.

✧ he loves it when you rely on him. need some new, exclusive collector edition books? he's here to pay, even the hardcover ones! need new lipstick or makeup? take him to sephora and make yourself pretty with his cash, darling. need new PC components? he'll spoil you and make you an amazing PC setup!

✧ besides the material things, he loves you even more when you cling to him like a baby koala when you're anxious or feeling unsafe in general. he loves being a big man for his dearest love.

✧ he's quite busy, and his line of work is highly demanding for his presence. he's a colonel, leading missions and he even goes to his office or shooting range on weekends or holidays. his hard work paid off, and he kept being promoted to higher positions.

✧ loves it when you asks him about his job. what is he doing? what is a “human battering ram”? he's willing to answer some grime questions from you, e.g. is he becoming insensitive to see gruesome death? is human blood really THAT red and fresh? is he afraid of the ghosts of the enemies he had killed? etc.

✧ sometimes he comes home looking frustrated, and it scares you a bit. worried that he'd back to his old self, the overly stern and authoritarian asshole. but then you know that his frustration is not directed at you, but rather to whoever the hell managed to piss him off at the office.

✧ you can soothe him in two ways: calm him down by talking him out through it and bathe him (unless he requests some alone time to sort his thoughts), or being his obedient fucktoy for him to release all that pent-up anger. you choose :)

✧ he'd consume you whole if he sees you with bodycon dress or any tight clothing. it turns him into an animal.

✧ always asks for pictures whenever you're away from him. say things like, "i want to see how well your dress/shirt is hugging your figure, love." ; "you'd look gorgeous with that makeup/style."

✧ plenty of nicknames for you: feisty firecracker, honeybee, sweetface, schnucki (means 'sweetie' in german), schatz, Schmetterling (butterfly), my love, my darling, my dearest angel, my sweet, ... etc.

✧ if you happen to be someone from outside of german speaking country, he'd teach you some german. mostly curses and dirty words, though. hehe.

✧ he'd love to bring you to his hometown in salzburg. he'd take you to makartsteg (lovers lock) bridge and seeing the mountains, and he's so excited to introduce you to local foods and drinks.

✧ he'd love to be your biggest motivator whenever you feel lazy to do something. got some homework or tasks you need to finish, but didn't want to? he'd say, "do it and I'll reward you in the bedroom, schatzi."

✧ if you two are already talking about marriage... he'd be so nervous about meeting your parents, especially if you have extremely different cultures as him. he's a grown man with a great income that surely can sustain you two, which you're sure that your parents wouldn't mind about.

✧ his biggest concern about starting a family with you is your safety, knowing how often he's deployed. being one of the best operators in his team meant he'd constantly be called to missions, sometimes to a region or country that you'd never heard of before. he always tell you to pray for him, so he can come back to you alive AND intact.

✧ he wants three kids. and if that's too much for you, he won't complain either. he just thinks that three is a sweet spot for him.

hehe that's it! hope you enjoy this as much as i do.

━ sincerely, hardknifeplays.

[casualhedonists]

✩ it don’t need your loving, it just needs attention ✩ (chapter three)

pairing: Coriolanus Snow x reader

chapter: 3/? (MASTERLIST)

warnings: NSFW (18+), snow being snow, themes of sex work (not the reader), cuckolding, eventual smut, fake relationship, unprotected sex, themes of voyeurism & mild exhibitionism, murder mention (but no actual murder) (not yet at least?), MAJOR manipulation/gross power dynamics + generally darkish themes, power play, oral sex, thigh riding, degradation, dirty talk, eventual piv, i’m new to full on smut bear with me here (and pls tell me if i forgot anything!)

i do not give permission for my work to be reposted/translated anywhere, under any circumstances.

taglist: if you’d like to be tagged, leave a comment on the masterlist post and i’ll add you! 💌

a/n: thank you for your patience and condolences / kind messages over the past week i’ve been awol. i’m very happy to be back. very long, filthy and much awaited chapter ahead, so strap in and hope you enjoy the ride.

in the words of miss zegler herself: oh we are so back.

You weren’t sure how long he stared at you, smiling with a fire in his eyes that rivalled yours until it was eclipsed. A third and final time, you found yourself speechless, dumbstruck, and one final time, much like the others, you took a few shaky steps backwards, before turning and fleeing.

He knew. He’d known this whole time. How long had he been planning this? Exactly how much of this had been an act, with Snow puppeteering you as you slowly lost your mind?

You almost felt pity for the girl, because she was played just like you were. She was a mere pawn in his game of chess, where he’d toyed with you until you were backed into a corner, unable to make a move.

Well, not this time. Now you knew what he was playing, you were ready to up your game. This wouldn’t be another stalemate; you wanted to win, and you had a few ideas of where to start.

You were already up and dressed when you heard a knock at your door the next morning.

Dreading the worst – despite the fact that Snow had never actually been in your room before, but the rules had changed now and you weren’t sure quite how much – you paused for a second to prepare yourself, praying that he wouldn’t be there, ready to put a stop to your plans before they’d even started.

You fell lucky. It was one of Snow’s footmen, George.

“Good morning, ma’am. I, um.” He swallowed, not meeting your eye. “I have a message from Master Snow. He’d like for you to meet him for breakfast in a half hour, if you will. He says you have something… quite important to discuss.”

Typical Snow. Never liked to get his hands dirty. Too proud to knock at your door himself.

You considered.

“George, could you please tell Coriolanus that if I’ve already eaten, and that I’ll come to him when I see fit. If he isn’t satisfied,” you added, for his sake, as you knew Snow wasn’t above killing the messenger, “Say I have an urgent matter to tend to, and I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”

You grew a lump in your throat from your refusal, fearing the consequences. But you’d set your plan into motion now and there was no going back. Once George had been sent on his way, you snuck down the stairs on the far end of the building and slipped out the door through the servants’ quarters, where you knew Snow wouldn’t see you leave. The one upside to the last few weeks was that you’d learned how to sneak around the manor unnoticed. You were certain there were at least three hallways he’d had never even set foot in.

You had Lucille call Henry – Snow’s driver – in advance so you could leave right away.

“Where are we going, ma’am?” He glanced at you over his shoulder as you slid into the black town car.

“Head into the city. I’ll explain on the way.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Henry took some convincing – and some light bribing – to finally cave and tell you what and where this gentleman’s club was. Of course, it was a risk, a roll of the dice to go there without concrete proof, but you knew Snow. You knew his little neuroses and hang-ups, and he was paranoid; in all senses, it would seem, except when it came to you. If he’d been frequenting this club for some time – some years, according to Henry – and trusted their discretion, then you highly doubted he’d play Russian roulette and pick somewhere else.

You were dropped off outside, and sent Henry to the tailor to pick up some of Snow’s things; an excuse for the outing, but a part of your plan too. He was hesitant to leave you alone in such a place, but you insisted you knew exactly how to handle yourself, and so he gave in.

You’d deliberately dressed down for what you were about to do, worn your old coat and let your hair down with a hood pulled over it. It being daytime, the place was closed for business, but you knocked on the front door expectantly.

You waited. Went over the plan, and knocked again.

This time, the door opened and a burly man now stood between you and the inside of the brothel. Your curiosity made peek over his shoulder before he cleared his throat.

“Can I help you, miss?”

“Yes. My name is Margaret, sir, I’m a maid at the, uh,” You dropped your voice to a low whisper, “Snow household. I have a message for the owner of this establishment, from my master. Is he here?”

The man cleared his throat and glanced around the nearly empty street, then beckoned you in quickly.

“Anything for Mr Snow, miss. Right this way.”

There was your proof.

The empty club was a classy one, you had to give Snow that. The bar caught your eye, silver panels lining the wall behind it in an otherwise jet-black glossy room, with dark red couches and shiny tables, booths, single chairs, a stage with shiny metal poles, and a few cordoned-off alcoves.

You took it all in, certain you’d be able to appreciate the aesthetics of it more if it wasn’t for the seething rage inside you. You were stopped at a closed door near the back, and the burly man knocked.

“Yeah.” Came a voice from inside.

“All yours. He’ll take care of you.” Your guide stepped away. You pushed at the door.

A dark-haired man sat facing a desk, poring over paperwork. He didn’t look up.

“If you’re here for a job, sweetie, it’s Tuesday after 11.”

This incensed you.

“I’m not here for work. This is official business. I was told you take care of… special clients.”

He spun around, frowning.

“I’m listening.”

“I have a message from President Snow. He has a series of requests to be carried out with no delay.”

“Ah, yes. Mr Snow. I see. And you are to him?” He prompted.

“Just a maid from the household. He sent me as a messenger.”

“Excellent. Well in that case, of course, miss. How can I be of service?”

You took a breath, hoping desperately that he didn’t see right through you.

“Firstly, the shoes your girl wore.”

“What would he like with them?” He asked.

“He’d like to keep them. He’s willing to pay, and he’s not up for a price negotiation. This should cover them.” You slipped a bill across the table, and he nodded. You learned long ago that money causes loose lips, and this man was no exception.

“Of course,” he obliged, “They’re in the lockers through that door there. I’ll bring them to you. We ordered them in specially for Veronica, he made a point for her to wear them on the first floor. Usually our girls get instructions to sneak through clients’ houses quietly, but we handle every request as thoroughly as possible.” He chuckled.

That fucker. He really had planned it all out to get in your head.

“Was there anything else I can do for you, miss?”

You swallowed thickly.

Here goes.  

“Yes, actually. As of today, he’ll no longer be needing your services, or her services. He’d like to terminate your contract, and he doesn’t wish to see her again. Ever.”

The owner blinked. His mouth moved, as if he was about to say something, but then it closed again.

“But, um,” he stammered, “It’s only been three weeks. Veronica is our best girl, and he’s her top client. She carried out his orders to the absolute best of her ability, I can assure you. Are you sure those were his words?”

You sighed.

“She’s getting off lucky with a dismissal. Take it as a warning, sir. President Snow doesn’t show mercy to thieves. If she shows her face again, I can guarantee you, he’ll have her head.”

His face turned plum-red with horror.

“She was… stealing?”

In a way, yes.

“She was caught by a maid last night.” You nodded, and the owner swallowed thickly.

“I – I understand, Miss. I am terribly sorry for this. I apologise that our services weren’t up to your master’s expectations, truly. Please, if there’s anything I can do- and I can assure you, I’ll be having some very stern words-”

You cut him off.

“There is one more thing, as a matter of fact."

"Anything." He pleaded.

"You can send word that… Veronica, is it? She’ll be paying him a visit this evening. But you are not, under any circumstances, to send her. Am I understood?”

He furrowed his brows, puzzled. But you stared back challengingly and held your ground.

A small, sheepish smile formed on his face.

“Much obliged. I can assure you your requests will be carried out with the utmost discretion.”

“Thank you.”

He brought you the heels in a shiny box, and you turned and left.

Henry was waiting outside, and you slid back into the car.

“Get what you needed, ma’am?”

“I certainly did.”

The drive home was your chance to pick up lunch, finetune your plan, and go through the suits you’d had Henry pick up from the tailor.

They looked impeccable – crisp and creaseless, the white shirts brighter than the stars, and the maroon red jackets and waistcoats deeper than blood itself. It was one of these jackets that you chose to take upstairs with you, leaving the rest to be taken up to Snow’s room later, hoping the missing item would go unnoticed.

You retraced your way up the winding stairs of the manor. Luckily, Lucille had informed you Snow had left not long after you that morning, and was expected to be gone until evening. Nonetheless, your paranoia made you glance left, right and left again before every turn. Finally, after an exhaustingly long morning, you were back in the safety of your own room.

But the work was far from finished. You ate quickly, then began getting ready for your discussion with Snow. He hadn’t sent for you again; he was too proud. You took pride in knowing he’d be positively seething at your turning him down that morning. You kept going, showering, teasing your hair, adding a little more makeup than usual – not excessive, but enough to make a difference – then finally wandered the room as you picked your wardrobe for later.

You lay out the heels – which were a little big on you, but would serve their purpose – as well as the jacket you’d stolen, taking the time to run your fingers over the smooth maroon velvet you’d felt only briefly before, when brushing against Snow at public events. You then dug through your underwear drawer, debating between a red lingerie set and a white. You picked the latter; the tones of red would blend in with the jacket and white made more of a statement.

Innocence. If only.

You checked the time. Three hours or so until Coriolanus would be expecting Veronica. You hoped that he would be back by then, and more so, that your performance with the brothel owner had been enough to hold him to his promise of sending word. But if you’d learnt anything from Snow, it was that fear commanded respect, and better yet, obedience. So your doubts were few and far between.

In all honesty, that’s what had drawn you to Snow in the first place. It wasn’t about money; your family had money, more than they knew what to do with. It was the power, the fear. Even the richest man in the world would crumble to the ground with a gun to his head. Power trumps wealth every time, and the enigmatic, newly elected President was by far the most powerful man in Panem.

It was its own kind of thrill, pursuing a man like that. The temptation to get him wrapped around your fingers, ravenous, hungry for power, hungry for him. It all blurred together at this point, the man was like a magnet. You wondered if this thirst for more, always more, was an affliction the two of you shared. Or perhaps, an affliction you’d developed a taste for because of him. And the longer you spent at his side, the louder it began to beat in your chest like a second heart. You wanted to consume it, and let it consume you.

It thrummed in your chest now, adrenaline coursing in your veins. You fidgeted as you waited for the hours to pass, your craving growing with each second. You flicked through a few books; you drafted a letter to your mother. Each tick of the clock bringing you closer to finally taking the one thing you’d wanted since the day you met Coriolanus Snow. It was almost time for your big move.

✩✩✩✩

As enough darkness crept into your room and you stood to light some candles, you heard soft footsteps pass your door.

For a change, you recognised them as Snow’s, even and deliberate. He was home. With half an hour to spare until he’d be expecting his whore.

You jumped at the opportunity to change. Slowly and carefully, you slipped out of your clothes and into the underwear set, until you were clad in crisp white lace, with a matching garter belt as a finishing touch. You slid on Snow’s jacket – which smelled like him, of his cologne – the usual fitted shape it would give Snow now hanging loose and slack around your body, falling to the tops of your thighs. You did up the first button, tracing the neckline that plunged down your chest, leaving very little to the imagination. You slipped into the heels, checked the time, and after scanning yourself over in the mirror, made for the door.

The few worries you had about being seen by the staff were short-lived; the hallway lights were dim as you wobbled in the heels, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. You weren’t sure if Snow had fallen for your plan, but what mattered was that as you turned the corner, there were lights shining from under his bedroom door. He was in there, waiting. By now, it was odd seeing it closed. You tried your best to emulate the sound of the footsteps you’d drilled into your brain, the clicks giving you a sense of power knowing Snow – apprehensive or not – would be in for at least one surprise.

Click. Click. Click.

You considered pausing before barging in, but you didn’t. When you reached the end of the hallway, seconds away from your fate, you reached out a hand, pushed Snow’s door open, and walked right inside.

Snow was there; of course he was. Facing his dresser and away from you, he didn’t flinch at the sound of your arrival. You closed the door behind you, and took a step towards him. Stared at his back, scanning his black dress pants and the white shirt he’d rolled up to his elbows, cufflinks on the table, blonde curls a little unruly as he smoothly poured himself a drink.

This, right here, was where the solid part of your plan ended. It was caution to the wind from here on out, and you could practically taste it, high off the adrenaline; off his presence. And he hadn’t even looked at you yet.

This was the moment of truth.

“Well,” he said, taking a sip of his drink. “Look who finally figured it out.”

“Not who you were expecting?”

“She’d never reschedule.” he said simply, turning on his heels, eyes glinting at you. “Figured you were up to something. Drink?”

“Think I’ll pass.”

He approached you, eyes scanning your body, deliberately clad in the skimpiest underwear you owned. You figured this was as good a time as any to unbutton the jacket and let it fall open. It brushed your sides, and you watched him lower his glance, hungrily taking you in for what could quite possibly be the very first time. He wet his lips, took another sip.

There it is.

There was that power you craved, that look that you’d been aching to see in his eyes while he stared at you, and although it was fucked up, you let the pride fill your head with confidence, and stepped forward.

“Now, just where did you get that?” A slight narrowing of his eyes gave him away. At least something you’d done had made an impression.

“Borrowed it. In case I get cold.” You smiled.

“Cute. Didn’t your daddy ever tell you not to take things that aren’t yours?”

“Oh, I take whatever I want, Snow.”

You raised your head in defiance. Proud of your voice for not faltering once.

“Clearly. Nice shoes. Borrow those, too?”

“Why, do they look familiar?” you quipped.

“I think we both know the answer to that, doll. Now why don’t you tell me why you’re here?”

You sighed, feigning exasperation. A chill crept up your legs but you barely noticed.

“You wanted to talk to me, Coriolanus. Talk.”

“Is that really what you came here for, sweetheart? Dressed like that?” He put his drink down on the dresser, not once looking away from you.

“If this is what it takes to get your attention, Snow, then yes.”

You took another step closer, and the jacket fell further to your sides, more skin slipping out from underneath for him to feast his eyes on.

“I think you know plenty about trying to get my attention. I watched you struggle for weeks.”

“Didn’t think you cared.” You muttered.

He laughed, low, more like a scoff.

“What, your childish attempts at seduction? They were pitiful at best. I’d expect that kind of behaviour from a common whore, not a lady of your standing.”

“Thought you liked whores.” You retorted.

“They’re no fun to live with. And there you were, proving my point.”

Your eyes narrowed, and when you spoke, it was through gritted teeth.

“So what, you had to go and fuck one to prove a point? Mature.”

“Mature?” he glowered, then before you could think, he stormed towards you, grabbing both of your wrists with a hard squeeze. You gasped.

“Mature like you, with your short skirts and your fuck-me eyes, sucking your fingers off at the breakfast table?”

You squirmed. Tried to jolt yourself away but it was no use.

“I didn’t think you-”

“Oh, I noticed.” He said, moving in to corner you, grip tightening until he was walking you backwards across the room as he spoke, never once taking his eyes off you. “And it’s a real shame this couldn’t have been easier for us both, but you just had to start it. So I watched your pathetic little displays, day after day, knowing if you’d behaved better, I would’ve given you exactly what you wanted.”

You fought not to trip over yourself until your legs bumped against the ottoman at the foot of his bed and you caught your breath. His eyes bored into yours and you blinked helplessly. His grip loosened on your wrists. You tried to speak, but your mouth had gone dry.

“If you’d been good,” he continued, voice lowering, “you wouldn’t have played around like that. Good girls don’t whore themselves out to respectable men.”

Your eyes narrowed in defiance as you felt heat start to brew in your stomach.

“Respectable?” You spat, and his grip tightened again, bringing one hand up to trace your jaw, almost pitifully.

“See what I mean? You dig yourself deeper at every turn. Good girls ask nicely, and say please. It didn’t take me long to figure out you had issues with authority. It could’ve been so easy for you, sweetheart. You had plenty of chances. You could’ve asked me very nicely to fuck you, but instead you behaved like a desperate slut for weeks on end. Eventually, I knew there was only one way to shut you up.”

Your ears started to ring and you fought harder to gain composure. He’d never talked to you like this before. And now, all this, all at once, it was almost too much. Goosebumps had long covered your arms and legs, despite the heat inside you burning you up. You were vaguely aware of heat pooling uncomfortably between your legs.

Your breathing was heavy as you stared into him, his hand gripping your chin, and you couldn’t hide it if you tried. He finally backed away, letting you peel yourself from the ottoman. His hungry eyes scanned over you, suit jacket now crumpled at the wrists. You swallowed as you tried to pull yourself together.

“You knew I was watching you. The whole time. Every time. It was… for me.”

He watched you knowingly, raised his eyebrows a little. His lips grew into that smirk, that fucking smirk you knew all too well.

“We were playing the same game, sweetheart. I was just… Better.”

“A little excessive, don’t you think?” Your voice faltered and you cursed how breathy it sounded.

“Oh, on the contrary. It was very entertaining to see you struggle, but I could’ve gone further.” He mused. “I even considered fucking her on your bed.”

Shit.

A thought popped into your head, and a strange smile made its way to your face.

“Aren’t you going to ask me where I got these?” You asked, glancing down.

He frowned for a second; good. You’d thrown him off guard. But he caught up fast.

“The heels? You know, I had her walk right past your door in those so you’d follow her and see just what you were missing?”

If you weren’t so wired with adrenaline, you were pretty sure you’d be tearing up with how desperate you felt. But his words channelled it all into pure anger.

“Fuck you.” You seethed, and he smiled.

“We'll get to that. But go on, I’ll bite. What did you do to her?”

“Let’s just say she deserved much worse than what she got. Maybe you should’ve fucked her on my bed. Would’ve given me a reason to choke the life out of her.”

“You think I’d care?”

“Course not. Knowing you, it’d probably get you off.”

“Which brings us right back to now.” He stared at you, challenging. You laughed again.

“Is this you talking? You’re not very good at it.”

“No, this is me giving you a second chance. The way I see it, you made your move, I made mine. Now, if you’re a good girl, and ask me very nicely to fuck you until that pretty little head of yours gets filled with nothing but empty space, I might consider putting an end to this and giving you what you want. Maybe.” If you thought you’d survive smacking that smug look off his face, you would.

“You want me to ask nicely, Coriolanus?” You closed the gap between the two of you and glanced up at him through your lashes. He looked back at you, and no chill in the world could cool you down from the fire in his eyes.

He stepped away, paced towards the desk chair – the one he’d watched you from last night – then dragged it across the floor, spun it around, and took a seat. Once again, last night felt worlds away now. A lifetime sat between that moment and this one as he made himself comfortable, unbuttoned his collar. As if the room was now a stage, and he was the sole spectator.

“Go on. I’m waiting.”

Cocky bastard.

Another airy laugh escaped you. But you’d be lying if you said he wasn’t exactly where you wanted him. So you played into it.

“You want me to beg you? Say pretty please?” Your voice softened as you slowly stepped towards him, holding his gaze. A passing thought reminded you of your childhood, asking your mother what you’d feel when you first truly fell for someone.

Fireworks. Thousands of them, crackling, hissing, charging the air between the two of you into something heavy. Thick clouds of smoke you could almost taste as you stared into darkened eyes. You paused in front of him, fingers playing with the hem of his suit jacket that brushed against your thighs. Caught your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Take it off.” He ordered.

“Gladly.”

You slipped the jacket off your shoulders, and it fell smoothly into a pile on the floor. You kicked off the heels next, landing haphazardly to the side with a thump. His eyes never leaving you, consuming you.

“Like what you see, Snow?”

He took you in, long and hungry and shameless. Like you were simply there for his entertainment, nothing else. You wondered where along the line he’d lost all his inhibitions, at what moment in his very young life he’d decided to simply stop caring. It should scare you, but it just made you burn warmer. Maybe your wires were a little crossed, too, because it didn’t make you feel cheap.

It made you feel powerful.

You knew you looked good, too; you’d made sure of it. But he was looking at you like you were carved out of solid gold. He didn’t answer, because he didn’t need to.

“Think I like you better when you’re not acting like a dumb slut.”

You hummed, determined and unphased, moving in closer until your legs touched his knees. His words shouldn’t turn you on - nor should not knowing exactly how much he meant them – but they did.

“You like me better when I’m begging, then?” You placed your legs either side of his, straddling him, but still standing, and took his hands in yours. You ran one of them across your lips, brazenly taking a digit in your mouth, releasing it with a wet pop, then dropping your head down.

“You want me to be straightforward, Snow? Tell you exactly what I want?” you breathed, your foreheads almost touching, looking down at him from a thrilling vantage point, your hair falling either side of his face. “To beg you to rip this off me?” You guided his hands to your hips, letting them slide over the lacy fabric. “You want me to beg you to kiss every inch of skin you see and make it yours? Beg you to fuck me until I can’t think, and forget my own name?”

You ran his hands down the sides of your legs, then, inch by inch, letting him take a good long look on the way, you finally lowered yourself onto his lap. Your blown-out eyes met again, at the same level this time. You shifted your hips once, feigning getting comfortable, and hid a smile as he let out a strained sound.

You were close enough to feel his breath against yours, fast but steady, controlled. You moved closer, your head dipping cautiously under his chin to kiss his neck. He smelt clean, like fresh laundry and his cologne, and his skin tasted like salt as your tongue traced a line across it. It felt like power, having him like this. Slowly starting to grind your hips as your mouth pressed against his pulse, every shaky breath you elicited from him awakening something new in you.

“Say it, Snow.” You murmured, breath catching. “Tell me you want me to beg you, and be good for you.” Another trail of messy kisses across his jaw, and you finally heard it, ragged and coarse, words shooting through you like knives softened by the heat of his breath on your hair.

“Be a good girl, and fucking beg me.”

You hummed with satisfaction. Moved your lips to his ear, hand cupping the back of his neck, and leaned in close.

“If you wanted me to be good,” you whispered, “then you’ve picked the wrong girl.”

You felt it, his whole body tensing beneath you. But you had it now, the upper hand, and you weren’t giving it away. Your other hand came up to close over his mouth with a warning shake of the head, and you gripped the back of his neck harder with the first. Craned it backwards so he could look at you, a different kind of fire in his eyes. A fire that could burn you far worse than any other. You leaned your weight into him until you were flush, skin pressing into fabric. Tightening your legs around his so he couldn’t kick out. You felt dangerous. You felt alive.

When you spoke, your voice was a vial of vitriol.

“You thought I’d just give into you? Three weeks of torture and you call it even? No fucking way, Snow. You wanted to play? Let’s play.”

You were closer to him now than you’d ever been before, infinitely closer than when you’d held hands in front of an audience, or danced in the middle of a ballroom, or when he’d draw you in for a lingering kiss at the head of a busy table.

You were closer still because of the common denominator: you were alone, your bodies pressed together, soft and firm colliding. And your stomach ached with want, but your rage burned brighter.

When you were sure he wouldn’t move, you readjusted your position on his lap so you were sat on one thigh, your right knee pressed firmly against the chair between his legs. Slowly, you dragged your hips against it, firm muscle between your legs, shameless as you stared him down.

“I’d like to modify the terms of our agreement, as of tonight. Starting with this: I’ve made sure your little whore won’t come running back here. If I so much as hear a whisper of a rumor that you’re fucking someone else, I’m leaving. Don’t think I don’t know how to disappear. I can, and I will.”

He scowled at you, and you’d never felt power like the rush you got from seeing your hand clamped over his mouth. His own hands, now easily able to overpower you and push yours away, instead sat at your hips, digging in so hard you knew there’d be bruises for weeks. As you moved, he started to follow suit, rocking your hips on his thigh faster.

He’s allowing this.

The realisation made you pull your hand from his mouth, and yet he didn’t speak. There was a tightness in his jaw, locked down so hard it must’ve hurt as he watched you move, helped you move. It sent a shock through your core, and you ground down harder.

Who’s on top now?

This was getting to your head.

“President Snow,” you mocked. “What a title. Thinks he can take whatever’s in his sight. Thinks he has the right. Did you think I’d come crawling back to you?” Your voice lowered.

“Did you think I’d get on my knees, like she did?” You glanced down, running your now-free hand over the front of his pants, gentle at first, then pressing in firm, and he hissed.

“Did you really think, after all your little shows, that I’d just submit? Not a chance.” You spat, and his breath turned a little shaky as your hand slid up, then down.

As it evened out, and he reached for composure again, he pulled a countermove. Got in close, with words so sharp, they nearly cut through you.

“Which one was your favorite?”

You pulled your hand away. Your hold on the back of his neck tightened, and in turn, so did his grip on your hips, pulling you down harder as you got closer, panties bunching up as you became desperate.

You shook your head.

“Don’t.”

He smirked.

“I gave you plenty to go off. Tell me, was it when I sat right here while she rode me? Or when I was fucking her mouth and calling your name?”

He pulled your hips in rougher, and you gasped, barely able to think. You were sure if he kept this up, your thighs would chafe. You just couldn’t find it in you to care.

“No, I don’t think so.” He hummed. “I know which one it was. It was the second time, wasn’t it? When I was making her cum all over my tongue, wondering what you tasted like.”

You couldn’t help it – a moan slipped out of your lips. He kept up the pace, rolling your hips faster, flexing his thigh as you started losing your bearings. He laughed at the state of you.

“I knew that one would get to you. Tell me something, princess, how many times did you touch yourself after that night wishing it was me? Or did you lose count?”

You gritted your teeth, fighting the spinning room.

“Cocky much?”

He let out a breathy laugh again, as if he was losing himself as much as you were. Pulling you in harder in response.

“Look at you,” he mused, “riding my thigh like the needy slut you are. Bet you’re close, too, and I haven’t even touched you yet.”

“Fuck.” you panted. “Stop fucking talking, oh my god.”

“You sure about that, sweetheart? You know I can feel how wet it’s making you, right?”

Your head dropped down and you whined. Sure enough, you’d soaked through your panties and dripped an embarrassing wet patch on his dress pants. You cursed under your breath as you slowed down.

“Beg me.” He ordered.

“No.” You gasped as he pulled you back again, faster, hips bucking as your legs started to shake around his.

“Beg me,” he repeated, "or I’ll stop.”

“Fuck, no, don’t fucking stop, I can’t-”

It was so much friction it hurt, but you kept chasing it.

“Yes, you can. You want to cum? Ask nicely, sweetheart. Just ask me.”

The seam of your panties got wetter as you moved, just enough to let the pain melt into pleasure instead as it caught on your clit, and you started to ride out your high. You were right at the edge, he was keeping you there, hair stuck to your face in a hot sweat as you writhed on his lap. So fucking close.

“Fine, shit. Please. Please help me cum, oh my god. Right there, please. Fuck.”

And maybe you were more like him than you thought, because you weren’t ashamed. You rode his thigh like you’d ride him, unabashedly, while he watched you starting to fall apart. He moved faster, pulled your hips hard in as if you were riding him, as if he could feel it, breath running ragged, desperate. It only brought you closer knowing this would be sending him over the edge, holding you so near and yet so awfully far away. The look in his eyes screaming danger, and you let it swallow you whole, squeezing his shoulders like you were scared you’d float away.

"That's it. Knew you'd sound incredible, asking me all pretty like that."

His lips met your neck, teeth grazing your skin and that’s what did it, your legs squeezing his as you shook through your orgasm, crying out, falling to pieces, hearing going fuzzy. The words good girl echoing through your head so distantly, you couldn’t tell if he’d really said them or not.

You sighed, glazed eyes rolling open, coming back to yourself. Your right hand was pressed against his chest, fingers curled into the creased fabric of his shirt. As you looked closer, you noticed it had opened wider, and he was missing a button. Had you done that?

When your eyes finally met Snow’s, you couldn’t look away from them. Beautiful and blue, like an ocean frozen over, staring into yours like you were all he’d ever wanted. You could get high off this feeling, live off it.

“Get on the bed.” He breathed. “Right fucking now.”

But too much of any feeling isn’t good for you.

“No.”

He glowered, face flushing even further, and as he leaned in to make another demand, you quickly stood, trying your hardest not to let your wobbling legs give you away.

“You should understand, Snow. We’re doing things my way now. And I’m going to be doing them as I please, when I please.”

You picked his jacket up from the floor, and slipped back into it, the soft fabric cooling down your burning skin.

“You think you’re funny, sweetheart? Nobody likes a fucking tease.”

You chuckled, doing up a button and brushing your hair out of your face, damp with sweat. You walked to the dresser and took a swig from Snow’s half-empty glass, then turned. He sat there, and it took everything in you not to smirk at the mess you’d made of him. You handed him the glass when you were done drinking and turned away. You felt him stand, but you didn’t acknowledge it, still fiddling with your hair, smoothing it out.

“You said it yourself, Snow. I’m no common whore. If you want me to beg you to fuck me, you’re gonna have to work for it.” You turned, pulling him in for a chaste kiss. His face was unreadable.

“But be a doll, leave your door unlocked.” You added, stepping back. “You never know when I might change my mind.”

“You’re not going to leave. You wouldn’t dare.” He seethed, the rage in his voice only propelling you on.

“Wouldn’t I?” You smiled, giving him a once over. Dropped your eyes down pointedly, first at the ruined leg you’d ridden, then at the uncomfortable-looking tent in his pants. You met his eye again and bit your lip, really laying it on thick. “Good luck with that, sweetheart. I’ll see you at breakfast.”

He huffed, incredulous, disbelief painted across his face as you made for the door, swinging it open. You glanced over your shoulder.

“Buckle up, Snow. I’m just getting started.”

You missed the way his shocked face turned almost admiring as he watched you leave, walking barefoot down the hallway, leaving the door wide open.

Checkmate.

a/n: hope it was worth the wait 😌

taglist: @superchatnoir07 @itsrainingreid @nycweb-slinger @lookclosernow @etfrin @resibunn @serving-targaryen-realness @harmfulb1tch @demonsnangels @superb-icarus @julesandro @gracieroxzy @slyhersophia @shadowsepiphany @ben-has-arrived @unclecrunkle @zerotwo-sciencequeen @itsleniiilosers @thesiriusmap @ooooglymoooogly @darkqweenn @going-through-shit @loverw1tch @stinkii-boii @tqmqkii @not-avery @natsgf @sleepysongbirdsings @hopebaker @darknight3904 @pemberlystateofmind @bxtchopolis @real-lana-del-rey @24kmar @louweasleymalfoy @m1ndbrand @coconut-dreamz @cosmicgyral @urfavevirgoo @mk15x @theamuz @ashy-kit @violante777 @snowlandstop @badbleep88 (more tags in the comments!)

[ahqkas]

♯ TEMPI DIFFICILI ; theodore nott

PAIRING! theodore nott x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS! theo comes to your rescue in the foreign world of english and self-centered gits (based on this req.!!)

WARNINGS AND TAGS! italian reader, translation of foreign language, fluff, mutual pinning

WORD COUNT! 1.3k

NOTES! part one !

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST!

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

MOVING OUT OF AMERICA WAS THE CHANGE YOU DIDN'T KNOW YOU NEEDED IN YOUR LIFE. Once you left and didn't look back, the energy in your surroundings seemed to change, shifting from the dull depressions of your previous life to a lively atmosphere. The decision to leave had been haunting you for the first nights at Hogwarts, often ending in you lying face flat against the pillows as you overthought the past few days. To put it simply, the last few days were an absolute hell.

The stone hallways of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry always seemed to be packed with students and stray pets. The ghost made their appearances as well. And the passageways could be pretty confusing, too. Long corridors you could and would get lost in if you weren't in the presence of your new trustful friends or paying enough attention haunted you in your scariest nightmares after you managed to get late to your herbology class. The frown of the professor and the curious stares of your new classmates still appeared in your vision even behind closed eyelids.

The people here were the worst, you decided. Some of them were really friendly and helpful. The majority, however, seemed to carry a veneer of politeness that quickly shifted into judgement. You had been hopeful when you first arrived, thinking that the cultural exchange would be enchanting, that you'd meet more friends and learn about their world. But reality had other plans.

In your DADA class, you struggled to follow Professor Snape's instructions, his voice a low, disdainful drawl that only heightened the level of your anxiety. His critical gaze seemed to linger on you longer than anyone else, making you fumble with your words more frequently. The other students glanced at you with a mix of pity and amusement.

During meals in the Great Hall, you found a quiet seat for you to sit on, your plate filled with unfamiliar dishes. The food was decent, but you missed the flavors of home. Conversations around you flowed with topics you couldn't quite grasp, from Quidditch matches to obscure magical theories. You tried to join in, but your attempts were often met with puzzled looks or polite nods, the conversations quickly moving on without you.

Theodore Nott befriended you when no one noticed your lonely presence. He had been protective of you. He admired your resilience, moving from sunny Italy to rainy England, where everything seemed different — from the weather to the culture and especially the language. Hogwarts was a maze of new experiences, and despite your best efforts, the British slang and unfamiliar dialects sometimes made you feel like an outsider.

One dreary afternoon, you found yourself alone in the courtyard, your nose buried in a book as you tried to acclimate to your new surroundings. A group of students, Gryffindors from the look of their crimson and gold ties, approached you with their looks full of curiosity and amusement. At first, they seemed friendly enough, their smiles warm and inviting as they asked casual questions about your home and how you were settling in. But the conversation quickly took a darker turn.

"Come on, say something in English," one of the boys jeered, his tone mocking now. "Or is it too hard for you?"

You flushed, a mix of embarrassment and anger coiling in your chest like a fierce snake. You felt your heart rate quicken as your mind scrambled for the right words. "I . . . I can speak English," you stammered, your accent thick and your voice shaking as your anxiety skyrocketed.

Another boy snickered. Cruel. "Barely. It's like listening to a baby."

The laughter that followed after felt like a knife twisting in your gut. Your hands trembled and you fought the urge to turn around and run. The words you wanted to get out got tangled, making it impossible to form a coherent sentence. Your cheeks burned crimson.

"What's the matter, witch? Cat got your tongue?"

But before you could respond, you heard a familiar voice cut through the air.

"What the hell are you doing?" Theodore's voice was sharp, his eyes blazing as he approached the group.

The Gryffindors turned, their expressions shifting from the cruel amusement to frightened caution. The Slytherin stepped between you and the boys, his posture rigid and protective.

"Mind your own business, Nott," one of the boys muttered, but the confidence in his voice wavered as Theodore Nottingham towered over them menacingly, his dead eyes low and casting a glare one wouldn't wish to receive.

"Theo," you whispered, tugging at his sleeve, but he ignored you, his focus locked on the boys.

"Non ho intenzione di lasciare che vi prendiate gioco di lei," the boy snapped, his voice quiet and dangerous as the anger flowed through him. ("I'm not going to let you make fun of her.")

"What's he saying?" one of the boys asked, looking uneasy.

Theo switched to English, his words cold and precise. "I'm saying you need to back off. Now."

The Gryffindors exchanged glances, the bravado seeping out of them. "Fine," one of them grumbled, "we're leaving."

They shuffled away, casting nervous glances over their shoulders. As they disappeared from sight, Theo turned to you, his expression softening instantly. He reached out, gently intertwining your fingers with his.

"Stai bene?" he asked, his voice filled with concern. ("Are you okay?")

"Grazie, Theo," you gave him a gentle smile. ("Thank you, Theo.")

"Non devi ringraziarmi, bella," he said softly, pulling you into a comforting embrace. ("You don't have to thank me, beautiful.")

You clung to him, the safety of his arms easing the hurt from the Gryffindors' taunts. Theo stroked your hair, his touch gentle and reassuring.

"Non permetterò mai a nessuno di trattarti così," he murmured, his lips brushing your forehead. ("I will never let anyone treat you like that.")

Standing there, wrapped in his embrace, you felt the weight of your struggles lift, if only for a moment. Theo had always been your protector, your anchor in this foreign world, and his fierce loyalty made you feel seen and valued in ways words couldn't express. The lingering scent of his cologne mixed with the faint aroma of the Hogwarts hallways, creating a comforting cocoon around you.

As the moments stretched, you found solace in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, a reminder that you weren't alone in this daunting new chapter of your life. The initial rush of anxiety and embarrassment began to ebb away, replaced by a profound sense of gratitude and warmth.

Theo gently pulled back, his hands still resting on your shoulders as he looked into your eyes. The intensity of his gaze made you feel as though he could see right through to your soul, understanding every unspoken fear and insecurity.

He smiled, a small but genuine curve of his lips that made your heart swell. "Andiamo," he said softly, taking your hand in his. "Lasciamo che questo posto sia un po' meno freddo." ("Let's go. Let's make this place a little less cold.")

Walking hand in hand through the corridors, you felt a renewed sense of hope. The cold, intimidating walls of Hogwarts seemed a little less daunting with Theo by your side. Each step forward felt lighter, the path ahead brighter.

As you reached your next class, Theo squeezed your hand one last time before letting go. "Ci vediamo più tardi," he said, his eyes lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary. ("I'll see you later.")

"Ci vediamo," you replied, a soft smile playing on your lips as you watched him walk away. ("See you.")

Entering the classroom, you felt a surge of confidence, bolstered by Theo's unwavering support. No matter how challenging things might get, you knew you had someone who believed in you, someone who would always be there to stand by your side.

And as you took your seat, ready to face whatever came next, you realized that maybe, just maybe, this foreign land could start to feel like home.

[ladyylesbian]

Sorority Rules (18+)

Pairing: dom!wandanat x sub!fem!original character

Summary: ‘New Year, New Me’ can start in September...right?

Warnings: MINORS DNI! Pet names, mommy kink, daddy kink, reader has a name? (Honestly idk anymore, tell me if I missed something?)

Word Count: 11.2k

A/N: This really was just me proving something to myself, but I hope you enjoy it all the same :) Continuation of this story is on AO3

you do not have permission to translate/repost my works anywhere! all mistakes are mine and mine alone. likes, comments, and reblogs are always welcome & appreciated <3

Freshman year left you beat down on the floor. You had been roomed with a girl named Hela. The two of you had hit it off instantly. In fact, you spent so much time together that everyone would know if they found one of you, then they could find the other nearby, definitely helped that you somehow had the exact same class schedule. By the end of the first semester, Hela asked you out and one week later, she asked you to be her girlfriend. 

What was the happiest month turned dark and lonely. Hela spent more and more of her time focused on her sorority since being officially accepted. She had set completely insane restraints on you. You had to text her every hour whenever you were apart, it didn’t matter that she wouldn’t acknowledge your messages. She even would rarely show up at the dorm room to sleep, claiming that the sorority house was where she needed to be, but demanded a picture of you in bed every night. 

You had long since given up expecting to see her anywhere but during classes, however, when she sat down with the other girls in her sorority looking you right in the eyes as she did, you finally broke. That was your time together and she was so obviously picking them.

That only snowballed into her eating lunch in the quad with them too. She took you to a few sorority parties and introduced you to her ‘favorite person’ and sorority big sister, Carol. The two were attached at the hip which quickly left you to nurse a drink off in the corner. 

You didn’t have the backbone to say anything, blindly hoping she would realize how much she missed you and run back.

It wasn’t until right before the end of year finals that Hela had stayed back in the dorm room once again. The two of you would study nonstop and laugh and joke. Everything you had spent months wishing for was happening. The girl you liked was back.

After finishing your last final before Summer break, you waited for her in the hallway. Less than 15 minutes later she pushed open the classroom door and stepped out. You locked eyes and she rushed up and gave you a hug. “Thank you so much, Madelyn. I really could not have passed these finals without you.”

Smiling warmly at the raven haired girl, “Always. It’s you and me all the time. I couldn’t show up to sophomore year without you next to me.”

Her eyes fell downwards before slowly reaching yours again. “About that, Madelyn, I think we should end things. You are just in such a different place than me and I am changing my major, so we won’t be in the same classes anyways. Not to mention, you can really blow up my phone and I am just not into that. But thank you so much for the help this year.” You can’t help but stare at her wide eyed, blinking repeatedly as you try to process her words. She pats your cheek before turning around and walking down the hall “Have a good summer!”

The only thought running thought your mind is ‘what the fuck.”

-

You cannot believe this day is finally here, sophomore year of college. After a thoroughly disastrous freshman year, you are determined to completely turn your life around. A new roommate, new classes, if you can be picky, then hopefully a solid friend group will be thrown in there too. 

It was still a few days before the actual first day of classes, but you wanted to get into your new dorm and settle in. There were quite a lot of other students with the same idea, all unpacking their parents cars that were stuffed full. You quickly paid the taxi driver and hopped out the back seat. He opened the trunk and lifted your suitcase onto the road. 

Dragging your bag up the sidewalk and settling in the line waiting for the booth to find your new dorm room and collect the room key. You look around, wondering if your new roommate is in this same crowd, thinking if her parents are holding back tears as they hug her goodbye. 

Thankfully, before you can stumble too far down that path, you reach the front of the line. “Name and year?” 

“Oh, uh, Madelyn Andrews. Sophomore.” She flips through the pages and finds your name with ease. Looking down into her organized box of keys, she picks up on set, “Room 616.”

With a soft smile, you accept the key and head towards the sophomore dorms.

Thankfully, there’s an elevator in all the dorm buildings once you’re no longer a freshman. You always joked that it was the university’s way of hazing the entire freshman class. 

The slow elevator had you wondering if you could have walked the stairs and ended up there faster, but eventually, opened onto the sixth floor. You held your breath as you walked up to your door. 

Pressing your ear against the wooden surface and straining to try and hear any movement. It sounded completely empty inside. With a quick ‘thank you’ to the skies above, you push the key into the lock and turn, opening the door. 

Unsurprisingly, it is the same layout as your freshman year dorm, not that you were superstitious, but in the spirit of completely turning your life around you opted for the bed on the right this time.

It didn’t take more than an hour for you to put away your clothes and set up the small mementos of your friends from back home. Walking back over to your suitcase, you pull out a small blanket that barely is long enough to cover your legs and hide it under your pillow. 

Laying on your new bed and scrolling your university’s Instagram page, trying to find something to do that can pass the time. That’s when you see there is an early bird trivia event being hosted at the student center in ten minutes. 

Taking a second to think, you come to the conclusion that this is the perfect chance to meet new people. Reinvent yourself as someone social, someone beyond only one friend turned girlfriend. 

Softly pushing yourself off the elevated bed, you walk over to the shared closet and pull out your favorite white crew neck in case the temperature drops after sunset. With an unbalanced turn, you spin around and pull on your black and gray checkered vans. Hopping over to the mirror to give yourself a fast once over then heading straight out the door.

It’s only a short walk to the student center from your dorm this year, which you’re thankful for, perfect for meeting new people. 

Remembering how heavy the student center door is, you pull hard on the handle. The universe must be laughing at you because that seemed to be the wrong choice. The usually heavy door was light this year and you have just thrown the door as wide as it would go, causing a decently loud sound. 

A few students near the door look at you, but thankfully the other students further into the building haven’t seemed to notice a thing. Which is where the trivia is being held, so you awkwardly walk through the doors and inside.

“Hello, welcome to early bird trivia: musicals. Are you joining a team or registering a new one?” states a wide eyed brunette woman. 

“Oh, I didn’t know we had to have a team..” you begin to look around for anyone you might vaguely recognize. “Not a worry, dear. We have another girl looking for a team too. You two can partner up.” She starts to wave over a blonde, who’s smiling bigger than you would think possible.

She continues, “This is..” she pauses waiting for you. “Madelyn.” 

“And she needs a team as well. So, what will the team name be?”

Before you even have a moment to think of something clever, the blonde speaks up, “Mac n Cheese Lovers.” You cannot help but snort at her abruptness. The brunette hands you a paper and pencil to write down your answers on, “Good luck ‘Mac n Cheese Lovers.”

Following the blonde over to a table near the smoothie bar along the left wall, as she sits down she introduces herself, “Hey. My name is Yelena. I hope you like Mac n Cheese or this team name will be super awkward,” she snickers.

You shake your head slightly, “The name is perfectly fitting. I’m a huge fan,” you laugh, “My name is Madelyn. It’s nice to meet you. So what year are you in?”

“Sophomore,” the blonde replies, “How about you?”

“Same, sophomore.” The two of you continue with small talk for a couple minutes until you hear the game host start speaking. He gives a quick introduction of his name and lets everyone know he’s the student activity director, so he plans all university approved events. Which leads him to a quick warning that means no drinking or drugs at these events since he’s required to report them to the Dean. Then, he gets into the trivia rules.

Once he finishes, Yelena leans over to you, “We have to win. Or at least beat my annoying sister and her girlfriend.” 

You raise your eyebrow at the woman, “If you knew people, how come you didn’t team up with them?”

She waves off your question before pointing them out, “See those two redheads? That’s them. They are insufferable at any sort of competition. We need to show them up and win, so I hope you’re a musical lover because I am most certainly not a musical theater major,” she chuckles as she finishes her sentence.

“They do look insufferable,” you agree with the blonde, “and lucky for you, while I am not a musical theater major, I am a lover of Broadway, so get ready to kick some ass.”

Yelena claps you on the back and laughs, “I like you, Madelyn. Let's do this.”

“Okay, everyone, first question. What musical movie has the song ‘It's the Hard-Knock Life’?”

You quickly write down ‘Annie’ on the paper next to the number one as he repeats the first question.

“Second question, the musical Hairspray is set in what American city?”

Once again, you write down ‘Baltimore’ immediately next to the number two as he repeats the question. 

And the process repeats itself all the way to the end. You, unsurprisingly, knew every answer, besides two. Thankfully Yelena seemed very confident in the answers, which led you to learning that while she was not an overall musical lover, she was obsessed with ‘SIX’, claiming ‘they all should have just murdered that idiotic king’. 

By the end, you and Yelena are laughing together and being shushed by other teams around you trying to think. Yelena pays them no mind while she tries to watch and see if her sister and her girlfriend are guessing the answers correctly by the way she’s writing. You tried to tell her that would be impossible to know, but the blonde paid you as little mind as she did the surrounding teams. 

Finally, the host announces for everyone to settle down and starts going over the list of correct answers. Yelena is practically levitating off the seat with how excited she is. Your team got every question right. “Okay everyone, count up your total of correct answers.” He waits a few seconds before beginning again, “raise your hand if your team got more than five correct.”

Faster than lightning, Yelena's hand is in the air, yours follows quickly. “Raise your hand if your team got more than ten correct.” Three other teams' hands go down. “Raise your hand if your team got more than fifteen correct.” Another two teams’ hands lower. Leaving your team, two other teams, and Yelena’s sister’s team, much to the blonde’s annoyance. 

“Raise your hand if you got more than seventeen correct.” One team puts their hands down. “Raise your hand if you got more than eighteen correct.” The other team drops their hands. Making the final two teams, ‘Mac n Cheese Lovers’ and ‘Traitors’, if you were to believe Yelena. 

“Looks like we have a tight race everyone, how exciting, keep your hands up if you got all twenty questions correct.” A moment of tense silence falls over the room, the redheads slowly lower their hands. A loud, piercing scream sounds off beside you, “Yes! Ha! I won! So much for ‘Yelena you don't know anything about musicals. Go find your own team’.” The blonde begins doing her victory dance as you laugh. She grabs your hand and motions for you to victory dance with her. And how could you say no when you are equally excited about the win.

“We have our winners, everyone congratulations to..” the host drags off his sentence.

“Mac n Cheese Lovers!” the two of you say while laughing and dancing together.

“Congratulations to ‘Mac n Cheese Lovers’. Thank you to everyone for coming out and starting off this year with a bang! I will see you at the next activity!” Slowly everyone staggers out of the student center and into the night as you’re exchanging Instagrams with Yelena and saying your goodbyes. 

Not even three steps away from the table, you hear someone speaking to Yelena, “Clearly, you didn’t win with your own lack of knowledge. So, what’s her name?” Not wanting to look back and have them know you’re listening, you keep walking as you hear Yelena reply “Madelyn. Why?”

Cursing yourself for not slowing down because now you’re too far away to keep trying to listen, you look over your shoulder right before walking out the doors. Locking eyes with two pairs of green eyes staring back at you.

-

Spending most of your days walking around campus and figuring out the quickest way to each of your classes, then finding a second route.., and a third route, just in case. Eventually making your way to the cafeteria since it’s the only food place open on campus until classes begin and sitting out in the quad people watching as more and more people arrive. You haven’t met up with the blonde, or the two mysterious redheads, you met at trivia since. However, you are often sending memes back and forth which you take as a small step towards your first new friend of the year. 

It’s officially one day until classes start and you still haven’t met your roommate. You have considered walking back to the welcome booth and asking if you even have a roommate since it’s extremely uncommon to not be moved into the dorms by this time. 

As much as most people would love to strike luck and get a free single, that is the absolute last thing you want. 

The universe finally seems to answer your silent worrying and wishing as you hear someone fumbling with the keys outside your door. Quickly, you hop from the bed and rush to open the door. Coming face to face with a dark haired brunette.

“Oh, good, you’re moved in already!” Taken aback by the woman’s words, your focus shifts between her and the large number of boxes next to her in the hallway.

“Do, uh, do you need help?”

“That’d be great. My name’s Kate. You’re Madelyn, right?”

A wave of shock hits you at hearing someone you’ve never met know your name. Seeing the look on your face causes Kate to laugh. She starts to shimmy inside and you hurriedly move to the side, so she can walk in easier. Once she’s in, you step out of the room and pick up one of the boxes. “It is, yeah. So, where do you want this?”

“You can just throw everything on the bed.”

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to move everything into the small dorm. Laughing as you both try to move around with the now limited floor space since Kate’s bed was quickly filled up with boxes. 

After an offer to help the brunette unpack her things, you figure out she is quite uncaring about her clothes, but she is very particular about her bow. You learn she joined the school archery team last year, but already stands to make captain for her second year. 

She tells you about how last year, on a dare, she hit the bell tower with an arrow. “So, you were the one who caused the crack in the bell tower?” Covering your mouth to try and hide your laugh. She looks at you with wide eyes, “I can’t confirm or deny which clock tower it was.”  

Which only causes you to lose all control and laugh wildly out loud. 

-

Successfully surviving the first four weeks of your second year in college, you get to celebrate at the first football game of the season. Thankfully, Kate is not into the sorority scene like your ex was, so you can go to the game together rather than alone.

With your back against your bed and your feet up the side of the wall, you’re waiting for Kate to get back from her archery practice. She made captain last week which led to you both sneaking out of the dorm at midnight and walking to the nearest pizzeria for a celebratory pizza. Your memory was promptly interrupted by the door slamming into the wall, “Shit. Sorry.”

Laughing at Kate’s mumbled apology to the girls next door who always complain about you two being unnecessarily loud. The brunette throws her sweaty t-shirt at your face which you quickly launch back at her as she softly shuts the door. 

“Hurry up and get ready, Bishop. The game starts in thirty minutes and you smell like a wet dog.”

“Your words are so sweet. Dipped in honey I would say,” Kate’s words laced with sarcasm as she playfully flips you off while kicking off her shoes. 

“Only in honey? You don’t get the soft rose petals or melted chocolate too?” Your words only earn you a deadpan stare from the archer. With a grunt, you push yourself off the wall and sit upright, “Don’t forget that tonight is a black out game, so you need to be in all black to show support.”

“Oh yes, I would hate not to show support. Unfortunately, all my black clothes are currently dirty-”

“I know, which is why I took the liberty of doing our laundry earlier today. Your outfit is laid out on the bed.” You say with a smile and move to make your fingers into the shape of a heart.

Kate can’t help but roll her eyes and laugh, “Of course, you did.” Walking up to her shower bag and picking it up, she heads to the door. “I will be back in no less than 10 minutes, Sargeant,” winking at you, knowing you hate the nickname, before quickly mumbling out, “and thank you for doing my laundry. You’re the best.” and walking out of the room.

Rushing a quick ‘You’re welcome’ out before the door shut. You begin getting dressed yourself, deciding on a black halter top and some black jean shorts with your black high-top converses. Throwing your hair up into a high ponytail, then pulling out your baby hairs so you don’t look like an egg.

True to her word, Kate walks back in 10 minutes later as you put headphones in and stare at the ceiling, you give your roommate privacy to get ready. 

Feeling your headphones ripped out of your ears causes you to face the archer as she smiles, “How do I look? Andrews approved?” Kate stands in front of you in black long sleeve cropped top and blacked ripped jeans.

Jokingly, you raise an eyebrow at her, faking a moment of contemplation before returning the smile, “You look hot. You will definitely grab whoever’s attention you want.”

“I don’t want anyone's attention, '' the brunette scoffs.  

“Sure you don’t and I don’t hope that my 7am professor is sick on Monday,” you retort.

“I don’t even think she is gonna be there,” Kate starts pulling on the sleeves of her shirt, “I don’t think football games are her thing.”

You take a moment to consider what to say. It’s been months since you had a crush on anyone and wanted to try and impress a girl. When you first found out your roommate started crushing on someone, you had been relentless in attempting to have her confess who it was. But as stubborn as you were, Kate was also head strong in keeping her secret. 

“Her loss then. We can post a picture and she’ll see everything she misses out on by skipping the game,” you wink. Linking arms, you and Kate walk out of the dorm and head to the field. 

The first stop you both make is the concession stand since food is the top priority any time the two of you leave the dorm together. Ordering you both an ICEE, yours being coke flavored and Kate’s cherry, and a hot dog each. 

Once arriving at your seats, you turn around and ask the girls behind you if they could take a picture for you. You both hold up your ICEEs, smiling as you cheer for the picture. 

Kate posts the picture on her Instagram, tagging you, and captions the post ‘I’m only here for the ICEEs’.

Quickly commenting ‘and my amazing company’ under her post. Then posting the picture onto your story with hearts underneath.

It’s not until the third quarter that you both finally relent and head to the bathrooms. While standing in line chatting about nothing and everything, the archer tenses beside you and presses herself between you and the wall, “what are yo-”

Kates proceeds to shush you and shrinks further into her hiding spot. Looking around to try and see what has your roommate acting so strange, you come up short since you don’t recognize anyone.

That is until you glance over to the concession line and notice Yelena, who you met your first day back on campus. Quickly turning around to Kate, “Oh, Kate. Do you remember how I told you I met this hilarious girl my first day back?“ You point over to the blonde, “She’s right there. Her name is Yelena.”

The brunette’s face pales suddenly. Worry rushes through you and your eyes immediately start scanning for what’s upset your friend so badly. Until it clicks, “Kate…Oh, Katie,” you start to whisper, “ is Yelena who you have a crush on?”

Her eyes met yours and you can tell you’re right. “I totally know her. I can introduce you if you want. Granted, I haven’t actually spoken with her for over a month, BUT we regularly exchange memes.”

Before Kate could give any response to you, you feel a tap on your shoulder and turn around.

“Madelyn, I thought it was you! How have you been?” Yelena says with a big smile on her face.

“I’m great. Settling into my classes and wishing I didn’t sign up for a 7am lecture that I completely don’t understand and will need to find a tutor for, the usual. How about you?”

As the blonde opens her mouth to reply, she notices Kate, “Bishop? Madelyn and Bishop? You two know each other?” .

“Roommates,” You both say at the same time before you continue, “We’re roommates. How do you know Kate?”

“She’s my lab partner,” she leans around you and looks at the brunette, “We have a project coming up and I’ve been meaning to reach out and figure out a time that works for you,” she runs her fingers through her blonde hair nervously.

A sneaky smile goes across your face, realizing that Yelena also seems to have a crush on Kate.

The archer stands up suddenly at her crush’s words, “I have archery practice most days, but I’m free on Tuesdays after 3pm, if that works.” 

Yelena simply smiles back, “Tuesdays are great, except, I’m in class until 4. How about you come to my apartment, it’s five minutes from campus, and we can eat and start our research?”

“Off campus?”

“Yeah, my sister and her girlfriend wanted to have a secluded place away from the sorority and invited me to stay there too.”

You nod, listening to the two speak while also trying to give them privacy by looking anywhere else in the slowest moving restroom line.

Suddenly, Yelena’s phone goes off, “Speaking of the devil,” she answers.

You can’t hear whoever it is super well over the crowd cheering at what must have been the best touchdown of the game but once they quiet down you hear that voice again from trivia night, the redheaded sister of Yelena.

The blonde turns over her shoulder to look near the concession line she just came from, “I just want a coke.” You look over in the same direction as Yelena, “No, I don’t want anything else. I will be right back. I was just saying ‘hey’ to Madelyn and Bishop. Get your underwear out of a twist. I’m heading back now. Bye.”

Your heart leaps out of your chest when you finally notice the redhead in line. Making eye contact with her deep green eyes for longer than normal which causes Kate to nudge your shoulder as it’s finally your turn to walk into the restroom.

“Sorry,” you mumble to your roommate before turning back with one final look, receiving a wink from both women.

Kate gives a quick goodbye to Yelena before she walks away and then pushes you through the door.

Your roommate tries to ask you about it in the restroom, but you firmly shut down that topic and turn the conversation around on her. If you had known her crush was on Yelena, then you would have tried long ago to set them up on a blind date. Which is probably why the brunette didn't say who she was spending her days thinking about.

Making your way back to the seats, thankfully, without running into anyone else, you try to wipe the redhead’s face out of your memory, feeling incredibly embarrassed for your behavior when seeing her. 

The last quarter of the game passes in a blur that you aren’t even aware the game ended until you notice the football players celebrating on the field and groups of people moving around you to leave at the same time. You glance up to the scoreboard and see the score, 30-28, your team winning.

Pulling out your phone, you swipe to pull up Instagram and post the scoreboard to your story, ‘our blood, our sweat, your tears’.

Linking your arm with Kate to make sure neither of you get lost on the way out of the stadium, the cool fall breeze whips at your shoulders the second you make it outside, but you welcome it after squeezing against every sweaty jock trying to get out of the stadium at the same time.

The two of you quietly laugh together when you look back to see people squeezing through the doors you just came through. 

Neither of you are paying attention and accidentally bump into someone, to your dismay it was Yelena’s sister. Your body goes rigid at the sight of her. A scowl on her face until she settles her eyes on you then she gives you a soft smile.

“So, so, so sorry about that. We should have paid more attention.” The redhead’s smile slowly grows bigger as you continue talking. “Sorry again.”

You go to turn away and drag Kate along when you feel a warm hand softly wrap around your bicep, “No, I should be ashamed for not giving you more attention when you’re around,” smirking slightly at you.

A small blush rushes to your cheeks, opening and closing your mouth a few times before giving a gentle nod to the woman before turning around again.

Once you are out of hearing range from the redhead, Kate starts laughing, “Oh, you’re like a fly trapped in the spider's web.”

With a quick glare to your roommate and a prompt slap to the arm, “Shut up.”

-

As you lay on your bed, winding down your night time routine, you decide to scroll Instagram. Liking posts from your roommate and best friend, Kate’s, account. You didn’t think you would get as close to the girl as you had, but the two of you got along surprisingly well. Usually, you would be watching a new episode of Grey's Anatomy together tonight, however, Kate finally gathered her nerves and asked out Yelena, her lab partner, on a date. 

Squealing and bouncing in your tiny dorm room bed, “Shut up! You did it? You finally admitted you have a crush on her?”

“I wouldn’t go that far!” The brunette laughs in response, “I just asked if she would want to go out to the new ax-throwing bar that just opened up.” She throws herself down on her back onto your bed, frowning and sounding much more somber. “But, Madelyn, Yelena asked if we could go this Thursday. She has to go to the sorority party this Friday.”

Moving around until you're laying down shoulder to shoulder with her, “Psh. Don’t even start, you are going and maybe even getting a second date for Friday.” Wiggling your eyebrows at her and shoving your body slightly into her. 

“If that happens, then you’re coming with me. You need to get out and finally move on from your ex.” Placing your hand over your heart, you playfully scoff and wave off a mumbled agreement, trying to steer away from another possible conversation to find out who your ex is.

Smiling as you recall the memory, you suddenly hear the door to your dorm unlock. 

Kate whispers to someone in the hall, who you assume to be Yelena, “Of course, I’d love to. See you tomorrow.”

Quickly, she walks in and immediately places her back on the door to close it. A wide grin on your roommate's face as she looks over to your bed. First kicking off her shoes, then running to jump into your bed. You stare at her, waiting for her to begin.

Kate sighs before exclaiming, “SHE ASKED ME OUT TO THE SORORITY PARTY TOMORROW!” Wrapping your arms around your friend as you jump together over the great news.”Get ready, Madelyn, you and I are going to a party!”

“Wait, Kate,” You pull back to look at her wide eyed, “I thought you were kidding.”

-

The party started at least an hour ago, but because of your indecisiveness on what to wear, which ended up just being a simple v cut blue dress with white high tops. As you both walk up, you stare at the brick house bursting with music. You hear Kate talking, “Party Rules 101. Don’t forget not to go upstairs with anyone. Do not accept a drink from anyone who is not me. I know you will want to leave early, so do not go without telling or texting that you’re heading out either. Okay?”

You blink a few times before you recognize she wants a reply, “Got it.” She smiles at you and takes your hands before walking up the porch steps.

Kate knocks on the white door. You wonder how anyone would be able to hear the knock inside with how loud the music is playing, but not even five seconds later the door is open. The sound of the music makes you take a step back. Anxiety washing over you instantly as you look down. You don’t even hear the words spoken between your friend and the redhead opening the door. 

Kate’s hold on your hand tightens in hopes to reassure you before she pulls you along to step inside. It isn’t until Kate’s other hand waves to get your attention off the floor that you look up and realize both girls are staring at you expectedly. “I’m sorry, what?” you say softly.

The redhead chuckles and repeats herself, “Hi, I’m Wanda and the Vice President here. We have two bathrooms downstairs, one by the kitchen and one by the laundry room. Also, two upstairs just in case. Drinks, of course, are in the kitchen or the backyard. Is there anyone you are looking for that I can direct you towards? Or anything I can get you to drink?”

“I’m looking for Yelena actually. Do you know where she is?” Kate quickly replies. “She’s in the living room playing beer pong,” Wanda points over to her left, “Go right through there and you will find her.”

With lightning speed, Kate drops your hand and rushes off to find the blonde. Your mouth hangs open as you stare off in the direction she flew. 

The redhead laughs as she looks at you before offering her arm, “Can I escort you anywhere?” Glancing around the foyer, you can't recognize anyone, so you nervously agree and link your arm with hers, “I don’t think I know anyone else here, so anywhere you want to go is fine with me.”

A bright smile spreads on the Vice President's face as she guides you out of the foyer and into the backyard to watch someone attempt a keg stand. You can’t help but look stunned as you watch the girl drink. “Would you like to try?” Wanda startles you with the question. Shaking your head no with absolute certainty that you could never have arm strength or lung capacity. 

After a few moments more of watching, she slowly guides you over to the pool. The redhead kicks off her shoes and motions for you to do the same. The two of you sit down along the edge and place your feet in the water. You start to mindlessly kick your feet along to the music that is playing throughout the speakers. “So, am I allowed to ask your name?”

Multiple memories come to mind with times the Vice President has heard your name, “I’m pretty sure you know my name.”

Wanda’s tongue drags underneath the bottom of her teeth, “Oh, I do, but I want to hear it from your pretty, little mouth.”

Your breath catches in your throat at her words, taking a moment to settle your racing heart, you slowly speak, “Madelyn.”

Deciding to try and control the conversation you cut her off before she could say anything else. “Do you usually take interest in random people that show up to your sorority’s parties?”

She chuckles at your question, “No, not usually. But I would not say you’re a random person. Plus I have never had the pleasure of someone as captivating as you walk through those doors.”

“Yeah, right.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the redhead. 

She grabs your chin and makes you look up at her, “Oh I didn’t take you for the bratty type.” You could have sworn that her eyes sparkled when she said that. 

You shutter, trying to think of a reply. Your brain is completely lagging at the touch and sound of her voice. Wanda’s thumb moves and pushes between your lips, “Is there anything even going through that little head of yours?”

A small groan rips it way out your throat and your eyelids droop slightly. The redhead pushes down slightly onto your tongue.

Mumbling around her thumb, “Yes.” 

The Vice President’s smirks at your reply, “Yes,” She mocks you, “Yes, to what?”

You shift your eyes back to her as you take in the specific color of her eyes, a sparkling green, this time a soft moan comes out of your lips, “Please..”

You think Wanda must take pity on you because suddenly she drops her hand from your mouth. Everything about her seems to return back to when you first walked in the house. She’s back to being sweet and polite, it makes your head spin. “What brings you to the party tonight, Madelyn? Well besides escorting Bishop, of course.”

This was a question you didn’t know how to answer. Why were you here in the backyard of your ex’s sorority spending time with her Vice President? Glancing around the backyard, noticing that you still don't know anyone here, you sigh, “Honestly, I’m not sure. Kate said I needed to come if she got a second date because, apparently, I need to move on.”

“And do you want to?” She looks at you expectantly, “Move on, that is.”

“I don’t even know what I would have to move on from. It’s been months since we broke up. And she didn’t care about me long before that anyways.” You let out a dry laugh, “I don’t even think she liked me. She just liked sex with me.”

The look on the redhead’s face makes you stop your ranting, “Sorry, that is not proper party conversation,” you force out a laugh, “way too depressing.”

She smiles, dragging her eyes down your torso and onto your legs then pulling them back up before landing her eyes back on your face. “How would you like to find something to drink?” 

Thankful for her change in conversation, you smile slightly, “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

The two of you make your way through the house and into the kitchen, “What will it be? Beer? Vodka?” walking around the kitchen as you listen to her talk. “... Or maybe a juice box?” 

Whipping your head around, you glare at the Vice President, scoffing, “I’m not a child. I can drink alcohol.”

Right after you speak, you hear someone laughing from the archway. “Oh, Wands, what a delightful surprise,” she steps further into the small kitchen, “Tell me you were able to get us this cute little thing to play.”

This makes you snap your head quickly around again. A rush of arousal runs through you when your eyes lock onto the redhead, “And who the hell are you?”

The cheshire smile on her face makes it clear she remembers you, she moves towards you before gently lifting up your hand as she bows her head to place a soft kiss on it, “To you, Madam President.” 

“What the fuck.” You snatch your hand away and look towards the sparkling green eyed woman before returning your gaze in front of you.

“Oh, what a dirty mouth, I will have to clean that out.” The redhead smirks at you. Another wave of arousal hits you, gulping as you maintain eye contact, “Like you’d get the chance.”

Wanda speaks up, breaking the growing tension in the room, “Darling, wouldn’t she just be…” walking up and placing a finger under your chin, her voice dropping, “...divine?” 

You shutter at her words. Eyes bouncing between the two redheads suddenly much closer to you than before. Realizing they have successfully surrounded you, your arousal spiking but you choose to mask with slight panic. “So what is this then? Two spiders trapping someone in their web and then going in for the kill?” Puffing out your chest slightly, trying to gain back some more control. “You think the President and Vice President would require consent.”

Wanda chuckles in your ear behind you, “Oh dear, we do.” Bringing her finger up to brush some hair behind your ear before speaking softly, “We only accept enthusiastic consent. Absolute begging.”

Your knees wobble slightly at her words. “A little archer told us that you needed to move on, and typically we wouldn’t do rebound sex, but you…” The President takes a sharp inhale through her teeth, “You are too special to pass up.”

“So what do you say, baby, want to be ours for the night?” Wanda whispers.

A million thoughts race through your mind. Most importantly, the fact you’ve never had a threesome or sex with people you don’t really know. You look around the kitchen and notice how nobody else even acknowledges the two redheads circling you like prey. 

“I say,” You gulp, mustering all the fake confidence you can find. “I say show me a good time first and we will see.”

The two women share a sinister smile before they each drape an arm around you and walk you out of the kitchen and into a room that only stores a pool table and some chairs. 

“We have the next game.” The President says to the small group finishing up their game before walking you over to the side of the room. She lowers her hands to your hips and lifts you with ease onto the barstool behind you.

Shock fills your face at her actions before you glare at her, “Excuse you. I am perfectly capable of sitting in a seat by myself.”

The redhead simply smiles at you before moving to stand next to the side of your chair, absentmindedly running fingers through your hair. 

“Hello? Earth to you. Usually, when someone speaks to you it's polite to respond.” You huff and cross your arms over your chest. She gently turns your head to look at her. “Oh, come on. Don’t be like that. I’m sorry, baby. I won’t do it again.”

“Madelyn, I have a name and it’s not baby.” You scoff, “What is your name anyways?”

She winks at you before smirking, “I told you. To you, it’s Madam President.”

“That’s not a name. That’s a title. What’s your name?” Your eyes met the redhead locked in a standstill. You already know you won’t last long. Her eyes trap you in endless pools of deep green. They are powerful and unmoving, you huff, “What’s your name, Madam President?” 

The President lifts her hand and holds your lower lip before pulling it down and out slightly, causing you to look through your lashes to maintain eye contact, the action making you feel as if you’re losing the last shreds of your control. The redhead presses down the slightest bit more before pinching your lip and releasing it, “Natasha.” 

Wanda, who has been repeatedly running her fingers from your shoulder to the knee, leans over you slightly if only to be in your personal space, “Natty, it’s our turn now.”

You go to hop down, but yet again your hips are grabbed and you’re picked up and put down by Natasha’s hands. You give her a glare even as a blush starts covering your cheeks.

“Tsk, tsk. Don’t be like that. I would hate to have to spank that gorgeous ass for the first time surrounded by all these people.” Your blush deepens with your embarrassment at the volume the redhead spoke. The heat pooling between your legs only causes you more confusion. 

The three of you walk towards the table. Natasha moves to rack the balls and Wanda takes you over to pick out a cue stick, grabbing one for Natasha as well. 

It’s decided that you will be on your own team, which you tried to protest by saying you have never played a game of pool in your life, but your complaints fall on deaf ears. 

Wanda starts off by breaking the balls, officially starting your unfair game. She gets a solid into a pocket, “That makes you stripes, baby.” She says in a sickeningly sweet voice before getting two more solid balls into pockets. 

Standing there with your mouth open, you begin to complain, “This is so unfair. There is no way I will be able to even get close to hitting even one of these balls in!” 

“Okay, okay, I’ll help you in the first round,” Wanda says, holding up her hands. She walks over to you and shows you how to bend down and how to aim your cue stick. You lean down like she showed you but still, you feel her hand press down between your shoulders as she speaks in your ear, “Like this, darling. Eyes level with your target.”

Acutely aware this position has almost completely folded in half on the pool table, you pull back the stick and then push it forward with a decent amount of force. 

And you completely miss. 

To make matters worse, you got one of their balls closer to the pocket instead. Groaning, you stand up and look unamused at the two redheads who are both trying to hold back their smiles at your reaction, “This game is stupid.”

Natasha comes up to the table, leans down, noticeably higher than the position Wanda moved you into. She breathes in and out, then hits the cue ball, causing it to sink a solid ball into the nearby pocket. She glances up at you, smirking, while still leaning down. Causing a completely automatic eye roll. The redhead arches her eyebrow at you before moving to a new spot. She leans down, breathes in and out, and.. misses. “HA!” You cheer as your stripe ball goes into the pocket instead of the solid ball that was next it. 

You walk up to the table for your turn and glance to Wanda for her help again. Natasha subtly shakes her head, which you don’t notice since she was behind you. Wanda simply gives you a nod of her head, encouraging you to try by yourself. So you lean down and focus on which ball you’re aiming for and what pocket is your goal.

Breathing in and out a few times before pulling back your cue stick on your inhale and pushing it forward on your exhale. As the stick connects with the cue ball you feel a stinging on your ass. You immediately stand up and spin around with a glare, “Hey! That’s not fair.”

The President laughs as she looks over your head, “Well, it seemed like good luck because you got the ball in.”

Spinning around again to see if she was lying but there, clear as day, you see your stripe ball missing from the table and sitting in the pocket. “Don’t think for a second that I won't punish whiny, bratty behavior though, baby.” Natasha whispers in your ear, her front flush against your back, “Now, say thank you.”

You shiver at her words. The logical part of your brain can’t stop wondering why you should thank her for spanking you, but when you feel her hands on your hips as she pulls them closer to her own, that part of your mind goes blank. The heat between your legs grows even hotter and you let out a soft sigh before fingers hook under your chin and guide you to look up at Natasha, “Say thank you.” She softly growls. 

“Thank you.” It comes out more as a pant than actual words but the redhead is pleased enough.

The rest of the game crawls by slowly as each redhead tries to work you up with innocent touches and whispered words. Your head becomes fuzzy in the best way, but even in this state you are completely aware that every other stripe ball that’s gone in is because of Wanda and Natasha simply trying to keep the game going. 

With all solid and striped balls now off the table it’s down to whoever can sink the 8 ball in the game. 

Wanda glances at you before smirking, “What if we make a little bet out of this?”

You can’t help but let out a dry laugh, “Are you joking? This whole thing is already a game of if you two can get me into bed.” Natasha licks her lips at your words, causing your cheeks to blush even more than they were. 

The Vice President ignores your reply, “Great! So I was thinking, if we sink the 8 ball, then you give us a strip show,” you arch your eyebrow at the redhead, “and if you sink the 8 ball, then you give us a strip show.” She winks at you. 

“That’s absolutely-” You're cut off by Natasha speaking, “Deal.”

“Deal?” You shriek as the two redheads shake each other's hand, “You two cannot agree on this without me also agreeing.”

They both come up to you and place a hand on your cheek, “And do, baby?” Wanda mumbles into your ear. Right after Natasha says, smirking, “Wanna make a deal?”

Your skin flushes at their voices, your mind hanging onto their every word. You slowly close your eyes and your head falls back slightly. Wanda lowers her head to breathe along your neck, occasionally brushing her tongue against it while Natasha’s fingers tangle around your hair, pulling it back. 

A soft moan hits your ears, shocking you when you realize it came from you. Suddenly coming back to yourself, you lightly push off the women, clearing your throat to try and fake your control over yourself once again. “If I sink the 8 ball,” you take a deep breath, “then I decide the next time you touch me.”

Both redheads simply nod their heads in agreement before extending their arms to allow you space for your shot. Looking over the table and considering all the choices you quickly realize that you absolutely have no shot at winning. Ignoring every other reason besides the obvious one, you didn’t want to win.

But you wouldn’t make it apparent to the President and Vice President. 

So you lean down, “Corner pocket.” You spend a considerable amount of time figuring out your angle and practicing the strength of your hit. With one more inhale, you pull back the cue stick then exhale and strike the cue ball.

You hit the 8 ball but it stops just short of falling into the pocket. You give a shy smile to the women before stepping back. 

There’s a silent conversation going on between the redheads before Wanda nods and steps up to the table. “Corner pocket.” She winks at you before aiming at the cue ball and without any delay she strikes. The 8 ball disappearing into the corner pocket. 

Without even a second to think, your feet are suddenly lifted into the air and over Natasha’s shoulder. Wanda comes up to grab the cue stick from you and places it on the pool table.

Once you realize the redhead plans to walk out of the parlor room with you over her shoulder, you begin to protest, “Wait. Wait. I can walk. You don’t have to think I’ll back out of the bet.”

You feel a soft hand brush the back of your thigh as the sparkling green eyed woman steps into your view. 

“Oh, baby, we know, but Natty here is a very proud winner and wants to show you off,” her thin fingers smoothing down your hair. You stare at her dumbfounded as she swipes her thumb across your lower lip, “If you’re a good girl then we’ll give you an extra special reward. Can you do that for us?”

The Vice President allows you your time to process as you blink a few times before nodding your head. 

A swift smack to your ass has you gasping as Natasha corrects your action, “Words baby.”

“Yes.” Another softer smack to your ass. “Yes, I can be a good girl.”

Both redheads make a pleased humming sound before walking out of the room. You try to avoid eye contact with all the partygoers. The blush across your face and chest only grows at your slight embarrassment. 

It isn’t long until you're walking up to the stairs. Suddenly stopping right at the bottom, trying to turn your body at the sound of Kate’s voice. Mortification slams into you when she leans around the redhead holding you to look at your face. 

Her tone relentlessly teasing, “Now, I thought I told you not to go upstairs with anyone,” the memory of her words at your arrival pulled to the front of your mind.

Rolling your eyes at your roommate only caused her to laugh further at your predicament. 

Yelena speaking prompts the brunette to move back into the circle of conversation with her and the redheads, “Don’t kill the poor girl. It would severely ruin my chances with Bishop.”

Natasha laughs at her sister’s comment, “Please, the only thing she’ll get is mind altering pleasure,” pinching your ass when finishing the sentence. “Now, I’d love to chat, but I have a bet to cash in on.”

Wanda leading the way up the stairs, pausing as Kate speaks, looking up at your roommate, “She has a study group tomorrow morning at 10am! She can’t miss it!”

The redheads laugh, continuing up the stairs, the President turns slightly as she walks and salutes to the brunette, “Aye, aye, Captain.”

Less than fifteen steps later, you’re carried into a large room. Your heart stopping completely at the sound of the door closing and locking. As if noticing the slight pure panic, Wanda stands by the door twisting the handle, “It locks from inside, so if you twist the handle, then it’s automatically unlocked,” then she relocks the door.

Nodding your head in thanks and understanding of her words, she gives you a reassuring smile in return.

Then, Natasha lightly throws you onto the bed, a grunt leaving your lips, leaning over you, she smirks. Wanda comes up to sit beside your head and gently rubs your forehead with her thumbs.

The deep green eyed woman locks her eyes with yours before placing a soft kiss on your chest, then throwing herself to the empty side of you. 

“Now, don’t keep us waiting,” you turn your head to see sparkling green eyes looking at you.

They wait a few seconds before both women have another silent conversation. Suddenly, you startle the redheads by standing up.

Standing with your hands on your hips, stilling your voice and shifting on your feet, “Well, this will be rather awkward to do in silence.”

The President smirks at you before pulling out her phone and playing ‘Supermassive Black Hole by Muse!’ from her speaker. 

Slowly you begin to sway your hips and drag your fingers across your chest. Kicking your shoes off as sexually as you can. You let the song play for about twenty seconds before you lean down and run your nails up your legs stopping where your thighs meet your center. 

Turning around, you hook one finger under your right strap and pull it down, staring directly into sparkling green eyes. Then, turning your head to face the other direction and repeat the action, but slower, as you look into the deep green eyes.

Your dress only stays up from pushing out your chest. You continue to dance around until you slowly sit down onto your knees. Rolling onto the ground, your head closer to the women,  arching your back as you begin to spread apart your knees. Never looking away from the redheads as your knees hit the floor. Watching as both women tighten their grips on the bed sheets. 

Straightening your legs and bringing them back together, slowly using all your core strength to sit up rather than using your hands. You turn around and crawl over to the bed, standing before placing one foot on the President’s thigh.

She brings her hand up to gently hold onto your calf before digging her nails in. Biting your lip at the minimal pain before moving your hands across your chest, breathlessly Natasha speaks, “God, don’t be that much of a tease. Let Daddy see.”

Grabbing her hands, you bring them up to your chest, she squeezes before pulling down your dress exposing your breasts, strangely thanking yourself for foregoing a bra tonight.

The cool air in the room feeling amazing on your burning skin.

Lowering your foot, you walk over to the Vice President and bend how she showed you earlier during your game of pool. A loud hum of approval leaving her mouth.

Keeping your position, you gather the material at the hem of your dress and pull it over your head. Leaving Wanda staring directly at your covered center. Her finger gently travels up the inside of your thighs, never reaching the apex.

Noticing the dark patch on your light gray underwear, she speaks mockingly, “Do you want Mommy and Daddy to take care of that for you?”

A small moan slips out as you feel two different fingers suddenly press against the dark spot. 

“Words, baby,” both women huskily say at the same time.

“Please, please,” you’re all but moaning.

A smack on your ass that you can tell was from Wanda by the feeling of rings soothing the sting, “Be specific, baby.”

You breathe in and out a few times before roughly swallowing, “Please, take care of me.”

The redheads, losing their lack of control, slowly decide that your answer was good enough for now, for the first time.

Natasha walks around to face you, her hands find your shoulders and makes you stand up. Wanda moves further back on the bed, removing her shirt and bra before leaning against the pillows.

Grabbing onto the President’s face, you stand on your tip toes and connect your lips to hers. She eagerly begins kissing you back, nipping at your lip. Moving her hands to your ass, smacking your ass lightly, so you’ll jump into her arms.

Continuing to kiss you as she walks to the side of the bed and places you down. Ending your kiss, a low whine comes from you. Sealing your lips quickly but both women have already heard you and have lust flashing through their eyes. 

“Now, go ahead and make Mommy feel good while Daddy makes you feel good.” Nodding your head at the redhead’s directions, you turn around and crawl up the bed and between Wanda’s spread legs. She holds up her hands and guides your lips to her nipple.

Natasha begins to massage your ass and tease your slit over your underwear, soaking them further by the second. 

Sucking and pulling on the Vice President’s left nipple, bringing your right hand up to roll her right nipple between your fingers. You continue this while feeling the unending teasing around your clit.

Popping off Wanda’s left nipple, you drag your tongue across her chest until you can wrap your lips around the right nipple, twirling your tongue around the nub.

On the first suck, you feel a rush of cool air hit your center as your underwear is pulled down your legs, moaning loudly at the sensation. Without even a second to spare you feel the redhead’s tongue lick up the wetness on your lips before softly pushing her tongue inside your entrance.

Your jaw slacks at the feeling, your head falls away from the needy nipples in front of you. The redhead pulls you back against her nipple, “That’s a good girl. You’re giving Mommy so much pleasure,” holding you close to feel every sound come from your lips, moans of her own filling the room.

Natasha licks her way up to your clit. Giving soft licks before wrapping her lips around your clit, humming, then pulling softly on the bundle of nerves.

Your knees start shaking at the pleasure, causing you to fall further onto Wanda. 

“Oh, fuck,” you mumble around the nipple.

Bringing her fingers up to your clit, rubbing circles, “Come on, baby. You're such a good girl for us.”

Her fingers slowly push into you, curling slightly against your velvet walls. “Fuck, baby, you’re so wet. Let Daddy make you cum, alright?”

A truly unholy sound fell from your lips, clenching around Natasha’s fingers, Wanda lifts your head slightly, so you could reply, “Please, make me cum.”

Lowering her mouth back to your clit as she sucks, licks, and nips all over while her fingers continue a relentless pace. Wanda brings her own finger to your nipples and begins rolling them between her fingers. “God, everything about you, baby. Everything is perfect,” pulling at the nubs blurring the line between pain and pleasure.

“Fuck,” your voice cracking at exclamation. Shaking from the stimulation, the coil in your stomach tightens more with each second.

Wanda leans her head forward next to your ear, “Come for Mommy, baby. Come all over Daddy.”

A simultaneous pinch from the Vice President's fingers on your nipples and the President's pinch on your clit has a wave of pleasure crashing over you, a scream rips from your throat as you cum all over Natasha’s face and fingers and fall on top of Wanda.

Dragging out your orgasm not stopping until she's pulled every sound from your lips does she begin to lick up all traces of your orgasm, sitting up and moving towards the other. You look up just in time to see them share a deep kiss, each moaning at the taste of you on their tongues. 

Breaking apart, deep green eyes look at you, “Do you have another one in you, baby? You came hard enough to drown me,” lust shining in her eyes.

“I’ll do whatever you want, just make me cum that hard again,” your eyes pleading. 

Smirking at you, Wanda moves you to scoot down the bed, tapping your thighs. It takes a second for you to realize where she wants you, but you quickly move to hover above her face. Natasha settles between her girlfriends thighs, removing her skirt and underwear in one pull, “Now, this will be a sight to see,” lowering her mouth immediately, sucking the redhead’s clit into her mouth the way she likes.

Biting your lip at the sight, you sit down, your eyes connecting with the deep green ones between the redhead’s thighs. Allowing the Vice President to move you where she’s most comfortable. Feeling her tongue push into your entrance has you arching your back.

Natasha’s fingers move to Wanda’s clit, rubbing at a brutal pace. Below you the redhead sucks in a sharp breath. Moving to drag her teeth along your clit. 

Your hips arch at the feeling, soft grunts passing from your lips, “Shit.”

Pulling you back against the redhead’s mouth, “Tsk, tsk, where do you think you’re going, baby girl?”

Rutting your hips against the face below you. Moans and pleas mumbling out of your mouth at the suction of your clit. Natasha sits up, keeping her fingers on Wanda’s clit, and leans towards you. Digging your nails into her shoulders, as she begins to leave soft bites along your chest before kissing up your neck. 

Inhaling sharply as her teeth sink into your pulse point, sucking harshly on the delicate skin, “Such a dirty mouth.” 

The pleasure on your clit increases, building up your orgasm quickly. Moaning as you drag your nails down the redhead’s back.

Wanda becomes sloppy underneath you, hinting at her own release coming soon. “Mommy’s getting close. Come with Mommy, baby,” Natasha mumbles against your neck, pushing you right to the edge. 

Sucking your earlobe into her mouth and biting down on your soft skin, “Seeing how you ride Mommy’s face makes me wonder how well you would ride Daddy’s dick,” her words sending both you and the woman beneath you over the edge. 

The Vice President slowly licks your cunt to clean you as the President drags her finger through her girlfriend’s release. Bringing them up to your mouth, “Be a good girl,” and pushing them between your lips. 

A sinful moan escapes both of your lips, though for different reasons. Exhaustion riding through your body allows Natasha to gently lift you off Wanda’s face and leans you against the pillows.

Your eyelids fight too close to receive a moment of rest, quickly winning over your desire to stay conscious. Both women get off the bed walking into the en-suite and cleaning themselves up quickly, returning with a towel for you.

Noticing your sleeping form, the two exchange a look before Wanda’s soft hands spread your knees and gently clean you up. 

“She’s perfect for us,” the President whispers.

“She is, but how can we convince her of that,” the Vice President whispers back.

As a plan forms in her mind, the redhead smirks, “We will just have to show her.”

Wanda throws the towel aiming for the laundry hamper, but misses, before laying down into the bed next to you. Natasha follows suit, listening to the music thrum downstairs while closing her eyes.

-

Groaning and swatting at the air when you hear the familiar sounds of a phone alarm going off.

Your messy morning hair is removed from your face, startling you into opening your eyes. Confusion flashing through you until you see two pairs so similar yet different green eyes.

“Wha-,” you begin, but are cut off.

“I would have let you sleep in more, baby, but we need to get you dressed for your study group. The last thing I need is my little sister trying to murder me for ruining her chances with the archer.” 

Blinking a few times, begging for your brain to catch up, yet all your mind can think of is, “Her name is Kate.”

The redheads smile at you, “Yes, of course, we apologize,” Wanda says sincerely.

With a pat on your thigh, Natasha sits up, “Now, I don't think you want to go to your study group in that little blue dress you were wearing last night, so you can borrow something of ours.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I can just run to my dorm. I need to brush my teeth anyway, so it’s okay.” However the looks you receive fills your mind with doubt, “What time is it?”

“9:45am,” Wanda grimaces. Your jaw falls open at the realization that you will definitely not make it in time unless you go straight there. Cursing yourself for not understanding your math course better and needing to go to the study groups in the first place, with a deep breath you look up at the women, “Show me the outfit.” 

Standing in the mirror you can’t complain. It was a simple pair of medium washed jeans, though slightly too long since you are shorter than both women, they have been cuffed and paired with a loose long sleeve shirt sporting their sorority name and logo. You felt a bit like a walking advertisement. The worst part, yet best part, was the sports bra Natasha gave you to wear. 

Cringing as you put on your soiled underwear from the night before, you throw on your shoes and tie your hair into your best messy, not messy, bun. Hurrying down the stairs towards the front door. To your surprise, the redheads follow behind you. Thinking they must be the type to walk out guests, you say nothing. 

Reaching for the door handle, you're cut off by Wanda’s ring-covered hand opening the door for you, extending her arm in an ‘after you, ladies first’ motion. 

Arching an eyebrow at the action before turning to face them, “Thank you for the clothes. I’ll return them washed by the end of next week, swear,” beginning to turn back around before stopping and facing them again, whispering, “and thank you for last night too,” then rushing down the steps of the porch.

Stepping out of the doorway both women laugh before replying, “Now, that you don’t need to thank us for.” Trying to hide your blush from the redheads as you speed walk down the sorority's front lawn, checking your phone for the time, seven minutes to get there, thinking ‘I can do it’ as you break out into a run across campus. 

[countfagculaa]

Reposted because I didn’t post the finished product and it was making me itch. ( he xuan now has the belladonna) so sorry for tagging so much,.. ANYWAY

From the fanfic by @redlikerozez beefleaf but make it Hades/Persephone!

Okay I colored it to cope after finishing my exams (why did I pick this major)

Anyway, it’s been a while since I drew and color, after a few warmups I changed some things on the original sketch. I think I like this one more.

Yes, beefleaf has matching tattoos, I find it so cute. I had more fun coloring shi qingxuan. he xuan took me forever…

[inc0gnitoo]

repost from ao3- modern au!scara x fem!reader

CW… smut, scara is mean, AFAB reader, phone sex, etc etc..

NSFW UNDER THE CUT

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

it almost seemed fucking impossible to you that a day could go this wrong.

it started with the bus this morning. you chose to get up earlier than usual, wanting time to work on your assignment thanks to your procrastinating it til the due date. this wasn’t new for you, and it didn’t bother you either! it worked. it was your system. until you got too caught up with your articles, and when your eyes drifted to the time, you had under 4 minutes to scurry over to your bus stop. and you didn’t even pack your bag yet. rushing out the door, stomach empty and sweat beading down your forehead you ran to the bus and- it was late.

it only got worse from there.

university was a place to be. only good thing it had was food. after your first lecture, you decided to spoil yourself to a bagel which was your second choice on the menu, they ran out of your favourite. begrudgingly, you made your way to class. the people being even more poisoning than the source material. ignorant hallway dwellers, come on, we’re in university people! a classmate took your unassigned-assigned seat, your eye twitching in frustration. and it was only 10am. finally, after a long day of excruciatingly boring classes. you managed to get home, only after getting caught in traffic on the highway. just your luck, you kept saying, your mind twisted with rage.

body filled to the brim with exhaustion, you collapsed to your bed, lazily tossing your bag to the side of your bed with a groan. finally, your bed. tonight was for yourself, you decided. what better to do after a shitty day? you deserved a break, not having any assignments due for a while, you finally had the opportunity to just lay down, and do absolutely nothi-

bzzt.

“mm?” you hummed, peering over to your phone beside you. a text message, from scaramouche. a classmate of yours from highschool who ended up going to the same university as you for a separate major, engineering or something along those lines. raising a brow you leaned over, taking your phone and reading his message.

scara: Didn’t come say hi to me today

scara: Kinda rude, if you ask me

rolling your eyes, you sat up in your bed, clicking on your lamp on your bedside table before typing out a response..

you: i didn’t have a very good day today

you: everything seemed to go wrong

scaramouche, at home, let out a hum of agreement at your reply. he knew that feeling all too well. especially when it came to people. they made him so sick, he didn’t know why he even bothered on taking this degree.

scara: Mm, I see

scara: Wanna call and talk about it?

heart warmed as his request, you stared at it for a moment. you were really just going to stay alone tonight, play some games or something, occupy yourself in other ways that didn’t involve people but.. it was scara. he knew better than most people how frustrating life can get. and he’d listen too, maybe with a grumble or two. or a rant about humanity, but, he’d hear you out after a few.. maybe, rude comments.

you: give me 1 sec

getting up you turned off the big light, not understanding why you’d punished yourself by keeping it on in the first place, especially with your lamp on. now, your room had a warmer atmosphere, more comfy, and overall more relaxing. turning on your humidifier you let out a sigh of contentment, changing into a pair of pyjamas and relaxing yourself back into your bed. taking your phone, you texted scara-

you: ready :P

barely a couple moments go by before your phone begins to vibrate, picking up the phone, “hey.” scaramouche greets you, his voice tired and monotone.

“hi, how was your day? before i start bitching about myself, haha.”

a groan is heard from his side of the phone and a short shuffle through the mic, seemingly from a shifting position, “ugh, long. i’m really starting to get tired of a few of my classmates, such insolent people..” he replied, eyes rolling. you imagined, at least, just from his tone.

“ah, you’re telling me..”

and the monologue began.

you weren’t sure just how long you were talking for or how frustrated you felt about the day. but it felt good getting it off your chest. relieving yourself with a bit of bitching is always the best comfort, you thought. scaramouche on the other hand.. seemed a bit, distracted. it didn’t seem like much to you, him not being as responsive as usual, a bit of a shuffle or two coming from his end, an ‘mm’ of agreement. that wasn’t necessarily off limits when it came to the question of ‘is scara acting weird?’ it was when you began to settle down a bit, your emotions returning back down, your anger beginning to lower that you heard a muffled murmur, almost spoken under his breath, “_____..”

what?

you almost froze in place, pulling the phone closer to your ear in an attempt to hear more but, to no avail. pondering whether or not you should, you spoke, “scara?”

a hurried movement, slightly covering the mic, scaramouche spoke up, “yeah, yeah- i’m here.” he mumbled. physically of course he was, there to listen for her. but mentally, scaramouches mind had travelled to other places. his voice betrayed him in that way, sounding almost strained and the husk of his voice easily portraying just how distracted he was.

innocently, you spoke up, “y-you just.. sound tense, is all. are you alright?”

foolish you were, he thought. such an idiot, not being able to read his tone, understand the shuffling and the movement, the whispery gasps he’d been letting out unintentionally. by god, he was beyond grateful you were this oblivious, the excitement of your cluelessness almost encouraged these bad thoughts to begin with.

“yeah, i-i’m fine.” scaramouche stuttered, “you don’t worry about me..” a few sounds, another heavy breath, “just keep talking all cute like that.”

what..? (again.)

what was happening right now? he had befuddled you, thoughts rolling through your brain attempting (and failing) to find a reason for his odd behaviour. scaramouche was a very, very closed off guy. and not one for compliments. of course, you’d get one from him every once a while, earning a ‘wow, you actually managed to do that,.’ or a ‘yeah, good job.’

but, cute..?

your question left your head, coming out your mouth, “cute?”

a shudder ran down scaramouches body, a bead of sweat, and a wave of warmth down his groin. so stupid, he thought, so so stupid. he loved it, “ah- uh huh.” he affirmed your question, a small curse leaving his breath, a sound of readjustment, switching his phone to another hand.

your brows furrowed, starting to get a little frustrated now, “why are you being so-“

“stop asking so many questions, just fucking talk.”

he bit his lip, a sharp intake of breath before it, sounding restrained and almost.. uncomfortable. you had absolutely no idea the strain he was putting himself through, the cause of all this until-

it clicked.

was he.. masturbating?

“scara, a-are you..?” it was silent for a moment. the only sounds were not just of your own heavy breath, but scaramouches as well, heavy pants that you now realize were not just in your head. these, this time, did not go unnoticed.

finally, after a billowing and agonizing silence, scaramouche breathed in, speaking up..

“yeah..” he exhaled, finally accepting he’d been caught. part of him had a sick obsession with you being as lost as you were, but perhaps your knowledge of him getting himself off to your voice was enough too. if you’d just stay there, keep talking, he wouldn’t be a bother. except he was being a bother, gasping and breathing into your ear like that. over the phone, it almost made it worse.

your mind had begun to drift, and you spoke, softly, “i-i-..”you struggled to form words, a reaction, a response, but he spoke for you.

“cmon… speak up..” scaramouche whispered, breathy, so so breathy. it was almost incoherent from how sharp he was breathing. his hand sped up, you could tell, hearing the shuffling increase over the mic. your heart began to pound.

“do..” hesitating, you bit your lip. was this about to be a huge mistake? “do you want me to help you?”

a groan left his mouth, his head fell back onto his pillow, trying his hardest not to moan instead. “fuck, yes. please.”

nearly choking on your own spit you attempted to speak, placing your hand to your chest to feel your own heartbeat, pounding so hard in your chest. this all felt fake. like, you were about to wake up from some sick fucking fantasy. a dream.

pulse quickening, you parted your lips to speak, “y-you sound so hot right now..”

scaramouches breath hitched, a moan caught in his throat.

okay, maybe he was grateful you figured it out.

his hand pawed at his boxers, finally deciding to tug them off, stroking the tip of his cock. his anticipation was evident in how hard he was, the pre-cum sliding down the sides of his length. how fucking humiliating, he thought. he watched his own hand as he began to stroke himself, thoughts of it being your own. those pretty little hands of yours. the idea in his head had been haunting him. scaramouche was obsessed with you. and had been since highschool. you were so smart, so innocent, and oblivious to him. he swore he was going crazy, when he’d go home, masturbate to the thought of you.

“ohoh, yeah?” scaramouche whispered, his breathing only quickening further as he heard a shift from your end.

that shift.. was you sliding your hand into your shorts, teasing your clit with your fingers through your underwear, almost feeling guilty giving yourself the pleasure of touching it bare. “u-uh huh..” you murmured, shamefully. it was going to eat you alive.

“maybe..” scaramouche begins, his voice mellow and hushed, “maybe i wanna hear you too…” your heart stops, he heard you.

“i know what you're doing right now.”

your hand not daring to stop, even almost speeding up from his tone of voice, the movement was definitely heard over your mic. this made scaramouche smirk, a sigh of satisfaction as he continued.

“tell me, ____. what are you doing to yourself?”

moaning quietly, nervously, with much hesitation and an evident feeling of lust, you managed to speak, “i-i’m.. touching..” you cut yourself off, a whispered gasp as you rubbed at the sensitive nerve, an eye closing from pleasure. scaramouche, what are you doing to me? you kept repeating in your mind. you were a mess because of a fucking voice over the phone. is this how desperate you’ve become?

but it wasn’t just any voice. it was scaramouches. and if he kept talking to you like that you’d listen to it all day.

“yeah? ngh- s-slowly? or fast..?” scaramouche moaned, a bit of a whimper in his throat.

“slowly, slowly..” you echoed yourself, breathing out a held exhale of air, “w-wanna savour this..” admitting to your feelings, you found yourself forming a knot in your groin. this exhale, that erotic breathy noise from you, is enough to earn you a soft moan from scaramouche on the other line.

he stiffened at your words, eyes screwed shut at the image he’d burned into his mind of you. yearning to hear more, he spoke up again, his hand beginning a slow pace as he stroked his cock, “oh, fuck. you wanna savour me..” he grinded his teeth, jaw shifting, “how does that feel, ah? good?” his voice is condescending, low and almost.. degrading, picturing you beneath him as he speaks. believing you as something below him, both physically and sexually.

”ahg-mhm..” you breathlessly agreed, “feels good, scara.” slowly, you overcame that guilt. that fear, it didn’t matter anymore. he wanted this. he wanted you. that thought was enough to allow yourself to feel it too, slipping your hand into your underwear and sliding a finger between your wet folds, a gasp escaping you.

biting his lip so hard he could draw blood, he held back a soft whimper, the sound of his name spoken from your lips like that. it was driving him crazy how the only thing keeping him from you was this damn phone. a short laughter came from him, low and raspy, “nngh, yeah… so good. you sound so good..” he spoke, managing to keep his voice just at a level enough for you to hear him. hear his want. his need for you.

a curse fell out of your lips, “fuck, ah..” drawing a faster circle on your clit, your mind began to slip. slipping to places you wish you were, positions you wish scaramouche was holding you in. what his hand would feel like doing this to you instead. and the lewd noises being caused by him instead, not just you rutting weakly into your own palm. his voice was so hoarse, just a little whiny, sending a rush of blood to your head. he’d have you against the wall, slamming into you from behind-

“god, i’d give anything to be there right now. under my hands, fuck, all the pretty noises you’d make.”

immediately a moan exhaled from your chest, “a-ah, yeah.” you moaned, “want your hands on me..” in your head, they already were! all over you, his mouth too! saying more of those things to you, right in your ear, spoken through hushed whispers and gritting teeth.

scaramouche could feel it in every single bone in his body. every fucking last drop of his blood wanted to hear you scream his name. his grip tightened oh his phone, a scratchy moan coming through the microphone. “ohh..” he laughed breathily, stretching out into a whiny moan as his cock hardened to the touch of his hand, his pace speeding, “you sound so pathetic, such sweet sweet sounds..”

you could hear him, so lewd and filthy, his hips were bucking subconsciously into his own hand. in his mind too, you were there. not just in his ear, “fuck, i bet you look so dirty right now, fucking yourself on your hand.”

“please, scara,” you whined, rolling your hips, causing a muffle over your mic, an irritated groan comes from him. if you’re gonna be doing this, why aren’t you paying attention? he needs to hear every fucking word.

“can’t hear you. louder.”

“scara.” you moaned. god, that voice of yours was intoxicating.

“oh, the way it just rolls off your tongue-ughn..”

scaramouche whimpered, the sounds leaving his lips just above a whimper, words becoming impossible to form. his mind was blanking, fogging with lustful ideas and thoughts, possessed by his craving for you, “are you close? god, tell me you’re close. i can hear it.. the way you’re whining.”

responding with only a moan, your wrist beginning to ache from how vigorously you slid your fingers in and out of yourself, your other beginning to shake while holding your phone to your ear. you didn’t even consider the possibility of moving it away, wanting-no, needing to have his voice right in your ear. more than just in your head. it was here now, he was doing this. with you. just if only he was physically here.. but right now, that didn’t matter.

scaramouches voice alone was bringing you to the edge and he himself knew that too, utilizing his tone in such a way he knew it would tip you over. he wanted you to do this over and over and over, beg him to touch you, to do anything to you, and he’d do that til he was satisfied. maybe he’d even let you touch his cock if you asked nicely. having you do it yourself, instead of his hand.

grunting out a moan, you spoke, “mmfg, yes, scara,” whining, breathing, tears stinging at your eyes, “please-ngh, don’t stop talking.”

“ugh, i-i won’t, won’t-fuck.” forcing more harsh words out of his mouth, scaramouche lets his eyes flutter shut, pumping his cock like it was the last thing he’d ever touch, wishing it was your body instead. he’d be happy dying inside of you. feeling you clenching, tightening around him, grinding down on him in a needy, feverish manner. his grip fastened on his hardness, a guttural moan escaping his lips, “these fucking hands of mine would make you feel so good, ____.”

“y-yes! yes, please! need them so bad, need them instead-ah!” you gasped. now you knew your neighbors would be mad. this apartment was not thick enough for this. imagine if he was in your room now, too. your face pressed into your sheets, fuck, probably against your door knowing him. he wouldn’t give you the chance to lay down. you’d be scraping paint off the wall. and skin off his back. this was too much. all too much. too much too much-

“i’ll have you, ngh- screaming on my cock after this. just you wait-“ interrupting his own monologue with a hoarse moan, his hand pumping a delicious pace on his dick, he threw his head back, “cum, _____. do it already. do it with me.”

almost at his words, treating them like it was an order your body gave out on your, back arching in a cramp inducing position, cumming on your hand just like he instructed. that knot released, sending waves upon waves of a much needed climax, “pleasepleaseplease- scara!”

you were reeling in ecstacy, and from the sounds scaramouche was making, you were sure he was too.

scaramouche found himself reeling on his hand, his orgasm coming just as yours did, throbbing with cum. curses left his mouth, a mess of words and your name and other things you couldn’t pick up over the ringing of your own ears. his hand loosened its grip, weakly falling to his side as he panted almost erratically, a round of silence filling the call with nothing but breathing from both ends. it was scara that spoke first, his voice a bit weak, cracky, “was that good?”

breathing out, struggling to respond, “oh.. oh yeah. for sure.” you affirmed, sliding your hand out of your shorts. the exhaustion returned now, after the pleasure.

as if he sensed it, he spoke up once more.. “don’t get comfortable. i’m coming over.”

…okay. maybe your day didn’t go that wrong.

[yuutawe]

TAKE A BITE INTO MY HEART﹕yuta okkotsu. . .

when death strikes down those you love most, a desperate binding vow proves to be the salvation.

ꖛ warnings!‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎(overall) nsfw + angst with happy ending(?)‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎major character death !‎ blood and death (mentions + slightly described) + a bit of gore (hearts) ! cannibalism ! ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎yandere appeals (?) ! mutual obsession ! jjk manga spoilers for the end of the shinjuku battle arc ! i basically threw every rule from the universe out of the window (this is not how binding vows work and im nearly sure of it, lol).

ꖛ about. * reader is gender-neutral. no anatomy specified + they/them pronouns and genderless nicknames.

ꖛ inspired by‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎so, i went back to watching hannibal. blame the homoerotic subtext in the cannibalistic series for this idea.

ꖛ author's note * repost because i can't see my post in the tags (sob). originally posted this in nov 28th.

ꖛ word count ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎1.410 (1.4k)

‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎[ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎NOT PROOFREAD!]

how do you undo what can never be undone? a person's comfort when someone dies is usually knowing that it was inevitable. this fate awaits us all in the end. soon, in a day or ninety years, we too will be hidden in large wooden boxes, burned and turned to ash, or left to rot in the darkest, most forgotten corner of the world. but death changes people. its touch is not meant for those who remain alive, but it changes them all the same.

as you changed when yuta died.

the flowers seem too alive when they arrive arranged in bouquets, tied with ribbons that are too vibrant. that color bothers your eyes. or maybe he seems too colorless. it's uncomfortable.

that body on the stretcher is uncomfortable. it's unfair and uncertain. when ieiri and the others left the room ── give them a moment of privacy. you know how important it is ──, whispering behind your back as if you were an abandoned stray animal. a homeless animal, with no place in the world. pitiful. like a creature abandoned on the side of a dirty road. everyone stops to look at the tragedy, but not to help. and how they mourn. they cry more than you.

poor things. they were so happy.

swear i don't know how it happened. one minute he was fine, and the next...

i didn't think he wouldn't make it. i didn't expect this.

i can barely imagine how they must be feeling. imagine seeing someone you love die in front of you, like this.

the sound of metal being punched takes you out of your thoughts. the idea of ​​people saying this now, with you right there with his dead body in front of you, just infuriates you so much that you punched the metal tray without even realizing it. simple as that. anger took over your muscles, and several sterilized tools were thrown on the floor. everything so fast. how can something happen so fast?

how did it all happen so fast?

he was fine. he said he was going to be fine. damn it, yuta promised he was going to stay. that he needed to fight, needed to help. your role was to stay here and give support to miss ieiri.

“asshole.” you can hear yourself mumble, your voice choked with tears. “you promised.”

when you touch his hand, searching for a familiar comfort, you find only an empty shell. normally, his long fingers would gently curl to hold yours. those warm hands would hold yours and yuta’s sweet voice would murmur it’s going to be okay, my love. we’ll make it, we always do.

lying son of a bitch. that’s what you want to scream, as the words mix with please, wake up. wake up and look at me. come back to me.

his body is so cold. not cold in yuta’s way ── warm hands and cold body, but cold like death. cold because the blood has stopped running through his veins, icy because his muscles don't move or contract anymore, his organs don't work.

just a few minutes. it's still surprisingly cool for a fresh body, but he's cold in a way that almost burns you. your aching heart can’t take this sight, no.

your body bends, and your lips touch his icy forehead. those closed eyes, those blue and depressed eyes need to open again. it's the only thing that's right. a dark whisper runs through your mind. he could come back, couldn't he? so many sorcerers have already cheated death. why did her scythe need to fall right on your boyfriend?

it wouldn't be like that. not if you're really here to change the course of history. a living and perfect heart beats in your chest — his, static and dead, is still red. it's still possible. it will be messy and completely crazy, but who's going to stop you?

who would try to execute you both? without the higher-ups, the sky's the limit and the new jujutsu society rises from the rubble of the old. and what golden age doesn't deserve its own champion? may he rise from the ashes and become the new champion of a sick society: recovering from the rot caused by the corruption of the old jurisdiction, yuta will overcome death and return to his place, by your side.

only by your side.

the blood is sticky, gooey. the bright red is so grotesque against yuta's pale skin that you wonder if perhaps god created blood to convince humans to kill less. it didn't work.

as the incision is made in his chest, you quickly put your fingers inside his body. a little searching, and with more effort, you hit his heart. great. with some difficulty, you cut a piece and brings it up to your mouth.

gulp. your swallowing is like the ringing of the death bell.

his blood stains your index and middle fingers — and greedily, you raise them to your lips and stain them with red. it's like lipstick. there's a certain romanticism in that.

the price to pay is not a debt that will be collected immediately. this could backfire very quickly, perhaps in a way that no one can stop. but if this gives him back to you—

the doorknob lowers, and someone grumbles behind the door. there's not much time. you don't have any more time. hey, did you lock the door? whoever is speaking, their voices seem like background noise as you lean in to kiss his cold lips.

may you share a life, may you share gifts and curses again. pure, mutual love overcomes every kind of mortal wound and lacerating incision.

you can almost feel a deep discouragement ── no answer. it didn't work? why? do you have to take a life to give another? it would make sense. bam. bam. open the door, they say. scared of what you might do to yourself.

a hand reaches up and grabs the back of your head, pushing you down once more. and yuta leans up, his lips wrapping around your bloody ones eagerly.

the salty tears run down your cheeks, and your hands let go of the scalpel to cup his face in your hands. it’s almost animalistic, desperate, as pure love invades you both.

he leans back, breathing heavily. oh, he is breathing. yuta okkotsu has returned from the dead thanks to you.

“what is going on— i can’t— my head hurts.”

the pain that hits you right after is almost unbearable. it's like being torn in half and then put back together in a completely different way.

he holds you, still trying to shoo away the ringing in his ears. “love— love, what’s wrong?” yuta asks, grabbing your hand to settle you. to push the pain away from your beating heart. 

the heart you two now share. two halves of your heart, shared to pump life through your bodies. you’re weakened, but he is alive. it was worth the price.

the door is broken down with a bang, but you can't make yourself care. your arms wrap around what used to be a corpse, but now is back to being your sweet, lovely boyfriend. he hugs your waist, his fingers grabbing at the flesh as if he wants to make sure you’re real. this is real.

“you’re alive, baby.” you sob, and he gently kisses your tears away. “it’s okay. you’re okay.”

and when the others enter the medical bay, all they see is yuta, who was dead less than a minute ago. he has a new scar on his chest, a vertical cut. the scalpel that was used to help you with the process has long been forgotten, thrown on the floor.

your chin rest at the top of his head, and it feels like you can finally breathe after drowning in grief for cold hours. — years, it’s what it felt like. he nuzzles into your warmth, stealing some for his own body.

his blood is flowing again, but he's still a little pale and the temperature is freezing in the medical bay. he rests his head against your shoulder, watching all the shocked and confused reactions from everyone else.

it's like walking straight into a sacrilege, something impossible, something that should never have happened. the breakdown of the natural order happened here, in this room. and yuta is alive.

alive, and staring at them with cold blue eyes for interrupting your moment.

© made by spiralryomen on tumblr. do not copy, repost, translate my works in this or any other site — inspirations allowed with credits.

[iceteaish]

!SPOILER WARNING!

Explanation/ lore stuff for sotm! Small tdlr and speculation.!

Also small clarification of MCM and Fazbear ENT’s business deals and if things were stolen or not.

MCM is a family owned business orginally handed down to Edwin by his father, doing well and as well being a collaborative businesses. Mcm collabs with fazbear ent since fazbear ent commissions them (aka, giving characters and the mcm makes or forms ideas with them) and vice versa, Fazbear ent still has their own original characters but as well once MCM goes under due to Edwin’s insanity, fazbear ent gains ownership of the mcm characters (Roxy, Monty, moon, sun, mr hippo/ most of the mediocre melodies.)

Edwin when he was in the process of making floats and or a major project for fazbear entrainment, Fiona his wife specifically dies in a fire (fall-fest 1970?maybe? Unsure.) its implied that the endoskeleton was suppose to be made for fazbear ent, but because of Edwin making the Fiona AI, it branched as the M2 (mimic) as Edwin treated it like his dead wife, then David died and thus the M2 started acting like David, in which Edwin beat and drove himself to insanity and thus caused the M2 to basically disconnect from the Fiona AI. The mimic later kills Edwin in his office paralyzing him and mimicking as him once the company goes under.

The Fiona ai being deep and hidden within the basement is MXES, according to stop the M2. Fazbear ent once again gets ownership and goes to claim their property, in which sending multiple recovery teams to get the specific prints. Multiple workers died and Arnold the one you play as seems to be the last one or at least the one to make it out depending on the ending you get.

sorry if certain events are a bit wrong, I was gathering this in scrambled notes and put it all together.

quick tdlr though I want people to understand

William and Henry did not steal the MCM designs, foxy and chica are still there’s, it seems that CPW was COMMISSIONED and so were the animatronics down in the basement, changes were made in the plan, Fazbear ent showed what they wanted, and by the collaboration, MCM produced, it explains why Edwin went on a whole deal in a few audio recording about the tapes and how the designs were changed and the newer ones look “creepy.“ (could allude to the withereds perhaps?)

but that’s just speculation and my interpretations! Repost for some more traction or tell us what ya think!

[caitchercatlady]

Sleeping Over at Ramshackle w/Azul

*Note: Yes, this is a repost of this fic story. I have a feeling that it got lost due to the original tags that it had, so I am reposting to see if that changes. For those who have read this already, I do apologize for the annoyance that I'm causing.

Azul is a very, very busy business man. He is not one to take breaks from making sure the Monstro Lounge is in perfect order unless anything school related keeps him away from the Octavinelle Dorm. In the case of his upcoming alchemy exam, Azul cannot afford to slip a few grades all for the sake of working. Although he would normal go to the Housewarden’s bed chamber to hit the books, Azul knows that there is a good chance that chaos will ensue, and he refuses to take part in it.

He can go to Heartslabyul to study with Riddle, but being more than aware of Riddle’s studying tactics, Azul would rather not handle the stress.

He can go to Scarabia; Kalim is always welcoming. Jamil…not so much. Even then, Azul will be too distracted to even remember his studying mission.

He can go to Ignihyde, but Idia is too good at studying that he can recite the textbook while playing one of his many video games.

There is only one more option left.

You agree that you can use a study partner, so while on the phone with Azul, you offer him a place to stay to avoid any more trouble. Azul can’t thank you enough.

You don’t have much in terms of study food, and you hope Azul won’t mind the remnants of snacks that Ace and Deuce brought over from yesterday (which is popcorn and oranges). By the time you set the coffee table up, the awaited knock appears at the front door.

Azul’s uniform is a little more disheveled than usual, but you take in the assumption of him having to deal with some last minute problem-solving as to why he looks the way he looks. Azul thanks you again for welcoming him to your dorm for the evening.

In truth, having the most “sane” of the Octavinelle trio is better than all three of them at once. You just hope the tweels don’t tag alone.

“Rest assured that I will be your only guest this evening. Housewarden’s honor.” Azul’s voice is at its most collected. How assuring indeed. “Before we get started, you don’t mind if I go to the washroom and change into something more comfortable, do you?”

“I don’t see why not,” you reply.

As Azul makes his way up the stairs, you commence hitting the books for homework. You have five minutes of quiet until Azuzl returns in his change of clothes. You nearly choke on the orange slice as you gaze at the lounge attire, fit for a business mogul, that the Octavinelle Housewarden has draped. If this is Azul’s definition of comfortable, you need to update your ideas about the octo-mermaid’s tastes.

Leona nor Vil can never.

Azul smirks. “I’m aware that the eyes often speak more than the lips, but I would appreciate you being able to breath before your face turns blue.”

You snap out of your infatuated daydream. “Is that real silk?” you question.

Azul flicks his robe sleeves. “Indeed. Comfort is bliss, you know.”

You stutter, trying to get out how Azul can own something so delicate looking.

“It was a birthday gift from my parents after doing so well my first semester of school. I could never take this back home, so I keep this and the majority of my terrestrial belongings in proper storage. No need to be concerned. I take care of everything that belongs to me.” His eyes light up. “Oh, that reminds me.” Azul ruffles through his overnight bag and pulls out another robe of similar fabric, folded neatly as if it has just come out of the packaging. “I couldn’t come to your abode without a thank-you gift for your patronage.”

Your heart nearly stops at the sight of this “thank-you gift.” “You didn’t have to do this.”

“Nonsense. This should keep you warm in this rickety, old place. With all of that said, should we get started?”

The both of you decide to tackle math first. It’s not your favorite subject, but better finish it now than later. That doesn’t help algebra from not kicking you in the ass though. Simple equations are nothing, but the longer the math problem, the more it makes you flinch.

“Do you know what a balancing scale is?”

“Yeah?” you reply as if Azul is joking.

“Math is exactly like that. You need both sides to be equal in order for it to appear straight.” Azul scoots closer to you, pencil pointing at your textbook. “To find out the missing number, you have to use everything else to make the other side equal. Let’s start here.” He leans over, using his pencil as a guide for your eyes.

His closeness adds heat to your skin. You try to keep your focus on his mentoring, but your heart is pounding like dough being slapped onto a cutting board. Azul is so deep into his mini lesson that he doesn’t seem to notice your stiffness.

“You seem a little too good at this,” you mutter.

Azul snickers. “Math is quite like alchemy. You cannot make less or more than what the ritual requires. If a factor is missing, you have to equal everything out. I hope this makes more sense.”

“Me too…”

Upstairs, now that you’re all cozy for the night, you complete the look with your new silk robe, similar to Azul’s in style, but colored blue to bring some color into your wardrobe. The new fabric scent whiffs into your nostrils like the spring breeze. You feel guilty for accepting such a gift, but you don’t want to hurt Azul’s feelings by returning it.

Speaking of him, he knocks on the door, and you permit him entrance. He enters the room with your school books in hands. “You left these back in the foyer.”

“Oh…right. Thank you, Azul.”

Azul carefully sits them on your nightside table. “Would you mind if I studied alchemy with you?”

“With me? I’m about to pass out soon.”

“Well, maybe my read-along will help you with that.” He sits himself on the right side of the bed and watches you join him on the other side. He opens his book wide enough that you can read along with Azul if you like. Azul has you lean against his arm as he utters the text he’s gone over dozens of times. Your eyes drift to the old sketches of ingredients and ancient painted text as he vocalizes each word on the pages. Azul’s left fingers play with the end strands of your hair. Just as he predicts, you fall away from the real world into the darkness of sleep. By the time Azul decides to stop studying for the day, he chooses to rather stay and make you comfortable than to take the guest room alone.

[angelnextdooor]

title: where it wasn't supposed to be (Part 2)

synopsis: the aftermath of the assignment.

a/n: Here is the next part and thank you so much for reading! I will say that nothing super major happens in this part as it's more of a place holder to set up the next one. Also, I know that the first part was in third person but this part, as well as the rest of the parts, are dual POV (I just didn’t want to have to rewrite the first part though). This is my own original story so please do not repost as your own or plagiarize.

warnings: mentions of a gun

word count: 3 k

previous parts: part 1

Natalia:

Natalia gasped and opened her eyes. She breathed heavily, trying to catch her breath. Her heart was racing and she felt a pressure on her chest, threatening to suffocate her. The dream came to her in her sleep like always. Her parents’ screams. The man in black. The gun. 

The gun. Her gun. The memory of the night before washed over Natalia. The palace. The diamonds. Her gun in his hands. Damian. How he had found her, she had no idea. But the reality that he did, that he found her in the middle of an assignment, sent a chill through Natalia.

Everything that happened after she ran out of the palace was in a haze in her mind. She didn’t remember how long she was running through the streets, but she somehow made it back to her hotel room. Natalia knew that she had to leave Austria, it was too dangerous for her to stay in the country. But she was so exhausted last night that she didn’t even bother to change her clothes. She was still in her black jeans and sweater. And anyway she couldn’t leave, not when she still had a job to finish.

Natalia groaned as she sat up in her bed, her body sore from the amount of times she fell the night before. The clock on the bedside table read that it was noon. Perfect. She still had a few hours to clear her head. Natalia dragged herself out of bed and to the bathroom. She turned the shower on, making the water as hot as it would go. As steam filled the bathroom, Natalia stared at her reflection in the mirror that was starting to fog up. Her long brown hair was a mess, all tangled up in a nest on top of her head. Eye bags hang under her eyes. But it's not her appearance that Natalia paid attention to. She looked into her own eyes, wondering where the little girl she once was went. The past seven years have been a struggle, but that struggle only made her stronger. 

Tears threatened to make an escape but Natalia wiped them away. She will not cry. She wasn’t allowed to cry. Crying was for the weak. She was not weak. That’s what Natalia always told herself.

When the water got scalding hot, Natalia stepped into the shower. The water reminded her of the rain, but a hot one instead of cold. She looked up, letting the water spray on her face. The steam that filled the room made it hard to breathe, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care about the way the hot water burned against her scars either. All she wanted was to wash last night away from her, let all the feelings she felt go down the drain. But no matter how hard she tried, no matter how long she stood there, she couldn’t wash away the words Damian spoke. 

“Is this really the life you want?” 

Natalia tried to ignore the raw emotion in Damian’s voice when he first said those words. She tried to ignore the way his eyes locked on hers in that moment. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t ignore the voice that uttered the seven words that cut deep into her heart, nor the blue eyes, no matter how much she wanted to. 

After several minutes of letting the water beat against her back, Natalia turned the water off and stepped out of the shower. After fishing through her bags in the main room, she changed into black leggings and a beige hoodie. That’s when her phone rang. 

Natalia checked her phone that she left charging on her bedside table. As a woman on the run, it was risky for her to have a phone, as anyone could track her through it. She left it on airplane mode almost all the time, and never took it with her when she had assignments to do. She only had four contacts, so Natalia didn’t have to think too hard about who was calling her. When the familiar name flashed on the screen, the ends of her lips ticked upward. She answered, her heart full with relief when the voice on the other end of the line spoke.

“Natalia? Natalia, are you there mia cara?” the man’s voice asked. His Italian accent was heavy and it sounded as if he was tired.

“Yes, I’m here, padrino,” Natalia said. Her smile widened when she spoke to her father’s best friend. Giovanni Rossi wasn’t really her godfather, but he was as much of a father to her as her real one. He was the one she went to when she was fifteen, and he was the only one alive that cared. He would call her every week, to make sure she was not in jail and still alive.

“Aye yai yai Natalia you’re going to kill me with all this worry!” Giovanni exclaimed. “Do you know how stressful it is for me to constantly wonder where you are?”

“You don’t have to worry about me, padrino. I can take care of myself,” Natalia reassured him, sitting on the bed.

“Where are you now?” Giovanni asked.

“I’m in Vienna, so you don’t have to worry, I’m not so far from Italy,” Natalia said.

“Well, are you going to come back, mia cara?” The older man asked.

“You know I can’t yet. Going home would be too risky, even now. And I still have a few things to finish here before I can leave,” Natalia said. It pained her to say those words. She would give anything to be back in Naples, to be back in Giovanni’s flat. But at the moment, her life didn’t give her that luxury. 

“Well be careful, Natalia. I’d hate to see you in a bad place,” Giovanni said. 

Natalia could hear the pain in his voice, how desperately he wanted her to return. Her eyes threatened to fill with tears again and she knew she had to end the call to stop the wave of emotions. But before she could, Giovanni spoke again.

“Where are you planning on going next?”

Natalia pushed down the heaviness rising in her chest and answered. “I don’t know yet. It depends on how well things finish here. But I’ll call you before I leave. I promise.”

“Ok mia cara. But just remember: Non tutte le ciambelle riescono col buco,” Giovanni said. He said goodbye to her, and she ended the call. 

The proverb Giovanni said ringed in Natalia’s head, and she couldn’t help but smile. The Italian saying sounded very random when translated: Not all doughnuts come with a hole. But it's the meaning behind the words that fill Natalia’s heart with hope. The saying is used when talking about life. Just like doughnuts, life is unexpected, but Natalia should accept what comes her way and make the most of it. She shouldn't sit around her hotel room and mope about the challenges life throws at her. And that’s not what she planned to do. 

Natalia opened the closet of her hotel room. The metal briefcases and leather bags she owned stared back at her. She punched in the code of the small safe in the closet. She remembered tossing the bag of diamonds inside the night before. Dumping the diamonds on the bed, Natalia counted. Eighty-four in total. With each one being worth around a hundred thousand dollars, she’ll easily be able to get a few million out of her share. Natalia smiled to herself at the prospect. 

Her phone rang again, and Natalia picked it up. Besides Giovanni, there were only three other people that could be calling her. The men that she worked for. Her sponsors. Her managers. Her smile faltered when the name of the head flashed across her phone screen. Natalia took a deep breath and answered the call. 

Damian:

Damian lay in the bed of his hotel room, staring up at the ceiling. His mind went over the night before. The palace. The diamonds. Her gun in his hands. Natalia. 

He closed his eyes and pictured her. The look on her face when he asked her why she started a life of stealing was engraved into his mind. There was a reason she got so defensive when he asked her, he knows it. But he had no idea why. The possibilities that went through his mind were endless. Was someone forcing her? Was she being paid? 

Damian didn’t know, but all he knew was that Natalia wasn’t a bad person. He’s tracked her movements long enough to know that she wasn’t evil. Sure, she was a thief, but Damian noticed how Natalia was always careful. She would go in and out of places like a ghost. Even though he knew she carried weapons, she never fatally used them on anyone, even if she was on the verge of getting caught. When she pointed her gun at him last night, Damian knew she wouldn’t pull the trigger on him while it was aimed at his chest, no matter how much she loathed him. 

But there was a reason why Natalia lived her life the way she did. Damian knew it. It must have something to do with her life, her past. Damian opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling again. Whenever he encountered Natalia, his brain would go back to thinking about her. It was a vicious cycle. He would clear his head and focus on getting the job done. He would tell himself he was just catching a thief. But then he would see her again and all the feelings he tried to forget came crashing back.

Damian grunted as he sat up in the bed of his hotel room. His ribs still ached from when Natalia drove her elbow into him. His nose still burned from the kick but the blood stopped. Something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye, on his bedside table. He leaned over and grabbed the lone AirPod. Looking at it in his hands, Damian couldn’t help but smile. The single AirPod was sort of like his saviour. 

Damian was at the airport in Barcelona, on a layover, a week ago. He was walking toward his gate to return to London when he saw her. He stopped in his tracks. All he saw was the side of her face, but he knew instantly that it was her. Natalia didn’t even notice him five yards away, she just kept walking with the flow of traffic, moving perpendicular to him. 

Damian could see she had her AirPods in. As he watched, Natalia approached a TSA officer, reaching a hand to her ear and taking out a headphone, holding the tiny AirPod between her two fingers. She spoke to the officer for a few moments then turned to continue walking. Just then a man pushed into Natalia and ran her foot over with his carry-on bag. Distracted from the man and the force of the push, Natalia didn’t notice as the lone AirPod slipped between her fingers and fell on the floor, getting kicked to the side by the people passing. But Damian did. As Natalia continued walking with the flow of traffic, Damian walked over to the spot where the AirPod rolled and knelt to pick it up. He placed the headphone in his bag and continued in the direction Natalia went. It wasn’t until he saw her sitting at the gate for the plane that would take her to Vienna, that he knew he couldn’t return to London just yet. 

He had used the AirPod to track the other one as well as the case. With the connections and resources that Damian has, it wasn’t that hard for him to track the headphones partner. But it was clear to him. Where the headphones were, Natalia would be. When he narrowed where in the city Natalia was staying, it was easier for him to follow her. It didn’t take long for Damian to figure out what she was up to, he noticed from the start that she kept visiting the Schonbrunn Palace and taking tours of the interior. The past week he pieced together her reason for coming to Vienna, determined to find her and catch her once and for all. 

But based on the events from the night before, things clearly did not go as planned. 

Damian put the AirPod back on his bedside table. He didn’t even know if Natalia knew that it was missing. He climbed out of bed, and opened the glass doors, stepping out on his balcony. He leaned against the railing and sighed as he stared out at the sea of buildings, the air chill against his skin from the crisp February air, his thin black t-shirt doing little to keep out the cold. 

A cluster of Austrians and tourists moved below him. A black Range Rover maneuvered its way through the street, coming to a stop right at the front doors of the hotel below Damian. Curious, he watched as the driver exited the car and stood next to it, as if waiting for someone. Just then, the doorman of the hotel opened the front doors for a woman. She walked towards where the driver was waiting and started speaking with him. Damian couldn’t help but watch them from four floors above. There was something familiar about the woman, in the way she walked, the way she stood next to the car right now. Damian could see she was wearing all black; the skirt, the top, the short leather jacket, and the black boots. As the woman talked with the driver, Damian could see her adjusting the bag hanging on her shoulder. The bag was made of black leather. 

Damian froze on the balcony and it had nothing to do with the cold. Even though he was mainly seeing the top of her head, he knew it was her. He would recognize that leather bag anywhere. He knew he was staying at a hotel that was close to her, but what were the chances that they were staying at the same one? He honestly assumed that she would’ve left by now. Based on past experiences, Damian knew she would leave the country the second she knew he was close by. 

Damian ran back into his hotel room and flung the doors of his closet open. He didn’t have enough time to get dressed and make his way outside before she left in the car. Damian grabbed one of his metal briefcases and opened it on the bed. He picked up one of the little black disks inside. It was a tracker, about one inch in diameter, that could stick on nearly anything once it was activated. Damian ran back onto the balcony just in time to see the driver open the door to the driver's seat. He dropped the tracker from the balcony and watched as it landed on the roof of the black Range Rover, automatically sticking to the metal.

Damian went back inside his hotel room and put the briefcase away. He changed into black trousers and a white dress shirt, pulling a dark gray wool sweater over his head and slipping on his black leather jacket and black boots. Damian opened another silver briefcase and took out the gun he took from Natalia the night before. He put the weapon in his jacket’s inside pocket, picked up his black biker helmet from the desk, and left his hotel room. 

Outside, the black Range Rover was nowhere in sight. But that didn’t worry Damian. He walked a few yards and stopped at a black motorcycle that stood on the street. He climbed on, adjusted his helmet on his head, and took his phone out of his pocket. He opened the tracking app and watched as the black dot moved deeper into downtown Vienna. Damian started up the bike and began driving in the same direction the black car went. 

After fifteen minutes of following the black dot on his phone, Damian spotted the Range Rover ahead of him, moving backwards to park on the side of the street. Damian parked his motorbike on the opposite side, watching as Natalia stepped out of the backdoor. She thanked the driver who opened the door for her, and then began walking down the street. Damian followed her, not taking his eyes off her figure as he moved through the sea of pedestrians.

Natalia turned a corner and walked the length of the long street, passing St. Stephan’s Cathedral. Damian continued tailing her, the gothic architectural building towering behind them. Finally, Natalia stopped in front of a row of buildings, each one home to a designer store. Damian stopped a few yards behind her, watching as she entered one of the stores. He didn’t follow her inside since she would most likely notice him. 

Instead, Damian walked a few shops down, stopping at Cafe Demel. A waiter approached him as he sat at one of the outdoor tables. He ordered a coffee and waited, his eyes scanning the front of the designer stores. 

After about an hour, Damian spotted her walking out of the store, holding a long bag. As Damian followed her back the way they came, where the Range Rover was waiting, he studied the long bag in her arms. 

What could she have bought? What could have fit in the long bag?

The answer came to him as Natalia approached the black car and he crossed the street to where his motorcycle stood. There was only one thing that could be in the bag. A dress. And Damian could bet good money that it was a fancy dress. A formal one. What other type of dress could she get from a designer store? 

But why would Natalia get a designer dress? Damian pondered the question as he put his helmet on and started up the bike. There was only one explanation. She was going to a party. And there was only one formal party this time of year in Vienna that would require a dress of that status. It became clear to him, in that moment, that Damian would have to go to the Vienna Opera Ball.

Thank you so much for reading! I really appreciate it 🫶🏻

tag list: @inkstainsonmysheets @ria-lina @caramelmiacchiato @violetvines @7975348473 @y2kinnow

© 2025 angelnextdooor. All rights reserved.

[endofthelinexx]

Driven to You | 1

Pairing: Female!Student!Reader x Lewis Hamilton

TW: Language, fake friend

Rating: Mature, 18+

AN: soooo im back pt 5. I got hit with some inspiration and I'm so excited to start writing again. I'm hyped af for this series, its going to be soooo good and lewis omg he's looking so fine in that brand new red I just had to write about him! comment to be added to the taglist!

Word count: 1.7k

Mini Summary: Lena Carter is just a sorority girl from Texas with big dreams of designing cars, not getting caught up in the spotlight. But when a Ferrari guest lecturer turns out to be none other than Formula 1 legend Lewis Hamilton, her world is thrown into chaos. Between stolen glances, secret encounters, and the growing tension that neither of them can ignore, Lena finds herself racing toward a life she never imagined—one where the stakes are higher than ever.

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of it, and claiming it as your own.  

| chapter 1 |

Lena's POV

Lena Carter, a senior in college, was an interior design major with a love for Formula 1. She wasn’t shy about the fact that her Sundays were spent glued to the television, watching races and wishing she had a passion for engineering, but unfortunately, she hates physics with a passion. Her roommates, Jade and Amelia, didn’t quite share the same enthusiasm, but they loved teasing her about her obsession.

“Lena, are you seriously watching another race highlight?” Amelia groaned, leaning against the kitchen counter as she stirred her coffee.

“It’s not just a highlight,” Lena replied, rolling her eyes. “It’s an analysis video. There’s a difference.”

“Okay, well, whatever it is, can you pause it and help me make our breakfast so we can make it to studio on time?” Jade begged, hands together sarcastically. Lena nodded and jumped up, walking into the kitchen to help.

The three girls worked in harmony, laughing and joking as they prepped breakfast. Their apartment, a cozy off-campus rental, was filled with the smell of fresh coffee and sizzling eggs. 

“So, what’s the plan for today? Do you think Ethan will actually show up to class this time?” Lena teased, glancing at Jade as she popped a strawberry into her mouth.

Ethan was Jade's boyfriend, he was an architecture major, so he was in the same building as them, just on the arrogant side. He was of course in a frat, Jade has yet to learn her lesson about dating frat boys, which annoyed Lena since she was always hugging Jade while she cried about them. They’d been dating a few months and honestly, Lena got bad vibes, she didn’t know what it was, but she was sure all the pieces would fall into place sooner rather than later.

Jade groaned, flipping the eggs in the pan with more force than necessary. “I told him last night that if he doesn’t get his act together, I’m done. But you know Ethan—he’s all talk and no action.”

Amelia smirked over the rim of her coffee mug. “Are we still pretending he’s going to change? Because, honestly, I don’t think he even knows where his studio is.”

Lena laughed, tossing a few blueberries at Amelia, who squealed and dodged them. “You two are the worst,” Jade muttered, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

As the girls sat down to eat, the conversation shifted to what their studio project might be. She was hoping it had something to do with car interiors since that is what they’ve been doing their work on recently, but they wouldn’t know for another week or two.

They went to studio, it was nothing of interest, just desk critiques and feedback. Lena and Jade sat next to each other, of course; they talked as they did their work. Unfortunately for Amelia, she sat a row down from them, but she had another friend, Natalia. Natalia was, honestly, a bitch—which was why Jade and Lena sat away from them.

Lena was doing some research on car interior materials when she felt her phone buzz on her desk. She absentmindedly glanced at the screen, expecting another generic school notification or maybe a tiktok from Jade. But what she saw instead made her heart skip a beat.

“Guest Lecture Series: Lewis Hamilton - Formula 1 Champion and Advocate for Innovation in Design.”

Her fingers trembled slightly as she tapped the notification to read the full details. The lecture was scheduled for next Tuesday at the auditorium on campus. It didn’t feel real. Lewis Hamilton? Here? On her campus?

“Lena?” Jade nudged her, frowning when she noticed the look on her friend’s face. “You good?”

“Uh...” Lena’s voice wavered as she struggled to find the words. She turned her phone to Jade, showing her the announcement.

Jade’s eyes widened, “Lewis Hamilton? Isn’t he that hot dude that does your racing shit? What does he know about design?”

“I don’t really care what he knows about design, I’m going to that damn lecture,” Lena grinned as she spoke, already getting excited.

Jade couldn’t help but laugh a little, “Okay okay, no one is stopping you girl. What if he notices you and falls immediately in love?”

“This isn’t a Wattpad one direction fanfiction Jade, this is real life, that won't happen, but I will get to see him, maybe even meet him!” She rolled her eyes at Jade. “I have to ask him a question too!”

As the studio session dragged on, Lena found it impossible to focus. Her mind kept drifting back to the announcement, to Lewis Hamilton, to the idea of seeing him in person. Would she get to ask him a question? Would he actually take time to talk to her?

Lewis' POV

Lewis Hamilton leaned back in his chair, his phone resting face-up on the marble kitchen counter of his Monaco apartment. The gentle hum of an espresso machine filled the space as his assistant, Rebecca, stood by the window, flipping through his packed schedule for the upcoming week.

“So, Tuesday,” Rebecca began, glancing at her tablet. “You’ve got that guest lecture at that university in America. Design innovation, sustainability, and motorsport—your usual talking points. Should be straightforward.”

Lewis nodded, taking a sip of his freshly made coffee. “Yeah, straightforward for you maybe. I’ve got to convince a room full of students that what we do in F1 has relevance outside the paddock.”

Rebecca rolled her eyes. “Lewis, they invited you. Most of those kids are probably just showing up to fangirl over you, not sustainability trends.”

He laughed, setting his mug down. “I don’t know about that. I mean, I hope at least a few of them are serious about design.” He leaned forward, glancing at her tablet. “What time’s the lecture again?”

“Afternoon. You’ve got a private jet booked the night before to get you there in time. And don’t forget the meet-and-greet after. The university’s design department specifically requested it. They’re big on networking.”

Lewis ran a hand through his messy curls, leaning back again. “It’ll be fine. It’s important to me, you know?”

Rebecca smiled. “I know, Lewis. It’s why you’re perfect for this.”

As she continued running through his itinerary, his thoughts drifted. The last few weeks had been relentless: races, training, meetings, sponsor obligations. He barely had time to breathe, let alone think about how much he enjoyed moments like these—engaging with people outside the motorsport bubble.

Still, he couldn’t shake the nagging doubt that always crept in before events like this. Would the students care about sustainability? Would they see beyond the celebrity and focus on the message? He wanted to inspire them, sure, but he also wanted to connect with them, to plant the seed that their work could have real impact.

“…and that’s it for next week,” Rebecca finished, snapping him out of his thoughts. She shot him a pointed look. “Try not to overthink it, yeah? They’ll love you.”

“Overthinking? Me?” Lewis smirked, lifting his mug again. “Never.”

Rebecca rolled her eyes and walked out, leaving Lewis alone with his thoughts. He picked up his phone and opened the university’s email again, scrolling through the details of the event. A lecture in a quiet town in the south—it wasn’t exactly glamorous compared to the glitz of Monaco, but maybe that was the point.

Lena’s POV

Lena stood in front of her mirror, adjusting the hem of her blouse. The lecture was in a few hours, and she was running through her outfit choices in her head. She wanted to look professional—after all, this wasn’t some random event, but a lecture by Lewis Hamilton himself. But she also wanted to look... well, hot. She knew how to balance both.

She settled on a blue button up top, unbuttoning the top few buttons to show a little bit of the black lace bra she wore with it. The top gave her the professional edge she wanted, but the bra underneath was something she knew could catch his attention if he chose to look her way at all. The dark jeans she paired it with had just the right fit, and a pair of low, sleek heels added a bit of height. She glanced at herself one last time, pulling her hair into a low bun with a few strands left to frame her face. She took a deep breath, sprayed her YSL perfume and headed out of the house.

 When she arrived at the auditorium, she moved as quick as she could to get to one of the front rows, smiling and knowing maybe she’d have a chance of making eye contact with him. She took out her notebook to take notes with and glanced around the room, noticing it being filled with mostly girls, some of which not being dressed professionally at all, it looked more like they were going to the bars after. She shook her head, not very surprised. All of a sudden the light dimmed and out walked Lewis Hamilton, her eyes went wide. She didn’t fully realize how close she was to the stage until he walked out and was standing probably within 20 feet of her. Everyone clapped as he waved and made his way to sit down on a couch set up on the stage. It went quiet as he began to speak.

His outfit was simple, all black, dressed professionally, his hair braided like usual, and he had a smile on his face as he spoke. She took notes of course, listened to what he had to say, but every now and then she couldn’t help but stare. As the lecture wrapped up, Lena couldn’t wait to ask a question. She had thought about it all day, rehearsing in her mind how to sound confident without being too forward. She had to make this moment count. When the Q&A session opened, she raised her hand without hesitation.

His attention turned to her hand first, pointing at it, “yes, what’s your question?”

Her eyes widened as they met his, but she had to keep her cool, everyone was looking at her. She took a deep breath and opened her mouth to ask the question.

Taglist:

@lh44girl

next chapter >>

[drchucktingle]

queer horror memory lane

i know this screenshot above is just way of some algorithm but seeing these books together i am so honored youve allowed me to open my heart and trot out my art in this unique way. having two well received queer horror books (and third on way) is amazing given where i started my trot. thank you

easy to talk on 'death of unique art' these days but if you look at my story it is powerful example that buckaroos have a taste for challenging or untraditional figures in art. this is NOT to my credit, this is to YOUR credit. YOU have supported queer autistic art. i am so moved

i am already a pretty optimistic bud but still BLOWN AWAY by way my trot has been embraced over time. i recognize my perspective is 'strange' to many but to see the way this unique way was once treated with irony and now sincerity has bloomed in its place. it brings tears of joy

as i trot down my QUEER HORROR memory lane i am going to repost TRAILER for each book just because i have been basking in these memories and recalling the slow embrace of this timeline around me. thank you for allowing me this space i am so humbled and honored. LOVE IS REAL

STRAIGHT

When a strange tear in the cosmos appears within Earth’s annual path, the consequences are disastrous. For one night a year, the vast majority of humans now undergo a frightening mental change, transforming into hateful, rage-fueled zombies who will stop at nothing to satiate their desire for brutality.

While not much is understood about this horrific mass hysteria, the demographic it effects is very specific: cisgender straight people. 

A few years after the first of these tragic events, four friends from across the queer spectrum look for safety in solitude, hunkering down in a remote desert cabin for what is now known as Saturation Day. With a vaccine available for straight people to curb their violent episodes, some predict the worst is over. Others aren’t so sure.

As night falls, it becomes clear that survival isn’t guaranteed this Saturation Day.

GET STRAIGHT HERE

CAMP DAMASCUS

From beloved internet icon Chuck Tingle, Camp Damascus is a searing and earnest horror debut about the demons the queer community faces in America, the price of keeping secrets, and finding the courage to burn it all down. Welcome to Neverton, Montana: home to a God-fearing community with a heart of gold. Nestled high up in the mountains is Camp Damascus, the self-proclaimed “most effective” gay conversion camp in the country. Here, a life free from sin awaits. But the secret behind that success is anything but holy. And they’ll scare you straight to hell.

GET CAMP DAMASCUS HERE

BURY YOUR GAYS

Misha knows that chasing success in Hollywood can be hell.

But finally, after years of trying to make it, his big moment is here: an Oscar nomination. And the executives at the studio for his long-running streaming series know just the thing to kick his career to the next level: kill off the gay characters, "for the algorithm," in the upcoming season finale.

Misha refuses, but he soon realizes that he’s just put a target on his back. And what’s worse, monsters from his horror movie days are stalking him and his friends through the hills above Los Angeles.

Haunted by his past, Misha must risk his entire future―before the horrors from the silver screen find a way to bury him for good.

PREORDER BURY YOUR GAYS HERE

i am blessed by your support, your love, and your kindness. cannot believe how lucky i am to trot with you in all in this way and i cant WAIT to see what the future of this timeline holds for us. thank you for proving love with me from the past to the future

[confietti]

poolboy!suguru x trophywife!reader

POOLBOY!SUGURU who your husband hired since your old guy retired.

POOLBOY!SUGURU who pretended he didn't feel your eyes on him as he maintained your pool.

POOLBOY!SUGURU who felt bad witnessing the arguments with your sad excuse of a husband because he refused to have sex with you.

POOLBOY!SUGURU who overheard you ranting to your friends one day about how your husband hasn't fucked you in months. and that all he cared about was his 'stupid job'.

POOLBOY!SUGURU who felt sorry for you as he masturbated to your failed orgasms every night, deciding to do something about it.

POOLBOY!SUGURU who was surprised when you accepted his offer for him to fuck you... no strings attached.

POOLBOY!SUGURU who fucked you everywhere. (and when i mean everywhere i mean everywhere.) the pool house, pool, living room, dining room, kitchen counter.. (he meant business.)

POOLBOY!SUGURU who you eventually got attached to, and your relationship spiraled into a chain of events. majority of which were you lying to your husband for an excuse to go to his house and have sex.

Bonus: For the past few weeks, your husband noticed a change in your behavior, he realized you weren't pestering him to have sex any more and you were much happier these days. You told him you started a 'book club' with the other wives in the neighborhood and had meetings twice a week. "Book club again, love?" he asked, a soft smile tugging at his lips. "Mhm! i should be back in a few hours. Love you, bye!" you were out the door before he could say another word.

You smiled as you looked at the text that lit up your phone screen just as you sat in the car. Perfect timing.

sugu <3: yo, you on your way yet?

© confietti, 2024. do not copy, steal, or repost my content without permission.