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helen-with-an-a · 1 month

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Badger

Hi. So this is a little thought I've had in my head for a while based on the fact that none of the English commentators can pronounce Ona's name properly.

Ona Batlle x reader

Description: You're convinced Ona doesn't like your nickname for her

Word Count: 4.2k

It had been a gruelling game, the ball rolling end to end creating little respite for any player. Goals were flying in left and right from both sides. It was a draw in the final minute of overtime and both teams were desperate not to share points. A spectacular tackle from Ona had prevented Hemp from scoring, allowing the ball to be collected and fed all the way back up the pitch. It had ricocheted around the City box before falling to your feet. It was instinctual, not thought or planning behind it, yet as the ball sailed pasted Roebuck’s fingers – it was like it was destiny. It was by no means your first goal for United, nor your first goal of the game. But it felt like it. The crowd erupted, the music drowned out by the noise and the rush of blood in your head.

The Blues had no time to score an equaliser. You watched as the seconds ticked down – City trying to press again, although the fight had clearly been lost in them. Finally, finally, the Ref blew the whistle. Old Trafford erupted. It had been an exciting game for the fans – lots of goals, tough tackles, harsh words, decent referring. As a player it had been exhausting but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Ona was the first one to you, somehow making the distance in record time despite being further down the pitch.

“Mi hermosa superestrella!” She shouted as she threw herself onto your back. You stumbled slightly, your legs feeling like jelly as the adrenaline disappeared from your veins. “Mi maravillosa, hermosa, fantástica, increíble, magnífica, bella goleadora.” She littered each word with an array of kisses to your head, her arms wrapping around your neck as she made herself comfortable – clearly showing you she wasn’t getting down any time soon.

“Stop,” you whined, getting shy under her compliments.

“Nope, never.” She laughed again, squeezing her legs tighter around your waist in a hug. You discretely pinched the underneath of her thigh, close to the hem of her shorts. “Aye,” she squealed. “Can’t a girl compliment her amor de su vida after she had an incredible game?” She pressed a sneaky kiss to your jaw as you made your way towards the fans.

You knew the fans would be going crazy over your behaviour; you had never made your relationship a secret. Ona often featured in your monthly photo dumps, your Instagram stories showing carefully selected insights into your life. Her Instagram was the same, filled with private moments that neither of you minded sharing with fans. Videos of you after matches were all over the internet – hugs that lasted too long to be just friendly, kisses pressed into sweaty hairlines and shiny foreheads, your body being wrapped around her smaller frame as the final whistle went, neither of you leaving each other sides until you were sure they were fine after a tackle gone wrong.

You were walking you way around the stadium, laughing along to Mary and Tooney’s jokes as you fell into step with them. It was as you were passing Alex and Fara that you heard your name be called out. Instinctively, you turned – naturally bringing Ona with you as she was still securely wrapped around you. Alex was beckoning you over – a microphone outstretched and an expectant smile. You tilted your head back to look at Ona, expecting her to have loosened her legs by now. Yet her grip held firm, nodding in the direction of the TV cameras. You shrugged, readjusted her on your hips and came to join the women.

“And here we have Y/F/N Y/S/N and Ona Badger,” Alex said, laughing at the way you stood. Had she really just said that?

“Hi, sorry about this one,” you gestured with your head. “She always says her legs don’t work after matches.” You teased, the three of you laughing at Ona’s indignant squawk, yet she made no move to get down. Fara offered you a microphone, watching on as you looked around a little – struggling to figure out how you were going to do the interview with Ona on your back. Ona solved that solution easily enough, taking the mic and holding it where you need it. You squeezed her calf appreciatively.

“What a match, hey? How are you feeling?”

“Yeh, it’s insane. Derby’s are always hard, and we knew it was going be a fight today, but that was something else.” You chuckled, blowing a stray piece of hair from your face – thanking Ona absentmindedly as she delicately moved it away for you. “We all knew we had jobs to do out there and we just went ahead and did it. Not much more I can say really. I have absolute faith in these girls, and I think it showed today.” You hoped it was a reasonable response. You weren’t the biggest fan of the media side of football. Pre-recorded videos and challenges you could do no issue, but the live stuff - you hated it.

“And what about you, Ona? You were up and down that pitch today like a Yo-Yo.” Fara asked. You moved your head to the side, allowing Ona the space to talk.

“Sí. Again, I just did my job. It was this one that was putting them into the back of the net.” You blushed ferociously, thanking the lucky stars that you were already quite red from the match.

You continued the interview as quickly as possible – conscious that this was being streamed live to the BBC. You skin becoming redder with every passing compliment Ona threw you way. Of course, you gave them back just as often, but she wasn’t as embarrassed by stuff like that. Eventually, the interview came to a natural end.

“Thank you so much, girls, I’ll let you get back. Ladies and Gentlemen, Y/F/N Y/S/N and Ona Badger,” you heard Alex say as you turned away. You heard Ona groan in your ear as you carried on walking.

“Come on then, Señorita Badger.” You couldn’t contain your cackle as you helped her down to sit in your cubby.

“Detener,” she whined – her arms coming to cross over her chest. “They can never say it properly. It’s so annoying.” She moaned, burying her face in your clothed stomach as you moved to untie her braid.

“My love, they are atrocious at pronouncing non-English names, you know this.” You soothed her, allowing your fingers to card through her now-loose hair. “It doesn’t make it right, but it’s not personal.”

“It’s every game though. Every interview and time someone says my name its always ‘Battle’ or ‘Badger’. I can’t decide which is worse.” She complained, moving away from your body to look at you, pouting. You matched her pout; one had coming to cup her jaw and the other to lightly trace over the crease in between her eyebrow.

“I’m sorry, my lovely. I don’t know what to say,” you admitted. “But if it makes you feel any better, they’re always saying good things.” You tried a weak smile. “You’re our best defender.” You said honestly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. This time, she really did blush.

“Deja de mentir,” she sighed.

“I’m not lying. You are an incredibly, wonderfully, amazingly talented defender.” You laughed as her cheeks darkened yet again. “And all mine.” You finished off, placing a gentle kiss to her soft lips. “I love you.” You basked in the silence between you to a little longer before adding, “my little Badger.” Her eyes snapped open, scoffing as her mouth dropping open as you laughed loudly, scurrying away to the showers before she could retaliate.

You had been calling her Badger for so long now, that you had never considered what it might look like to others, or to her. After that day in the locker room, it had slowly become more and more integrated into your daily vocabulary. It started as a nickname you used to tease her, loving how riled up she became. But then you started using it in training, shouting it out when she did something particularly impressive. Eventually, it became like any other loving nickname. You were her mi amor, and she was your Badger.

It was something you hadn’t considered when you both made the move over to Spain. It was so normal at this point. Surely, she would have said something if she didn’t like the name? You used it all the time. You wanted her to pass you the salt and pepper? You felt sad and needed a hug? She was injured and needed comfort? You were pressed up against her in the Club dancing the night away? She had done something great in training? She was irritating the crap out of you? You were annoying her and being an all-round brat? She was always Badger.

It had never crossed you mind until Alexia brought it up after training one day.

You were walking out to the car, Ona tugging on your hand to hurry you up.

“Vamos, mi amor. Apresúrate,” she pulled you harder, taking your hand in both of hers.

“Badger, you go ahead.” You laughed as she pouted. “You’re the one going on a ‘La Masia day’. In case you’ve forgotten, I wasn’t raised here.” You teased, using your strength to pulled her back to your side. “I was told in no uncertain terms by Aita that this was a Catalan only event And that she loved me, but I needed to get lost for the afternoon. You need time with your people, and I am totally ok with that, Badger.” You smiled softly at her, melting as her arms wove around your waist.

“Ona, deixa d'estar tan enamorat i afanya't.” Aitana’s loud voice drifted from across the car park.

“A la merda, Aita. Que no tinguis núvia no vol dir que hagis de ser dolent.” Ona responded. You had no idea what she was saying but even with your limited Catalan, you recognised ‘núvia’ and guessed it was something to do with you.

“Go on, Badger. Go enjoy yourself, I’ll see you at home.” You cupped her cheek with your hand, giving her a gentle goodbye kiss. She squeezed you once more before running off after Aitana– shoving her as she climbed into the backseat.

“Do you want to come for a quick coffee with us?” A voice next to you made you jump.

“Fucking hell.” You turned to see Alexia, Mapi and Ingrid standing behind you. “Jesus, warn a girl next time.” You placed a hand over your heart and took calming breaths, glaring at Mapi as she chuckled at your reaction.

“We said your name like 10 times, chica.” Alexia smiled, taking your arm, and pulling you towards her car.

“Sorry, I was just … sorry.” You stared at the pavement, a bright blush rushing to your cheeks.

“Ella está enamorada” Mapi cheered, coming up to pinch your cheeks.

“You two are way worse,” you said, gesturing between Ingrid and Mapi. “Oh, mi vida, jugaste muy bien hoy.” You dramatically threw yourself at Ingrid, laughing with her at Mapi’s incensed expression.

“No sueno asi”

“Yes, you do.” You said at the same time as Ingrid. Mapi’s shocked face made you laugh even harder as Alexia unlocked the car.

“Maps, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you call her Ingrid. Even when you aren’t talking to her it’s always ‘mi vida’ or ‘mi princessa’ or ‘mi Tesoro’. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you call her Ingrid. It can be quite nauseating.” You goaded her as you took your seat in the passenger side. She gasped, jokingly offended.

“Al menos no llamo a mi novia por un animalito raro.” She clicked her teeth at you.

You eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Animal? You didn’t call Ona an animal, did you? Sometimes you joked she was a koala after the matches as she clambered her way into a customary piggyback – you often made teasing remarks that you didn’t need to see one during your time in Australia because you had one at home with you. But nothing repeatedly.

“Yeh, where did Badger come from?” Alexia asked. Ohhhhh. It clicked for you - sometimes, you could be quite oblivious.

“It’s not after the animal. English commentators and interviewers can never say her name. You must’ve realised that.” The Spanish girls nodded solemnly – often being a victim themselves of mispronounced names. “Well, it started off as a joke really, Alex Scott called her Ona Badger once and it kinda went from there really.” You explained, your attention drifting to looking outside the window

“Ona’s a better woman than me.” Alexia shook her head slightly. You turned back around, looking at her side profile as she drove you towards the coffee shop.

“How-What do you mean?” You asked, confused as to what she was getting at.

“If Olga called me Patella instead of Putellas, I’d go crazy.” Alexia laughed.

“Oh. She doesn’t seem to mind it. I … don’t think?” Did she mind it? She had never said anything to you about it.

“I never said anything when Olga called me Lex for a while. But it really got on my nerves.” She added, making you feel even worse about the situation. Does she really feel like that? Do you irritate her? It must do. What you had thought was just a joke and then an eventual nickname was based on the fact that someone couldn’t pronounce her name right. That would annoy anyone, right?

The rest of the afternoon passed in a daze, the coffee trip and drive back to the training ground carpark was all a blur. Your drive home and daily routine done on autopilot as your actions and behaviours played on repeat in your head. Did Ona hate being called Badger? She must do, right? Not many people in England had struggled to pronounce your name, and you had yet to encounter someone in Spain that couldn’t do it. Your thoughts rattled in your head – leading you to the conclusion that yes, Ona must not like being called Badger. You vowed to stop making her uncomfortable.

“Hola, mi amor.” Ona called as she walked through the door. You could hear the tiredness in her voice.

“Hey, Badg-baby.” You cleared your throat, hoping to cover up your mistake. “Hey, baby.” You kicked yourself mentally for your slip up. With all your internal worry, you missed Ona’s eyebrows scrunching in confusion. You seemed ok in yourself, a little distracted maybe, but nothing noticeable. You were standing at the open fridge, trying to figure out what to make for dinner – so it must be that, Ona decided. You must be distracted by what to make. She came up behind you, wrapping her arms around you and kissing your shoulder. You melted against her, like you always did. This helped calm Ona’s worries a little, beyond not calling her Badger, you were acting normal.

“What do you fancy for tea?” You asked, looking back at her.

“No m'importa, el que sigui més fàcil per a tu,” she said in Catalan. Her voice muffled by the fabric of your jumper.

“What was that, Bad-babe?” You asked her gently, recognising how tired she must be. You twisted around in her grip, closing the fridge door behind you. She looked up at you, a look of displeasure on her face. You chalked it up to her being tired from her afternoon out with the girls; she was actually annoyed that you had, once again, not called her badger.

“El que sigui més fàcil.” She repeated, still speaking in Catalan.

“The only word I recognised was fàcil, so I’m going to assume that mean quick and easy?” She smiled, as you let a finger trace over her freckles on her cheeks, something you always did when she was tired.

“Podríem fer la comanda?” She was still speaking in Catalan. Her tiredness often led to you trying to decipher Catalan – a language you were still trying to get to grips with. But you understood where she was coming from. If you were tired and then forced to speak your third language in your own home, it would not go very well. You really wracked your brains, trying to work out what she was saying.

“I’m sorry, B-honey. What was that?” You asked her, scanning your eyes cross her face.

“Order.” She said grumpily. You sighed, misunderstanding her mood again.

“Ok, my love,” mentally cheering as you didn’t slip up this time. “Let’s go to the sofa and we’ll order something.” You unwound her arms from your waist and pulled them over your shoulders, lifting her up as her legs wrapped securely around your hips. “My koala,” you teased, pressing a kiss to her cheek before she buried her head in your neck.

You hoped that Ona’s uncharacteristic mood was purely down to her tiredness. But after a full night’s sleep where she had refused to leave your arms – something that usually made her sleep like a baby – she still had an attitude with you. She had been fine when you woke up, a soft, sleep-filled smile gracing her beautiful face.

“Bon dia, mi amor.” She had croaked out, a gentle hum coming from her as you scratched at her head.

“Good morning, bad-baby.” Fuck, you had done it again. She pulled back from her beloved location (her face pressed against your neck, you giving her gentle scratches to gradually wake her up). With sleep still in her eyes, her hair a mess and that adorable pout, you couldn’t help but smile – you had, yet again, misattributed her pout for tiredness rather than the anger, and slight hurt, that she felt when you failed to call her Badger. She tried to think back to yesterday. You had very willingly let her go out with the girls yesterday after training, so that couldn’t have been it. Training had gone really well – you always had worked brilliantly as a pair. You had mentioned that you went out to coffee with Alexia, Ingrid and Mapi, maybe something had happened then? But you would have said something though, right? You were the one that was more open and in-touch with your feelings. You always communicated well with everyone around you, especially Ona. Yet, you were refusing to call her Badger. That name had originally been a joke, but eventually it had come to mean so much to her – it was something so unique to your relationship. Other couples could call each other baby, or love, or honey, or babe, or any of the Spanish equivalents. But only she got to be your Badger.

You were still behaving normally which is what threw her off the most. You made her the perfect cup of coffee – like every morning – giving it to her with a kiss to the top of her head as she sat at the table, trying to wake herself up. You held your hand out to her as you walked into the training centre, allowing her warm hand to intertwine with yours. You insisted she tie your hair back, humming quietly as she raked her delicate fingers across your scalp. You made her a plate of all her favourite foods at lunch. You let her rest her body into yours as you sat down, your arm coming around her shoulder as you talked to Lucy and Keira. You drove home with you hand on her thigh and the music blasting loudly. Yet you still hadn’t called her Badger. It was adding considerably to her strange mood – she wasn’t quite angry, but she wasn’t her usual bubbly self … grumpy … that was the only way to describe Ona today. Even Alexia and Patri had picked up on it, asking you if Ona was alright. You tried your best to assure them, telling them that she just hadn’t slept very well (a total lie – it was you that had lied awake staring at the ceiling as Ona’s breath puffed steadily onto your collarbone).

She led you into your house, scowling at you as you tried to make your way into the kitchen.

“Sentarse,” she growled at you, pointing at the sofa. You did as you were told – still very confused as to her behaviour today.

You looked at her, deeply puzzled, as she climbed onto your lap, her legs straddling your thighs. Her behaviour was not what you expected of someone that was angry with you. You pulled out every stop you could think of to help her relax; one hand on her waist, dipping under her shirt to rub at the smooth skin; the other came to cup her jaw, you thumb running repetitive strokes across her cheekbones. It worked, for the most part. She leaned into your hand, her breathing was less harsh, the crinkle in her brow disappeared.

“Oni, my darling girl, mi corazón, mi hermosa, el amor de mi vida. What is up with you today?”

“What is up with me? What is up with you?” She almost shouted, incredulous at the accusation that she had done something wrong.

“You’ve had a scowl on your face the whole day.” You explained, a finger coming to flick at her protruding bottom lip as exhibit A.

“Because of you!” You threw her arms up in exacerbation.

“Me? What have I done?” You tried to think of what you could have done to annoy her. You had stopped calling her Badger, you had let her choose what to eat for tea last night – not even complaining when she chose the place with the not-as-nice-but-just-as-expensive-Sushi – you had done everything as normal today, going so far to drag her away for a steamy makeout session in the bathrooms before practice. Was that what she was upset over?

“No m'has trucat, Badger” she whispered so quietly you could barely hear her.

“Oni, I’m sorry, but I didn’t hear you.” You explained “What did you say?”

“You haven’t called me Badger all day. And last night. Did I do something? Have I annoyed you? You always call me Badger unless you’re angry at me. So ... What. Did. I. Do?” She exploded at you, a lone tear streaking down her cheeks. She rushed to wipe it away, but you got there first, kissing her cheek at the same time.

“No, mi vida. You did nothing wrong.” You looked down at her hands in her lap, fingers fiddling nervously together.

“Then what is it? Cos you haven’t called me Badger in over 24 hours now. Something is wrong.” She implored at you.

“I know you don’t like it, so I thought it would just be easier if you didn’t have to tell me and it be all awkward.” She waited a moment, hoping you would meet her eyes. When that was apparently not going to happen, she lifted your chin up with a finger.

“Who told you I don’t like being called Badger?” She asked sternly. Just like the rest of the day, you misunderstood her emotions – thinking she was angry at you for figuring out her secret.

“N-no one.” You croaked out, trying desperately not to cry.

“Mi amor, who told you I don’t like being called Badger?” She asked again, this time her voice a lot calmer.

“It was something that Alexia had said yesterday. She said that Olga called her Lex a few times and it really got on her nerves, but it took her a while for her to say something. And she also said that if someone called her Patella as a nickname, she’d go insane. And it just got me thinking that what if you don’t like being called Badger, ‘cos it’s a nickname based on someone saying your name wrong, but you didn’t want to say anything and I-” you were cut off by soft lips pressing against yours. You hummed throatily as Ona’s hands twisted into your hair, you grip on her waist tightening, pulling her closer to you.

“Don’t think ever again.” She said as you parted, her breath fanning across your face, drowning you in her scent. You must have looked confused, even with your eyes shut. “You said all of this was because you starting thinking. So, don’t ever think again.” You chuckled, pulling her back to you, your lips moulding together perfectly. “You are mi amor. And I am your Badger,” she mumbled between kisses.

“My Badger.” You agreed, shifting yourself underneath her.

“Recuérdame mañana que mate a Alexia por plantar esa estúpida idea en tu cabeza.” She grumbled as you pulled on top of you again.

“Whatever you say,” you started to suck a hicky into her neck. You pulled back slightly so you could see her face. “Badger.” Her kilowatt smile was all the confirmation you needed that Ona really did like being called Badger.

I hope you enjoyed it <3<3<3<3

#woso community #woso x reader #barca femeni x reader #woso #barca femeni #woso fanfics #fc barcelona #woso blurbs #woso imagine #woso oneshot #man utd women #manchester united women #man utd #ona batlle x reader #ona batlle #woso one shot #woso soccer #woso fic #woso fluff

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bart-h · 2 years

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Photo dump n59

#paris #photo dump #xviii century #18th century #marie antoinette #elisabeth louise vigee le brun #rvlc #hotel de soubise #vernissage #art #napoléon 1re #french empire

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wh0reforcoriolanussnow · 4 months

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A/n: u guys r gonna have to imagine alot w these pics 😭 but i wrote whos supposed to be who so it makes a bit more sense!!!!! THIS ONLY MAKES SENSE IF YOU READ THE FIRST BIT

y/n_y/l/n

Liked by 3,308,252 people

Prepare for the ‘Anastasia’ photo dump 😈

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tomblyth: yummy cake 🍰😋

↘️ y/n_y/l/n: i'm craving it so bad rn 🤤

user1: THE MOVIE WAS SO GOOD WTAF

user2: Y/n and Tom's on screen chemistry is insane...

user3: her smile in the second picture 🥹

user4: empress Marie was a slay

↘️ y/n_y/l/n: she honestly was

y/n_y/l/n

Liked by 2,920,163 people

this is what we gotta say to those who haven’t watched Anastasia yet 🖕🖕🖕 (we’re kidding)

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user1: how was filming in St. Petersburg??

↘️ y/n_y/l/n: had the best time of my life 🙈 St. Petersburg is so gorgeous.

user2: yesss feed us w more Anastasia bts please!!!

↘️ y/n_y/l/n: yes ma’am 🫡

↘️ user3: BAHAHHAHAAH

user4: everyone go watch Anastasia rn. It’s a masterpiece😟

user5: she’s so gorgeous it’s not fair

y/n_y/l/n

Liked by 3,027,496 people

pics of me eating the most 21st century food in my 20th century fits 😋‼️

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tomblyth: fun fact, I took ALL of these

↘️ y/n_y/l/n: 😂😂😂

user1: this is so funny to me LMAO

user2: the fits 🤌

↘️ user3: THEY WERE EVERYTHING!

user4: so this is what u guys do behind the scenes? eating?

↘️ tomblyth: yup.

↘️ y/n_y/l/n: pretty much!!

tomblyth

Liked by 4,305,262 people

‘Anastasia’ out now in the cinemas!!!! So incredibly grateful to have worked with such amazing and talented people, experiencing it with y/n made it even better 💗

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y/n_y/l/n: i’m tearing up…. It was so much fun, I’m going to miss everything about it 💔

↘️ tomblyth: gonna miss seeing u in ur costume 🥹 you looked absolutely gorgeous

↘️ y/n_y/l/n: awee I love u!!!!

↘️ user1: my parents r so adorable 😣

user2: third pic is everything!

user3: they did so good with the casting!

y/n_y/l/n

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St. Petersburg weather was smth else 🥶

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actorwhoplaysrasputin: it wasn’t even that cold y/n 🙄

↘️ y/n_y/l/n: says the person who wore 4 jackets in between takes 😟

↘️ actorwhoplaysrasputin: zip it.

↘️ user1: I love this duo 😂

actorwhoplaysphlegmenkoff: it was a pleasure to work with such young, talented actors like yourselves!!!

↘️ y/n_y/l/n: awee thank you actors name!! It was an honour to work with you!!

↘️ tomblyth: appreciate it man 🤝

user2: them casting actors name as Rasputin was the best decision ever. Can’t see anyone else for that role!

user3: this movie had such iconic actors and actresses 😭

↘️ user4: I just know this movie was expensive 😃

y/n_y/l/n

Liked by 4,307,287 people

Anastasia dump pt. 2974822? 😂

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user1: FIRST PIC HAHAHAHA

↘️ y/n_y/l/n: felt xtra cute so I had to 😛

↘️ user2: Tom not looking amused in the back 🤣

↘️ tomblyth: I’m used to it

actorwhoplaysvladimir: miss you guys!!!

↘️ tomblyth: you act as if we don’t live in the same street 🤣

↘️ y/n_y/l/n: literally walk the few steps and you’ll see us lol

user3: I can’t wait for more of your bts vids to come out on yt bc man they’re so entertaining!!

↘️ y/n_y/l/n: I’m posting a 30 min bts vlog tomorrow 😙

↘️ user4: YAYYY

↘️ user5: y/n has a yt channel and I haven’t heard about it?

↘️ user6: she’s had it since she was in high school 😭

tomblyth

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Can’t believe ‘Anastasia’ has been nominated for best film adaptation of books!!! Thank you everyone who voted :)

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y/n_y/l/n: THIS IS INSANEE AHHHH

↘️ tomblyth: 🥳🎉

themichaellockshin: 🤩🤩

actorwhoplaysnicholas: hell yeah!!

user1: they’re so cute omg 🥺

user2: actresswhoplaysdowagermarie is such a slay 😭

↘️ y/n_y/l/n: she literally is!

↘️ tomblyth: we love her!

↘️ user2: ahhh you both responded 😭

themichaelockshin

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Cheers again for the love and support for this movie!! To all the cast members I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, you are all such talented people and it was wonderful working with you all!

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y/n_y/l/n: thank you Michael ❤️ will never forget this experience :)

↘️ themichaelockshin: you and Tom were spectacular 🤩

tomblyth: what a journey we went through!

actorwhoplaysrasputin: miss you all!

actorwhoplaysolga: thank you Michael!! Filming with you all was a wonderful experience 🫶

user1: ice cream during the winter?

↘️ y/n_y/l/n: yup. What abt it 😛

user2: awe I love this cast sm

↘️ user3: literally the best cast

#tom blyth #fanfiction #tom blyth x actress!reader #tom blyth fluff #tom blyth angst #tom blyth imagine #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth x you #tom blyth x yn #coriolanus snow #the hunger games #coriolanus snow fanfiction #the hunger games the ballad of songbirds & snakes #social media #social media au #actress reader #actress au

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ilikequarters · 6 months

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lol she was so secretive, totally not toxic at all

#mari’s rambles :3 #photo dump while i wait for her responses

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goldenwilliamson · 6 months

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patience | leah williamson

pairing: leah williamson x reader

a/n: finally some smut on this blog, hoorah. some short fluffy smut bc leah looked way too good in that suit and i'm craving someone to strap me down rn, so here we go...

summary: SMUT 18+, reader is waiting at home while leah is at an award show, but she is watching on tv and sees how good leah looks and gets rather impatient. when leah gets home she makes it worth the wait. top!leah and strap ons.

word count: 1.8k

You watched the TV in awe when you saw your girlfriend step into view of the camera for the first time. She'd showed off her suit to you on its hanger months ago, but seeing her wearing it was a different experience entirely. She had paired it with a tie, which was new, and it was working for you.

As soon as you caught a glimpse of her, your impatience kicked in. You sent her a text immediately telling her how good she looks and how as much as you love the suit, you can't wait to take it off her as soon as she arrives home.

It was interesting for you, being Leah's girlfriend. Even though you were a well-known footballer in your own right, Leah was England captain, and was invited to many events all over the UK for her service to the Lionesses.

While you and Leah don't keep your relationship a secret, you're certainly very private when it comes to sharing your lives together. The two of you will walk a carpet together at events which you're both invited to, but you would prefer to let Leah do her own thing at events which she has been invited to on her own. Opting out of being the plus one means that you are often left to watch on from the sidelines, which you do with no complaints.

The fans are very attentive when it comes to analysing photo dumps on yours and Leah's instagrams, looking at each post closely for signs that you two were still together. You'd been together for years now, but people were always speculating about your relationship status, especially since Leah had become so well-known after the Euros.

Tonight was one of those nights where Leah was doing her own thing, invited to attend the award night for the BBC Sports Personality of the Year. You watched on the whole night and cheered for Mary when she won, knowing she was so deserving of an award like this. By the time the night was drawing to an end, you were starting to get tired, but Leah called you from the car on her way home which energised you.

'You're still awake for me?' She asked, her voice coming through deep and rough as she murmured through the phone.

'I am now,' you say, but Leah can hear the exhaustion in your voice.

'Mm,' Leah hums, 'I'll be home soon, but if you're tired you can go to sleep baby.'

'No,' you say immediately, pushing yourself to sit upright in your bed, 'I need to see you.'

Leah chuckles, making you smile, 'Good, because since you messaged earlier I haven't stopped thinking about what I'm going to do to you when I see you.'

'God,' you groan, already feeling the wetness pooling between your legs, 'How long will you be?'

'Only about 15 minutes, be patient for me love,' she says.

'Okay, I'll see you soon,' you say before exchanging quick love you's and hanging up.

It's an agonising 15 minutes to have to wait for your girlfriend to arrive home. You decide to make do with the time and slip your baby blue coloured lingerie set on that you know Leah loves, then you crawl back into the sheets and sit on your phone as you wait.

You can hear Leah's keys in the front door and her purposeful steps as she moves through the house, quickly towards your bedroom. You move so that you're laying on your side on top of the sheets, propped up on your elbow.

When Leah steps into the doorway, meeting your eyes with a smile, you shake your head. You can't believe how sexy she looks, how assertive and dominant this suit makes her appear. Even though you both have a dominant side, you can already sense that tonight you will do whatever Leah asks you to.

She has you stepping out of bed and reaching for her the second she enters the room.

'Sorry to keep you waiting,' Leah says quickly before you pull her close by the knot of her tie and press your lips against hers. She responds right away, holding you close by the back of your head and letting her other hand fall firmly on your waist, pushing you back towards the bed.

When the back of your legs hit the mattress you sit down, spreading your legs wide so Leah can stand between them. Your fingers find the buttons of her blazer, unbuttoning it. Leah shrugs it off her shoulders and lets the fabric fall to the floor.

You take in the sight before you, just Leah in some trousers, a white button up, and a tie.

'God, you look so good Lee,' you tell her, kissing her fabric covered stomach.

'Do you like the tie?' She asks, and you immediately take it with both hands, running it through your fingers.

'I love it. It's good for this,' you tug on it lightly, bringing Leah's face down towards you. She takes the opportunity to plant kisses down the side of your neck, and across your shoulder.

While Leah is still standing, you reach for her waistband, unbuttoning her trousers so they also fall to the floor, allowing her to step out of them. She's left in her top and tie as you wriggle back on the mattress, giving Leah room to join you on the bed.

However, instead of following you, Leah makes a move toward your wardrobe on the other side of the room.

'Where you going?' You ask, already knowing the answer.

'Gonna get something,' Leah says simply, and you know that she is going to get one of your toys out of the dresser.

'What are you thinking?' You ask curiously, but Leah doesn't respond. You just lay back on the mattress as you listen to her rifling through the drawer to find what she's looking for.

When you hear her moving around some more, you look up and see she is pulling on her strap. She has also removed the shirt and tie so she is just standing there wearing nothing but her bra and the strap. The air feels thick and your heart beats loudly in your ears. You can't think of much else at this stage besides how much you want to have Leah inside of you.

'Is this what you want darling?' She asks, sliding her hand up and down the length of the dildo as she steps closer to the bed.

You nod like an idiot, 'Yes.'

While a devilish smirk, she crawls up the mattress until she's hovering over you, leaning down to kiss you again. You hold onto her lower back, pulling her lower body close to you as you roll your hips upwards, begging for contact.

Leah leans close to your ear, biting down lightly on your earlobe before whispering, 'You want me to fuck you then?'

'God, please, yes,' you say, grabbing at the dildo and trying to steer it in the right direction.

'Take these off first,' Leah pulls back, releasing your grip and moving to slip your underwear down your legs.

When she moves closer again she dives her head down between your legs, kissing you around your entrance, and then finally pressing one kiss firmly against your clit, making you moan.

'Need you,' you groan.

'Mm,' Leah moans at the sound of your desperation, 'You've been such a good patient girl, waiting all night for me.'

As she says this, she runs the tip of the dick through your folds, listening to how wet you are.

'Too long,' you say, not wanting to wait a moment longer.

'I know, baby, but I'm here now,' she says, as she begins to press down into you.

As Leah rolls her hips deeper, your eyes squeeze shut while your mouth falls open, moaning in pleasure.

'Look at me,' she tells you, and you open your eyes to see her focused face.

You reach your hand up to where her eyebrows are firmly drawn together, and you run your thumb gently over the creases between her brow, giving her permission to relax into the moment.

'Serious face,' you say affectionately.

'Shhh,' she quiets your teasing with a kiss, moving her lips against yours rhythmically as she begins to slowly thrust into you.

Moans and words of affirmation roll off your tongue, and Leah relishes in the sound, wanting nothing more than to make you come.

She adopts the perfect pace and finds the right spot with ease, each thrust making you slip closer to your orgasm.

'You're such a good girl, taking it so well,' Leah praises you, turning you on even more.

'Feels so good,' you say, struggling to find any other words to say.

Leah continues her movements, not stopping for a second. Her eyes are trained on you, watching how you get lost in the feeling of pleasure taking over your entire body.

'Slow down,' you ask, knowing that some long, deep thrusts will get you to the edge.

Leah does as you ask, re-positioning herself so her forearm is digging into the mattress, propping her up. She uses her other arm to wrap around your thigh and open your legs wider, allowing her to sink deeper into you.

'Fuck!' You moan loudly.

'Are you going to come for me like this?' Leah asks.

'Yes,' you say, your head rolling back on the pillow as your hands grip tightly around Leah's torso, assisting her movement.

'My pretty girl, want to watch how you come on my cock,' Leah says, her words driving you closer to your high.

'Lee,' you moan, voice breathy, 'I'm so close.'

'Good girl, come for me now darling,' Leah says, and this time her words tip you over the edge.

Your back arches and the waves of pleasure roll over you as Leah continues to gently thrust into you, letting you ride out your full orgasm.

'Oh my god,' you sigh, opening your eyes to see Leah watching you with pure adoration. Slowly once your breathing has settled, she pulls out of you and sits back, taking the strap off her legs and discarding it to the floor.

'You're amazing,' you tell her, as she moves to lay herself down next to you, wrapping her arms around you and guiding your head to rest on her chest.

'I'm glad you think so,' she says, making you smile, pulling you slightly out of your dazed demeanour.

You exhale contentedly as Leah runs her hand up and down your arm thats slung over her body.

'So tired,' you say sleepily, your eyelids heavy.

'I bet you are,' she smiles proudly, 'You can go to sleep now baby.'

'Thanks for the good sex,' you say, your exhausted post-orgasm brain hardly even thinking through what you're saying, making Leah giggle.

She kisses your forehead and moves herself into a more comfortable position before she assures you, 'Anytime'.

#leah williamson #lionesses #leah williamson x reader #woso x reader #woso #arsenal women #lionesses x reader #awfc #woso community #leah williamson smut

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bebebelll · 8 months

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Pretty girls and flowers | lando norris smau

pairing: lando norris x student!reader warning: cursing, unrealistic if lando did this in real life the girl would absolutely get doxxed

yn_phd good morning by best pals! this month's episode will be out this tuesday. my lovely amazing talented so pretty best friend got two tickets to silverstone so if you're there come say hello👋! the podcast guest will be my old professor from freshman year so put down any questions you have about mary i of england! stay healthy and hydrated ❤️❤️

liked by bestie_n and 8 475

bestie_n omg dont praise me like that im blushing

username can you ask why henry 8 never made a marriage for mary?

username god i dont even like history that much but fuck are vlogs calming and sweet and pretty af

scuderiaferrari it's been a lovely weekend with charles_leclerc and carlossaiz55! P4 and P7 💪 Here is the first taste of the silverstone photo dump!

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and 193 847 others

username CHARLES IN P4 CHARLES IN P4 CHARLES IN P4 I REPEAT CHARLIE CHUCK IS IN P4

landonorris whos that?

carlossainz55 its me landonorris no the pretty one charles_leclerc me? landonorris ew no the PRETTY one charles_leclerc ew? i will drive you to the wall

username not charles threatening to send lando into the wall in the comments

username you just fucking know he'd do it too just ask max

username is lando trying to hook up with the girl in the photo?

yn_phd i put on a little bow so i could be the prettiest girl at the bookstore ❤️today i wrote a page, went on a reading binge about chariot racing in ancient rome, had a breakdown and ate pasta.

liked by bestie_n, carlossainz55 and 11 264 others

username is this the girl @ landonorris

username lando the pretty girl is here

username cmon lando shoot your shot

username i mean he'll miss but its gonna be funny username no one trusts the rizz of this man with a shit beard

bestie_n who is lando? where have you people come from?

carlossainz55 i think this is the girl we were with

carlossainz55 she got lost around the track so we took a photo and got a staff member to help her. she was prettier in real life. good luck mr no rizz you need it username NOT CARLOS COMING FOR LANDO

username LANDO NORRIS

username this is the girl? not really seeing it doesnt feel like landos type you know

landonorris haha okay people lets not do this haha its not that funny it is a bit embarrasing hah (my dms are open for pretty girls always)

alex_albon well youre talented in the car at least

landonorris my dad scolded me for getting drunk on twitter so i went to eat their fridge empty. love being home

liked by carlossainz55, yn_phd and 385 749 others

username is he trying to look extra cute and soft to seduce the pretty girl?

username you just googled boyfriend material and tried your best huh

georgerussel63 i though youd chosen to go with the shirtless gym photos?

alex_albon you sent like fifteen different gym pics to the groupchat and then dont choose even one? fuck our help then i guess landonorris shut up shut up shut up

username i can see the pretty girl in the likes though 👀

yn_phd me and the gang went to a lecture about lord byron's sex life on thursday. i had a pretty cute visitor this weekend and even our lord and king aragorn the cat liked him!!

liked by landonorris, bestie_n and 9 736 others

bestie_n it was a lecture about lord byron's reputation and fame and how it effected the romance genre?

yn_phd exactly!

username are we gonna get an episode about THE george gordon byron please say yes

yn_phd my best pal i will rant about the whole geneva squad

username did lando norris actually do it

username did landonorris attend the lecture too?

landonorris ive never been happier that i chose karting and skipped school

yn_phd i have discovered hidden depths in myself. i can cry about essay structures and then drive bumper cars an hour later

liked by landonorris, alex_albon and 11 379 others

landonorris it was just karting babe they were not bumper cars

yn_phd but i crashed so much? landonorris you were great!! i was so proud!! 🧡

username okay but how does this relationship even work? if she doesnt know anything about racing?

yn_phd i tell him everything about the tudor dynasty and he explains to me how the drs works

landonorris use date night to play uno and see whos more competitive (me, i won)

liked by yn_phd, alex_albon and 385 739 others

yn_phd the way i screamed after you gave me those cards

username lando really be gambling with a new relationship

alex_albon poor girl

georgerussell63 remember when we played uno and lando got a +4 card from all of us and he got a mental breakdown alex_albon yeahh we had to take 10min break cause he left for a drive around the block maxverstappen1 the neighbours made a noise complaint too

yn_phd i got him flowers and later we both crash landed on the bowling alley floor

liked by landonorris, bestie_n and 13 847 others

alex_albon oh so this why you called me crying your tits off

maxverstappen1 he called you too?

landonorris pretty girl🧡🧡

yn_phd pretty guy❤️❤️

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #formula 1 x reader #lando norris insta au #f1 social media au #lando norris imagine

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raina-at · 1 month

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Fall

Warning: If suicidal thoughts trigger you, please proceed with caution.

It’s not the fall that kills you, it’s the landing.

Five minutes. From the time he got out of the taxi until he saw Sherlock’s lifeless body lie on the pavement, five minutes passed. At most.

John has lived through these five minutes countless times. Endless times. If you strung up every time he sees these five minutes play before his closed eyes - in dreams, in memory, in penance - you could reach the next century. At least that’s what it feels like.

How did he do it?

Why?

How did I not see?

These questions haunt him, derail him, consume him.

He walks by Barts at every hour of the day, he studies the police report, he looks at the crime scene photos.

How could I be so stupid?

He was devastated when Sherlock jumped. He was traumatised and grieving and barely functional for so long. He pulled himself out of a deep dark black hole by the skin of his teeth and the ridiculous thought that he had to live on to preserve Sherlock’s legacy. That he needed the world to see how brilliant he was, how loveable. How human.

How deeply, bitingly ironic, then, that Sherlock’s return from the not quite as dead as you thought after all has derailed him completely. Sent him into a tailspin he sees no way out of.

He barely eats, he kips on the sofa in his office. He only notices Mary’s thrown him out because one day, all his earthly belongings are dumped in a heap in front of his office door.

He doesn’t care. More time to devote to the one thought he cares about. How? Why?

He replays these five minutes in front of his mental eyes so often. He takes pictures, he tries to find witnesses. He does all the things he should have done after Sherlock jumped, if he hadn’t been so stupid. So paralysed with grief.

It didn’t even occur to him. That it could be fake. Because Sherlock wouldn’t. He would never.

What a fucking idiot he was. Maybe that’s why Sherlock did it. To get rid of him. To be free of the bumbling fool blogger running after him like a puppy.

Alex, his boss, puts him on medical leave when she finds him at the surgery at three in the morning, pacing his office, muttering to himself.

He doesn’t tell her he has nowhere to go. He just shows up at Murray’s house, who lets him sleep on the sofa in the basement and doesn’t bother him otherwise.

It’s a grey December day when he stands on a roof, diagonally across the street from Barts. Mycroft told him about the snipers, and he imagines what it must have looked like, from way up here.

He imagines watching Sherlock jump from this angle. Imagines the crosshairs of the rifle mark the place where the bullet would have entered John’s skull. Spends a visceral moment feeling it, wanting it. Wanting this all to end.

It would be so ironic, he thinks. If he actually did it. If he jumped. Like Sherlock did(n’t). Maybe then he would know. Maybe then he would understand.

It’s easy to sneak up on the roof at Barts. Easier than it should be, after a suicide.

It’s freezing up here. The wind cuts through his clothes. He shivers with cold and fear and a ringing sort of despair. What do you do when the only person you truly loved fucked you over this badly? What do you do when you’re not even worth a good lie?

He should have seen it. A thing like this isn’t easy to do. There had to have been cables, or a body switch, or some sort of catching device. He should have seen it. He didn’t, because he’s stupid and worthless and Sherlock never loved him, never wanted him, never cared.

The windchill freezes the tears on his face. He steps up to the ledge.

“Please don’t.”

Sherlock’s voice is raw and tired and rough with cold.

John isn’t surprised. Not really. He knows he’s being watched all the time.

He hasn’t spoken to anyone in days. He has to clear his throat before he can answer. “Why not?”

“Because I’m not worth it,” Sherlock answers. He sounds as hollowed out as John feels. As tired. As desperate.

John turns around. Sherlock looks like shit. He’s pale and wan and so thin, and John can see the lines the last two years have cut into his face. His nose is red from the wind and there are tears in his eyes.

“How did you do it?” John asks. I should make you watch, he thinks. Like you made me watch. Maybe then you would understand.

“Does it matter?” Sherlock asks, weary and sad.

“Maybe, just for this once, I can decide what fucking matters,” John yells, his throat raw, the words like barbed wires, ripping him up from inside. “Maybe just this one time, I matter!”

“You always matter!” Sherlock answers, “Please believe me. You always, always matter.”

“Two years,” John whispers, unbelieving. “Two fucking years.”

“I know,” Sherlock answers, his voice as raw as John’s, holding John’s eyes. “I know.”

“What does that even fucking mean?” John yells. He’s shivering with cold and anger as he takes a step towards Sherlock.

“Two years,” Sherlock says quietly, reaching out to gently touch the tear tracks on John’s face with ice-cold fingertips, his voice shaking with unshed tears. “I’ve missed you so much.”

John tries to bite down on a sob, but he can’t hold on anymore, he’s been biting down on that bullet for over two years, and he can’t do it one more single fucking second.

Sherlock’s there, wrapping him up in warmth and safety and that Baker Street home smell as John sobs out two years of grief and anger and sorrow into Sherlock’s ridiculously expensive coat. John can feel Sherlock lose control as he cries into John’s shoulder, muttering “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” over and over again, but John doesn’t need to hear it anymore.

He can feel it.

He finally, finally understands.

“Let’s go home,” he whispers into Sherlock’s hair. He’s done with this place. “Let’s finally go home.”

------

I promise happy fluff tomorrow to make up for the pain.

Tags under the cut as usual.

@calaisreno @peanitbear @meetinginsamarra @totallysilvergirl @jolieblack @keirgreeneyes @helloliriels @catlock-holmes @jrow @salmonsown

#johnlock #bbc sherlock #my fic #ficlet #careful this gets dark #may prompts 2024 #fall

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binary-bfs · 6 months

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I always think about Nick’s January photo dump. like he was getting beat up playing george villiers full time, was making out with half the population in mary and george, had to wear the ugly wig for rwrb reshoots, while ALSO still working on the idea of you?? when will he get his emmy I’m so serious

#red white and royal blue #rwrb film #rwrb #rwrb movie #rwrb book #firstprince #prince henry rwrb #henry george edward james fox mountchristen windsor #henry fox mountchristen windsor #the idea of you #hayes campbell #mary & george #mary and george #george villiers #nicholas galitzine

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vinylfoxbooks · 1 day

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June 2 - Night | @jegulus-microfic | wc: 691 Warning: drinking, talks of alcohol, James is in a state of inebriation

It’s always joked about that when people get drunk, they call up their ex and it’s always a bad idea. James never assumed that it would be his problem -- he only has one ex and, as much as he loves Lily, his love for her has turned completely platonic and even if he did text her a random ‘I love you, please take me back’ text, Lily would be immediately concerned and ask him how many drinks he’s had. However, with Sirius and Remus having wandered off to, probably, shag in the bathroom and Pete left early because he has work in the morning -- on a Saturday, the poor bloke -- James is left alone, scrolling through Instagram with the hand not nursing his Sex on the Beach, which Sirius did in fact make fun of him for upon order because ‘only the single man would order something like that.’

And then there’s a post from Pandora. It’s a simple one, just a photo dump of her life for the past couple weeks, a couple pictures of her, Lily, and Mary, some with Barty and Evan, a picture of all of the girls together, and finally a picture of her and Regulus at some fancy event. Pandora is wearing a beautiful green sparkly dress that reaches the floor and hugs her body in the most flattering way possible and has her arm thrown around Regulus, who is-

James takes a deep breath.

And before he knows it, he’s stepping outside with a lit cigarette between his lips and his phone pressed to his ears, calling up Regulus in the middle of the fucking night on a random Friday in June.

To his surprise, Regulus answers. It’s with a tired, groggy voice that indicates he just woke up that he says into the phone, “James?” James doesn’t answer at first, he doesn’t know what he’s doing, he doesn’t know what he’s going to say, he doesn’t- “Hello? James, are you there?”

“Regulus.” Is the only word that manages to escape James’ lips, quiet and almost desperate, “Regulus.”

“Jamie?” Regulus asks, and James hears some rustling as though Regulus is sitting up in bed, “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

It takes James a minute to respond, not having much to say, “I’m not very… sober, I’m sorry.”

“There’s no reason to be sorry, Jamie.” Regulus says, his voice light and comforting, “Where are you right now, let me get you home.”

“At the…” James starts, “I went out drinking with Remus and Sirius.”

“Are you at the pub near their place?” James just hums in response. He’s not that drunk. He’s only had a couple drinks, why is he acting like this? He’s always been the type of person to grow quieter the more drinks he’s had, usually because he gets even more emotional when he’s drinking and those emotions overwhelm him, leaving him quiet. But not like this… “Alright James, I’m on my way, give me a couple minutes. Are you outside?”

“Mhm, ‘m smoking.”

“Good, just stay outside for me, it’ll be easier for me to find you.”

“Mkay.” James hums, “‘m tired.”

“I’m sure you are, it’s late.” Regulus hums, “I’m getting into my car now, do you mind hanging up so I can focus on driving?”

“Yeah.” With that, James pulls his phone away from his face and moves to press the hang up button, muttering, “I love you, Reg.” Then the call disconnects. James is just stubbing out his cigarette when Regulus comes driving around the corner and parking just in front of James, stepping out of his car. He helps James into the car silently before hopping in himself and starting to drive them to his flat.

James doesn’t remember much of the rest of the night other than Regulus helping him inside and James bursting into tears for no apparent reason, but the next morning he wakes up laying in Regulus’ bed with the younger watching him rouse and he definitely remembers Regulus’ first words upon them making eye contact, “I love you too, James.”

James grins, “Let me take you out on a date?”

“Of course.”

#marauders #james potter #regulus black #dead gay wizards #james x regulus #sirius black #remus lupin #lily evans #pandora lovegood #peter pettigrew #jegulus

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nikethestatue · 7 months

Text

A Match Baked In Heaven

Part 1 Here

Part 2

Tighten Up

Azriel completely underestimated the length of time it would take him to get from the gym to Russell Square.

He rode the Tube, his act of a ‘regular guy’ perfected over the years. Once in a while he caught confused glances of recognition, but because he knew how to act so disinterested, those who actually recognised him eventually averted their eyes, convinced that they were wrong and that he was not the Azriel Night.

After receiving a good deal of bollocking from Cassian last night, Azriel had signed the contract, and it was now sitting in his backpack. Cassian had made a fuss over Azriel’s ‘marriage proposal’ to the prissy Miss Duchess, calling him, among other things: unprofessional, dumb, a tosser, a wanker, and a caveman. Yeah, Azriel recognised that the ‘proposal’ was a stupid move on his part, but what was done was done. At least he spiced things up a bit for her. That was probably the one and only proposal she’d receive in her life anyway, considering her attitude.

In the end, he assured Cassian that he was going to be on his best behaviour and that he won’t tease her or argue with her. Cassian was doubtful, wanting to come along with Azriel to the meeting, but thankfully, he had other meetings scheduled and therefore, Azriel made the trip alone.

Because two could play that game, he hit up good ol’ Google last night, searching for info on Miss Priss.

Elain Marie Paige Archeron, daughter of Sir Charles Archeron and his late wife Cressida. Middle child, with sisters Nesta and Feyre. He didn’t think she was much over 22, but apparently, she was 27. Graduated from the University of Bristol. Marigold seemed to have been her great-grandmother’s name, hence the name of the agency. There wasn’t much about Elain out there. A few photos of her with some pale redhead with an aristocratic face, whom Azriel immediately disliked. The bloke had the kind of expression like he was smelling a pile of shite at all times, or as if Pinky…no, Piglet, took a dump on his shoe. Azriel knew the type–proud, haughty, old-money, inherited everything, probably played polo with Prince William, and cards with Old Etonians. Azriel wasn’t sure if Elain was dating this wanker, but he wouldn’t have been surprised if she did. Well, with her granddaddy the Duke and all…

He sighed and X-ed out of the search. It was too depressing. He didn’t even like Elain, and yet it annoyed him that that pale-faced prick could just expect a girl like her to be his. He didn’t even have to try. It was all set in stone for them from before they were born.

It was only 11:15 am and he was exiting the station. He was seriously early.

Well, maybe she was in the office already and he could just get it over with earlier than planned. That would be nice. Once they were done with today, he hoped that he wouldn’t need to see her ever again. Or at least not for a while.

Damn it was cold. It wasn’t pouring like it did yesterday, but it was damp and bone-chilling and grossly dreary.

Why couldn’t he have signed with Barcelona or Real Madrid or even Juventus or something? Spending a decade or two in the sun, by the sea, drinking Aperol Spritzers or Sangria. What’s bad about that life?

He sighed. A nice dream, but deep down he knew that he was forever a London boy. Born and raised, and he’d die here one day, in this damp and chill. He loved the fucking place. An East-sider through and through. Loved the grandeur and the poverty, the history and every freakin’ building in this city. He loved how it changed and grew and expanded, the old mixing with the new, all the extremes of its everyday life. The bustle, the hustle, the quiet, the refined. He loved the stately homes and the fugly estates which were little but cinder blocks. Loved the parks and the mighty river, the roar of football crowds and the anonymity of a pub. He loved it. And he wasn’t going anywhere.

And now, this weird girl Elain was here, and she was going to find him a wife, and she was going to bind him even further to this city.

As he passed by the side of the Firtzroy, he saw a blue plaque that stated:

Emmeline Pankhurst, a political activist and leader of the suffrage movement and her daughters Sylvia, Christbel and Adela lived here

And now, he felt a strange connection to this blue plaque, to this quaint neighbourhood, because Elain lived here, and she was organically tied to this place. She was able to trace her presence here for multiple generations. She was tied to London just like he was.

He went straight to Elain’s office and rang the bell. There was no response. He even peeked into the window, and saw that it was dark in there. Well that sucked because he had almost two hours to kill now. Great…

Shivering within his jacket, he stuck his hands as deeply in his pockets as he could and walked down the residential street. Yesterday, he noticed a few cafes and restaurants and shops around the British Museum and he decided to head that way. He wasn’t hungry yet, but he had time, so he’d have lunch.

Six minutes later, that plan went to shite, because he passed by a bakery and everything looked delicious. He had a pretty bad case of sweet tooth everyday, though he tried to keep himself in check during training and the playing season. But the golden meat pies in the display case whispered his name. He couldn’t resist. And it wasn’t like he was eating sugar. 10 minutes later, he was exiting the bakery with three pies in the bag. One, he devoured like an animal, before he even spotted a cafe to get a cup of tea. He didn’t like to share food, or wait to eat–his childhood programmed him to be stingy about it, and he couldn’t kick the habit even now, even with all his millions in the bank.

He walked further, trying to stave off the cold, when he suddenly saw a familiar creature–a three legged pug. Pinky…no, Piglet–was trotting proudly, wearing a puffer vest and a stylish polka dot scarf. Some girl was walking him, and people stopped to admire him, some even snapping photos on their phone. That made Azriel smile. The dog walker was a slender tallish girl who wore Adidas skater shoes, slightly flared faded jeans, a plain jacket and a beanie, while being wrapped in a thick, long scarf.

Somehow, Pinky recognised or sensed Azriel’s presence and took off towards him, his three short legs pumping comically. The girl barely held onto the lead, and ran behind the dog.

“What are you doing here?” she exclaimed, once Pinky…no, Piglet...began sniffing Azriel’s shoes and then craned its thick neck up, demanding loves and rubs with his sad buggy eyes.

To Azriel’s utter shock, the girl in the faded pair of jeans and a thick scarf was no other than Elain Archeron.

“What the fuck?” Azriel gasped.

She ignored the language and stared at him in confusion,

“What are you…why are you here?”

Why was he here?

The last thing he wanted her to think was that he was impatient to see her and came early.

Somewhat aggressively, he turned it on her ‘weren’t we meeting at 11? It’s half past now!”

“No, one. We were meeting at one,” she argued.

“I don’t think so,” he waved his hand.

“Well, you would be wrong,” she contradicted him.

Pinky finally lost his patience and tugged on Azriel’s pant with his teeth.

“Piglet!” Elain tried to pull him back, but Azriel squatted and finally scratched the back of the dog’s neck.

“I guess I got my times mixed up,” Azriel finally conceded.

“Where is Cassian?” Elain asked curiously, looking for his brother.

At that, Azriel bristled and snapped, “I thought I was the client? Why do you need Cassian here?”

Elain shrugged and answered placidly, “I am just surprised that he isn’t standing behind you with a cattle prod, trying to push you into the office.”

At that, Azriel couldn’t help himself, and chuckled.

“Nah…” he shrugged, and smiled, and then shivered from the damn cold. “I am all yours to have your way with me. Brought the contract and all.”

She blushed a bit at his words, as she looked up at him and whispered, “You are weird.”

“Yeah well…”

Suddenly, she pulled off her massive scarf and then slowly draped it over his neck, wrapping it carefully around him and tying it off.

It was warm from her body, smelled faintly of jasmine and maybe vanilla and was soft as butter on his skin.

“What’s this for?” he finally asked stupidly, after a long, awkward, confused pause. She was confounding him.

“I dunno,” she answered, seemingly just as surprised by her own action as he was. “You seem cold.”

“Thank you?” he said at last.

The pug was going wild at his feet, bucking and pulling on the lead, and Azriel finally said, “come on, Pinky. Let’s go.”

“It’s Piglet,” Elain corrected him.

“It’s a terrible name for a dog.”

“You’d think so,” Elain shrugged her shoulder.

“I just wouldn’t name a dog Piglet. Pinky is better.”

“Well, I am not renaming my dog.”

“Well, I am naming the children,” Azriel decided, taking the lead from her without asking.

Elain gave him a side glance, and thrust her hands in her pockets. What children?

“And what are you naming them?” she queried. As everything with him, it was a strange conversation.

“Darius,” he said immediately. “Definitely Darius.”

“Hmmm, I like Darius,” she agreed.

“Yeah?”

“I do. What else?”

“I like Dahlia, Isabelle and Rose for girls.”

Elain considered for a moment and then nodded,

“These are all good names.”

He was surprised and asked, “Really?”

“Yes, I actually like them all. Something I should mention to the prospective matches then?”

At that, Azriel frowned and nestled his chin deeper into the scarf. Then, abruptly as ever, he asked, “What happened to Pinky’s leg?”

“It’s Piglet. And I don’t really know,” Elain admitted. “I think he was run over by a cyclist. The leg was crushed and had to be amputated. And the family that had him didn’t want to keep him. Didn’t want to deal with a three legged dog, or with the care that he required. They were going to put him down, but a friend of mine who volunteered at the shelter rang me up and told me that if I wanted him, I could have him. So I went that night and picked him up. And here we are. He has more energy than I do,”

Azriel chuckled and nodded, “I can see that”.

They walked in silence for a while, the dog bouncing between them, his round head swinging from one to the other, looking at their reactions.

“Do you want a meat pie?”

That came out of nowhere, as usual. Azriel lifted a paper bag, his offer hanging in the air.

“Yeah. Okay,” Elain agreed.

Defensively, he added, “you know, I am not pressuring you. If you don’t want it, you don’t have to have it.”

He sounded almost angry, like he couldn’t believe that she’d eat with him. Or accept food from him.

“Why can’t I just want a meat pie?” Elain asked.

“Posh lasses like you don’t eat stuff like this,”

“You have the strangest notions, you know,” she shook her head. “As if you have any idea who I am or what I like. Give me the damn pie, I’ll buy us some tea and you’ll help me with a project,” she demanded impatiently.

“What fucking project?” he mumbled.

Elain didn’t bother answering, as she stepped inside a cafe, leaving him and Pinky outside. Azriel stood there, meeting people’s curious gazes, though Pinky, being so extra with his scarf and puffer coat, seemed a lot more interesting to most passersby. While waiting, he pondered what the hell kind of a project Elain had for him. He didn’t expect to meet her like that, on the street, but now he was sort of glad that he did. If nothing else, Elain was mesmerizingly beautiful so it wasn’t exactly a hardship to walk with her. And when she wasn’t decked out in pearls and silk, she seemed kind of normal. A little funny. Irreverent. And she liked all the baby names that he had planned–which was a mad thing, because he sure didn’t plan on sharing that with her. With anyone! What normal man talks baby names with some girl he’d just met. But he also didn’t want her to share those names with any matches that she was going to set him up with. No. No. These were his names. And Elain was the only person in the world that he told them to, so now it was their names. He felt weirdly protective over the names, over this thing that now untied him and her. Gah. She was messing with his head. It was frustrating.

“Don’t tell the baby names to anyone!” he snapped at her the moment she came out of the cafe holding two cups.

She gave him a look, judgy and disdainful, he was sure of it, but then simply said, ‘okay. I won’t.’

“I am not joking,” he warned, eyeing her suspiciously.

“I got it. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Alright then,” he sighed. He tugged on the lead and Pinky finally moved his butt off the pavement. “Thanks for the tea,” Azriel said.

“You really need to work on your manners,” Elain told him bluntly.

He had to agree. He did.

“Probably. Sorry I was short with you.”

They headed towards her house and when they stood in front of it, Azriel noticed another blue plaque. It stated: Elain Archeron, a pioneer in women’s education and one of the leaders of the suffragette movement lived in this house.

“How would the feminist granny Archeron feel about you working as a matchmaker?” Azriel wondered out loud, while Elain unlocked the door to the coach house.

Pinky rushed inside, like he owned the place–which, Azriel, supposed he did. Elain removed her jacket and then waited for Azriel to do the same. She took it from him and hung it in the closet, and it didn’t escape him how her eyes skimmed over him.

He wore jeans and a simple grey henley today, but now that he thought about it, he figured that it probably accentuated his physique pretty well. He was very tall, wide-shouldered, with a lean, muscular torso, obviously extraordinarily fit, his legs long and clad in lean sinewy muscle which he developed after years of running.

It’s not like he cared that she checked him out, but he wasn’t hating it either. Without thinking, he rolled up his sleeves, and the widening of Elain’s eyes and her pink tongue licking her lips was not something he could miss. There was no mistaking it this time. She was definitely checking him out.

He folded his arms on his chest–did he flex a bit? Maybe–and then asked,

“What’s this project that you need done?”

She stared at him, at his forearms, the tattoos that covered them, the scars that marred his hands.

“Uhh…what?”

She was cute like this. Frazzled like. Not all proper and snobby, but all twitchy and red. He wanted to laugh.

“The project?” he repeated, staring at her.

“Oh, yeah,” she seemed to have remembered what she wanted from him, but when she turned around, she walked straight into the wall. Bounced back off of it and yelped ‘ow!’

“You okay there, matchmaker?” he teased, though he caught himself worried that she’d hurt her nose, because she was rubbing it aggressively.

“I am okay,” she said at last. “Come with me.”

He followed her silently, down a long corridor. Her office and the reception area were on the other side of the corridor, and he was kind of surprised when they ended up in a cosy little kitchen–guess that explained where she got the tea and the biscuits yesterday–and a tidy lounge. Though the only one lounging presently was Pinky, who was sprawled on his back, short little legs in the air, stretched upon a comfy looking pouffe. There was also a sofa and an armchair, and a wall mounted TV in the lounge. Elain clicked the remote and on came videos of dogs running around. The pug growled with approval, fully immersed in the programme, while Elain went to take off all his clothes.

“He is a little fucking lord, isn’t he?” Azriel commented, watching her fuss over the dog.

“Mr. Night,” she told him primly, “you must cut down on the cursing! It’s rather unseemly,”

He scowled and reminded her,

“I am a fucking footballer, baby. How do you think we talk? Also, maybe you should cut down on Mr. Night, yeah? I think we are past that.”

She straightened and glared at him, her soft little face full of stormy fury.

“Mr. Night. I am not your ‘baby’. Never forget that. You are my client. As such, you will be known as Mr. Night and you will give me the respect of calling me Ms. Archeron. Are we clear?”

He bit the inside of his cheek, struggling to maintain his composure. But at last, he snapped, ‘crystal’.

“Wonderful,” “But Cassian is Cassian, right?” he couldn’t help but challenge her.

She huffed to herself, head shaking, her curls bouncing up and down her shoulders.

“Cassian is not my client.”

“And if I weren’t, you’d call me Azriel then?”

“No, I wouldn’t. I simply don’t see under what circumstances we’d be acquainted…and what we’d have in common to ever cross paths…”

That actually fucking hurt.

Her words. The implication that he wasn’t good enough to be spending time in her company outside of this business arrangement. He wasn’t up to par to be in her circles, to even have as a friend.

“Yeah, you wouldn’t,” he muttered icily. “Because I am just some trashy footballer. As you said yesterday, I was sold by one team to another. That’s what footballers are–a commodity to be bought and sold, until they reach their expiration date. Wouldn’t think someone like you had any use for me. Where would we meet other than here, right?”

Her mouth popped open, while he sighed heavily.

He was feeling…dejected. Burdened. Like she tossed him aside, much like most people in his life did, and he didn't matter. But she was right, of course, he was her client. Nothing else.

And he wasn’t going to give her his meat pie anymore. Forget it.

“I don’t know if this is going to work,” he decided. “I think that this is a mistake.”

Elain chewed on her lips, her big brown eyes watching him intently, like she was trying to read what’s on his mind and get inside his head.

“What I think is that you need to get out of your head,” she stated harshly.

He snorted, yet again amazed by the balls on his girl. She was certifiable.

“You have horrible self-esteem, which doesn’t bode well for anyone, especially for you and a future wife. You keep thinking that you are somehow defective. That you shouldn’t be here because…what? You don’t deserve happiness? Don’t deserve a good woman? Yeah, I gathered you had a shitty childhood, well, now you are a superstar. Put your big boy knickers on and act like it! You aren’t some little boy lost–you are Azriel Night, Arsenal’s Captain.

“And don’t you dare dump your issues on me!” she finished. “Don’t construct some scenarios in your head like I am so posh, and you are so not, and as if there is some fantastic chasm of misunderstanding and cultural differences between us.

And finally, if you don’t have any sense of self-worth, then maybe you should be taken advantage of by some slag who’ll take you for everything you’ve got. Is that what you want?”

“Fuck you,” he tossed angrily.

“No. Fuck you!” she tossed right back.

“I am leaving!”

He turned around, while Pinky forgot about his entertainment and relaxation time, and now growled threateningly, because he raised his voice at his mum.

Azriel stomped down the corridor, fuming.

What a bitch. If she were a bloke, he’d beat the crap out of her. Her big mouth, her fucking attitude, her acting like she knew anything about him. Yeah, well. Maybe she was correct about most of what she said, but it wasn’t her business. He wasn’t her business. She couldn't even bring herself to call him by his damn name. Maybe he wanted to hear it on her lips, but she wouldn’t even give him that simple satisfaction.

“You are not leaving,” he suddenly heard her behind him. Little claws clucked on the hardwood floor, and before he could stop, Pinky was throwing himself between him and the door, not allowing him to leave.

“You are not leaving,” she repeated sternly.

“What are you going to do? Stop me?” he chuckled bitterly, getting his jacket from the closet.

“No, but you’ll turn around, and you’ll help me with my project. And I will find you a wife, even if it kills me. Even if I know that it’s going to be painful and torturous. Even if I know that you’ll be fighting me every step of the way.”

“Why the hell do you want to do this?” he demanded, turning to face her.

“Because I don’t give up, Mr. Night. Think of me as a fanged beast–once I sink my claws into you, I don’t let go. And maybe,” she paused, almost panting, her cheeks flushed, her eyes blazing wildly, “maybe I believe in love!”

“What?” he stared at her, processing her stupid words, and failing to understand them.

“Yeah, maybe I want to see your happy end. Maybe I want to find you someone who is going to love you for who you are–despite your nasty cantankerous attitude, your potty mouth, you…your…” she was gasping with a mixture of anger and some unholy excitement.

“My what?”

“I don’t know. You! Just you!” she cried out. “You are impossible and unpleasant, and you can’t communicate.”

“Of yeah, you are such a prize,”

“Be quiet! I’ve known you for two days and I am already exhausted. But I will bring this to its natural conclusion, and you will be walking down the aisle in six months! That I promise. And you will be in love.”

“God you make no sense,” he moaned.

“Maybe. But you will be in love. And you will be loved. And that is my vow.”

He rubbed his face, shaking his head, while she stood in front of him, so much smaller than he, but packing so much rage and heat and passion…

He momentarily had a crazy thought of how much he’d want to feel that passion and heat. In bed, between the sheets. The two of them tangled together, sweaty, biting and scratching and…

Also, she looked really pretty when she was angry.

Aaaannnddd…he needed to stop this train of thought stat.

“Also, you are giving my dog whiplash!!” she growled at him.

He glanced at Pinky, who was positioned against the door like a giant loaf of bread. Apparently in an attempt to not let him leave the house.

“What?”

“Yeah, he doesn’t know if he should hate you or love you!” she even stomped her foot. “You are confusing him with your behaviour. And if you will continue doing that, he is going to bite you,”

“Yeah, I am not all that scared of a three-legged pug,” Azriel rolled his eyes.

She still fumed, muttering,

“You would be singing a different song if he bites you in the dick!”

“Whoa, he,”

“Yes!” she yelled. “That’s what he does. Once, this bloke got real handsy with me in the park, and Piglet jumped up and latched onto the bloke’s junk. And wouldn’t let go.”

Azriel suddenly burst into hysterical laughter.

“Yes, yeah, keep laughing, until he bites you!”

“He bit some bloke’s junk?!” Azriel laughed like a maniac, snorting and huffing.

She crossed her arms on her chest.

“He did. And he wouldn’t let go. He just hung there, between the guy’s legs, holding his cock hostage in his teeth. Don’t think he wouldn’t do it to you if you keep being an arsehole and pissing me off!”

“Pinky, don’t you be biting my junk!” Azriel warned, shaking his finger at the dog. “We are mates!”

“And his name is not Pinky!!! And you aren’t mates.”

“We so are.”

Mutely, Azriel hung the jacket back in the closet and then asked,

“What do you need done, you matchmaker-from-hell?!”

She pursed her lips, and then turned on her heels and ordered, “Follow me!”

Oh how he wished he could spank this attitude out of her until her arse was nice and red. Instead, he asked, “who is the bloke who got handsy with you?”

She didn’t turn, but only shrugged.

“I don’t know. I was walking Piglet, and the bloke just wouldn’t leave me alone. It was a little scary.”

Azriel frowned at that.

He didn’t like it.

Didn’t like it one bit.

That some cunt was getting handsy with this impossible contrary girl didn’t sit right with him.

“Do you have CCTV in the house?” he asked sternly.

“Yes, and here too. But that was in the park,”

“I know. But I want to know that your house is secure. Do you have an alarm?”

“Why do you care?”

“Just answer the goddamn question!”

“Yeah, I have an alarm.”

“I still don’t like it.”

“Not like what?” she finally glanced at him over her shoulder, as they made their way into the cellar.

“That you are here alone, with a three-legged pug as your only guard. And you have all kinds of shady characters coming and going from this place. How well do you even vet them?”

She gave him a very clear ‘pot/kettle’ look, but he ignored it. Of course she would.

“I vet them well enough. I have a taser too! And pepper spray.”

“Yeah, bring some pepper spray to a gun fight,” he grunted.

“This is not America,” she reminded him. “I don’t think anyone is bringing a gun here.”

Azriel stopped in the middle of the cellar and gasped, “what is all this crap?”

“It’s pumpkins.”

No shit. She had four large cardboard boxes filled with various sized pumpkins. All kinds of decorations and lanterns and other Halloweeen-themed stuff in a bunch more boxes.

“I need help with this,” she said softly, batting her eyelashes at him and biting her lower lip.

“Yeah, sweetheart, this shite don’t work on me,” he waved his hand dismissively at her. “I’ll help you with this, but not because you think your ridiculous, artless flirting is making any difference here.”

Her mouth dropped in a shocked O.

He smirked.

That’s right. Two can play this game.

#elriel #azriel and elain #elriel fanfic #my writing #my fanfiction #elain archeron #elain x azriel #pro elriel #azriel #elain #A Match Baked In Heaven #Modern AU #elriel fanfiction #acotar fanfiction

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theladyofshalott1989 · 4 months

Text

Damien Andrew Evans (My OC/MC from the Like Moths to a Flame series)

*I modeled his character off of a young Garrett Hedlund. Here are some photos of Garrett (one with his hair down long - LMtaF Damien - and one with his hair short - BB Damien):

I wrote this in a frenzy last night (referencing my already copious notes from the past… hmm… eleven months??? WHAT), so I apologize if it reads like word-vomit (LMAO). BUT, without further ado, here is my Damien info-dump. Damien is my OC from my series, Like Moths to a Flame, which I started on Wattpad in March 2023. Check it out if you are so inclined (AO3 link because AO3 is better…please don’t hate me, Wattpad police haha).

General Info:

Born and raised in London

Lives in a huge estate in Mayfair

Father’s family comes from old money

Birthday: 13th December 1874

Mother: Mary REDACTED Evans (yes, redacted because it’s a spoiler for Burning Bright)

Died shortly after Damien turned two

Father: Andrew Robert Evans

Magistrate in London

Workaholic, doesn’t interact much with his son, leaves him to his own devices the majority of the time (he is very lucky Damien is a good boy; the shenanigans Damien could have gotten up to if he was so inclined…lmao)

Half-blood (only found this out after he came to Hogwarts; his mother never shared this information with his father)

Only child

Personality:

ENFP (apparently) (thanks Myers-Briggs test!) Fueled by interaction with others (being an only child and spending most of his time alone during the summer holidays deeply damaged him)

Attracted to the same sex (and has known this for as long as he can remember)

Alas, he is super self-conscious about his sexual orientation, having grown up in Muggle London, where being gay is a crime. He is also quite secretive because of it; he wants to open up more to people (it’s in his nature) but is hesitant until he feels he can trust them fully. This can take a while.

Nearly everything he does, he always has this nagging thought in the back of his mind (it follows him literally everywhere): Would my mother be proud of me? (He has never told anyone this; it also haunts him immensely)

Highly intuitive

Very forgiving (arguably to a fault) of anyone he grows to love and trust

Feels very deeply, but, again, he tries his best to hide it. Something must be terribly wrong or extremely upsetting for him to cry in a public setting.

Not very organized (also has a problem with tardiness), EXCEPT when he is at home. He doesn’t want to make a mess for the servants, so he is extremely meticulous and clean when he’s home for the summer. Any other time, he couldn’t care less (LMAO). Physical Description:

Very unique brown eyes with golden flecks in them (Seb is absolutely obsessed)

Taller than average (a little taller than Sebastian, much to Sebastian’s chagrin)

Long blonde hair (just past his shoulders) that he keeps tied back in a low bun (his preferred style)

Sebastian would much rather he wear it down and loose (he is quite vocal about this), but he eventually is like fine…you do you, fam

In Burning Bright, Damien has to cut his hair short so his father isn’t suspicious. He has a cute little tuft at the top of his head that sometimes cascades across his face, which Sebastian is enamored with

(Eton, the all-boys boarding school Damien attended before Hogwarts, has strict uniform and hygiene protocols and would never permit him to wear his hair long; Damien’s father thinks he is still attending Eton so he must keep up appearances)

Lithe but muscular, a testament to how active he is when he arrives at Hogwarts. His go-to when he’s not in classes is to ride his broom around the Scottish Highlands and complete Merlin Trials. He is obsessed with finding and completing them all. (What a Ravenclaw…)

Ample arse though (LMAO) which Sebastian loves… (Seb is an arse-man; you’re welcome HAHAHAHA)

Tan from being outdoors most of the time

Sharp jawline, broad neck and chest, prominent collarbone (he is quite thin), very angular features

Light spoiler for stories post-Burning Bright: Older Damien is a bit heavier in adulthood (and Seb loves this development)

Magic Reveal:

Damien never had one of those “oh shit what just happened???” magical moments, so when Fig showed up on his doorstep with his Hogwarts letter at the very beginning of the summer in 1890, Damien thought it was a joke. When Fig did some magic for him to convince him, Damien lost his goddamn mind. He was thrilled, but also terrified. Fig told him not to worry, that he could stay with him over the summer to prepare Damien for the school year.

Damien’s father was (unsurprisingly) not home when Fig arrived. Damien also asked Fig not to say anything to his father. Fig sensed there was some tension between Damien and his father and agreed (for the time being). Eventually, once Fig got to know Damien better, he decided Damien was right and it was for the best that his father didn’t know about his magic. This was the moment when Damien realized he could fully trust Fig. Surrogate father/son bond activated <3

Their backstory (if Damien’s father asked) for why Damien was gone over the summer was that he was traveling with a friend from Eton. Damien’s father was hella neglectful and didn’t even bother to ask, which to be fair, made things super easy for Damien and Fig (LMAO).

Likes:

The color green

Flying (he loves how freeing it is and the feeling of the wind in his hair)

DADA is his favorite class (his early dueling wins probably played a factor; poor Damien didn’t have a lot of wins in his life prior to coming to Hogwarts, well…besides being rich AF LOL)

CATS (dude adores cats to the EXTREME; he would love to adopt all of the ones he finds wandering around Hogwarts and Hogsmeade; I even have a headcanon that very early on in his time at Hogwarts he smuggles a cat into his room - a room which he shares with Amit, Everett, and Andrew, mind you. Unfortunately, Amit is allergic, so that plan goes to hell in a handbasket rather quickly.)

Magic (obviiiiiii); he still can’t believe his luck that he’s at Hogwarts

The Wizarding World and how accepting it is of all forms of love. He cannot believe his lucky stars that he can be openly affectionate with Sebastian. It even takes him a while to realize this because no one straight up told him and Sebastian at first wants to keep their relationship on the down low since he’s still trying to figure out if Damien feels as strongly about Sebastian as Sebastian feels about Damien. Silly boys #idiotsinlove

Dislikes:

Herbology (he SUCKS at it; Sebastian and Damien have this in common, but Damien is much, much worse. He never uses magical plants in his duels because he is bitter about how bad he is at growing them and doesn’t want to spend money buying them at the Magic Neep hahaha)

Close-minded people (which is why he is understandably upset and confused by Sebastian’s very vocal hatred of goblins; it nearly ends any potential of a relationship from that point forward, but Seb does eventually apologize more than once *PHEW*)

Dark Mongrels, and to a certain extent dogs (le sigh) (light spoiler for Burning Bright so I won’t go into detail about it)

Interactions with Other Characters:

Fig -

Fig was the father Damien always wanted. Supportive, understanding, a wealth of knowledge. Losing him was absolutely devastating; it nearly broke Damien.

Natty -

Besides Sebastian, Damien’s second kindred spirit. When Sebastian and Damien aren’t on good terms for a large swathe of Like Moths to a Flame, they are joined at the hip. Sebastian even worries that they might be a couple at one point and is very jelly. (C’mon Seb, read the freaking room!)

Poppy -

Damien likes Poppy but is a bit intimidated by her. He still really enjoys her company, just in moderation. Ominis -

Damien willfully ignored him before they officially met. He didn’t realize it at the time, but eventually comes to the conclusion that he was jealous that Ominis was best friends with Sebastian. Notably, he easily sensed that Ominis wasn’t into Sebastian romantically, so that was a relief at the very least. Damien was super annoyed by Ominis after the encounter post-Undercroft. He couldn’t understand how someone could lose their temper so easily. Eventually, they do bond… hilariously, it’s Ominis that makes the effort to get to know Damien better. (Of course Ominis knows that Seb and Damien are snogging; he’s ~scary~ perceptive; at first Ominis is just vetting Damien in a protective “I need to make sure you’re a good person for my best friend” kind of way, but then he eventually realizes he enjoys being in Damien’s company. Likewise Damien to Ominis. They eventually also bond over classic music (Ominis lets Damien borrow his gramophone every so often and they sometimes even listen to it together.)

Amit, Everett, and Andrew -

Damien’s roomies! He likes Amit and Everett a lot, but definitely has more in common with Everett since they are both obsessed with flying. Damien even buys Everett a broom so he can stop using a school one. Damien finds Amit a bit awkward, but in an endearing way. He would beat someone up for realsies though if he ever overheard anyone make fun of him.

Andrew and Damien don’t really care about each other either way. Andrew hangs out in different crowds. They don’t talk much.

And yes, I realize that Duncan Hobhouse is also in Ravenclaw, but I've decided he has his own room. Damien finds him annoying, even though Everett is friends with him for some reason lmao.

Sebastian - HOOOO BOY HERE WE GO Damien fell for Sebastian HARD almost immediately after meeting him (their dialogue after the match in DADA was such a turn-on hahaha). He really struggled to play it cool that entire exchange though. He does succeed (sigh), but later… um… goes back to his room and yeah, in my headcanon he furiously does what you would expect lmao.

Sebastian immediately found Damien intriguing BUT he was not sure why. He had always appreciated the beauty of both genders, but he had only ever been with a girl so it never even crossed his mind that he could be romantically interested in Damien. He didn’t realize until <BIG SPOILER FOR LIKE MOTHS TO A FLAME> Damien asked Seb to kiss him in the Undercroft. Once their lips touched, Sebastian had one of those *connect the dots <Charlie from It’s Always Sunny at the blackboard scribbling nonsense> moments* and is like… OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. And then he just rolled with it. Doesn’t question it at all he’s so confident in what happened. Damien is immediately his. MINE MINE MINE seagulls from Finding Nemo gif.

Unfortunately, Dark Magic was a HUGE cockblock (*sad face*) and their budding relationship combusted to the extreme. Damien was devastated but would NEVER admit it so he lost himself in his other friendships (thank you for being there Natty, you QUEEN). As we all know, Sebastian sucks at expressing himself (LMAO say it louder for those in the back), so he avoided Damien like the plague and stewed in his anger. But he is confused and upset and just a turmoil of emotions and it plagues him. A proverbial storm cloud follows him everywhere he goes.

And then all hell breaks loose with the relic (DAMN YOU RELIC), BUT Damien and his strong intuition senses something is up and realizes that Seb is not himself. He activates stealth mode and becomes Seb’s shadow without Seb realizing, following him around and making sure he is okay. After the catacomb ~incident~, Damien won’t let him out of his sight and refuses to permit him to head back to the castle alone. In fact, it scares him so much that once they make it back to the castle, Damien has an OH SHIT I LOVE HIM BUT HE JUST MURDERED SOMEONE moment and he is so lost in his thoughts that Sebastian runs off. This haunts Damien immensely because he is so worried that Sebastian is going to hurt himself. And then, of course, he gets all caught up in the repository / goblin invasion stuff that he is distracted, but he still follows Sebastian around when he can. #sneakyDamien

And I’m not going to go into further detail because massive spoilers for the end of Like Moths to a Flame hahahaha.

***

So, that’s my Damien. He is my ~goodest~ boy. And he has definitely stolen my heart. <3

#oc character #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow x male mc #sebastian sallow x mc #queer fanfiction #hogwarts legacy fanfic

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