#Blemish belongs to a friend

[sparrowatheart]

Holland and Blemish

Posting a few old art pieces here ♥️

Slightly NSFW below the cut! ⚠️

[unhappy-last-resort]

Delusions (Yandere Simon x GN Reader)

Warnings: smut, worship of the readers body and reader in general, creampie, GN reader, short

A/N: Just a drabble because I was thinking of Simon as one does late night. I'm also waiting for server reset in PGR so I can decide if I wanna pull on the light trails banner or not.

Apologies for any grammar/spelling issues and what not, it's almost 2AM for me

Your soft pants filled his bedroom, your chest rising and falling with each breath, his arms holding your hips flush to his.

Nothing could compare to this moment. You were absolutely divine, a gift from the gods, a blessing to humanity bestowed by the stars, and you, despite being so far beyond him that he could only watch your star trail in awe, you chose him. You chose him over the numerous, beautiful and heroic constructs and humans who stood by your side.

It made him shudder, his eyes almost rolling at the thought. How could anyone not desire you? Who wouldn't lust after such an incredible hero? Just look at yourself. The way you move your body underneath him, the stretch marks along your thighs, your swollen lips parted in ecstasy, your glossy eyes, your mesmerizing voice as you moan so sweetly for him.

He couldn't help but kiss every inch of you he could, studying you like a piece of art. He kissed each scar he could see, admiring them. Perhaps others might find your scars to be blemishes that needed to be hidden, or fixed, but to him they were breathtaking. Not necessarily because he thought the scars were beautiful, but because they gave him insights into you and your story. You don't talk much about your past, not that there was reason to, but still, he longed to know you more intimately than you knew yourself. If only you'd open yourself to him, if only he could climb to your stardom and share the burden with you.

Perhaps if he lulled you to orgasm enough times you would be relaxed enough to let him know you more. He kissed your neck and whispered his admiration of you into your skin as he gently fucked you, holding you closely to him, becoming so engrossed your moans and cries that he nearly forgets his own pleasure.

He could stay like this forever, listening to you whisper his name as you grind against him. He holds your face gently, drinking in your expressions. Each cry you make resonating in his heart and rippling through his mind, overshadowing every other thought and sensation until only you existed.

He would never stop chasing after you, never stop longing for your attention and recognition, he would never stop desiring a level of intimacy that would only belong to you two. He needed your acknowledgement of his efforts and devotion, he needed to hear you say you loved him just as much as he loved you, maybe even more. He needed you to love him back, he needed your attention, he needed you to look at him as something more than a friend. His desires driving him to push in and out of you faster and faster until you writhed and trembled, until his hips stuttered and the tight cord drawn in his stomach snapped as he babbled your name like it was his salvation.

As his hips slow down, you wrap your arms around him and bestow him a kiss filled with so much love he feels himself melt into your body like it was made to hold him.

"Simon..." You whisper breathlessly and his breath is caught in his throat. Your hand cups his cheek and leans into it, kissing down along your wrist reverently.

You watch him lovingly, letting him worship you. Your eyes meet and his heart soars, you look so bewitching like this the sight burns itself into his brain. Slowly, your lips part and he desperately waits for what you're about to say, hoping that you'll tell him those three words he longs to hear. He watches every slight movement you make, enraptured as he watches you swallow, debating whether you should say what's on your mind or not and he gives your hand a slight squeeze of encouragement.

That seems to give you the push you need as you focus on him again and his heart pounds in his chest as he leans in closer to you, needing to hear every word you're about to say.

"Simon, I-"

.

.

.

.

He wakes up, his hair sticking to his skin and the sheets unbearably hot. Simon stares at the ceiling, seeing nothing but blurry shapes as he contemplates what just happened. Humiliation crushes his chest as the stickiness in his hand makes him realize that it was just an intense fantasy and nothing more. He feels like a teenager helplessly pining after a crush and it almost makes him cry.

It was foolish for him to ever think that you could be his, that you'd ever spare him more than a cursory glance and a few words. You may have never said it out loud, but he knows he's beneath you. Someone your caliber would never look his way, but he can't help but keep chasing after that hope, after that dream that one day, one day you might look at him with something more than friendly comradery.

...He should stop entertaining such ridiculous and inappropriate thoughts about you and wash his hands, probably change his sheets too. If you saw him like this, you would be appalled. Shocked that a fellow soldier could be so...so unprofessional. He's already embarrassed himself a few times in front of you, he needs to be better. He needs to improve.

You'll never give him the attention he desires, so he must do what he can to earn it and treat what little you give him with the utmost care and respect.

He needs you, he needs your love and acknowledgement and he'll do whatever it takes to get it. Even if that means sacrificing everything he has.

[erenspussy420]

Two Face Pretty Boy (Neige)

Word Count 3.7 k

MDNI 18+ ONLY SMUT

FEM READER/ NEIGE LEBLANCHE, slight Reader/ Vil Schoenheit

Warnings: Dubious consent, vulgar language

Tags: Alternate back story for Neige

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In the world of acting, one must always be in character to succeed. That was the first lesson.

No one really knows where Neige had come from. One day he just appeared at the orphanage alone and was drowning in a knitted sweater too big for him. He wore confusion like an old friend when he was left by the doorsteps, resignation of his new life came second like an uncle no one wanted to see.

Several days and several nights, Neige didn’t recall much of the beginning. Mostly it was a dark, grayed tone but always a shiny gleam of redness that glimmers in his dreams. All he can remember is a heavy hand that gently guided him to the door, his sweater being the only part of his life that wasn’t taken away. Mostly due to Neige tackling anyone who tried to pull it off of him.

It was the third day of May, when an apple was placed in front of him. Lucious and full of juices behind its bright waxy surface. The fruit a tempting shade of red, Neige had followed the apple on the outstretched hand, and up to bright yellow eyes that belonged to Hop. “You look hungry,” were the first words, followed by the kindest words Neige could remember,” Come sit with us.”

 Sometimes fate works in funny ways.

No one knows where he came from, neither did the dwarves, all seven of them. Neige is going to take what the world gave him with both arms and bare white teeth. He doesn’t remember his old life, but all it left him was the understanding that everything can be taken away on the whimsy of others. 

Perhaps that’s why he was ruffled haired, and dirty with ashes on his cheek, chasing off bullies from his new family. Dirty, but fed. One day they leave the orphanage quite young, opting on their own to get by. Better this way, Neige thought at the time, easier. It was not easier, he learned but he was molded by his tale.

A poor boy who cleaned homes with his seven brothers, no matter if he was human and they from dwarven blood, he worked himself to the bone washing filthy floor boards and defiling rotting gardens. His clothes were always tattered and drowning him in excess fabrics, and hunger gnawing at his belly. But as long as Grum cheeks were full, where Dominic didn't have to scurry for tape when his old glasses fell apart, or worry where Shelpie fell asleep at— whatever it took, no job was too much for him. Their dream, a wish made by Toby who tossed one of their coins into a rotting well, was to have a warm cottage in the woods. 

Ebony hair, skin white as snow and eyes like roasted chestnuts.

The day Florian's Wonder Talent Agency recruited him was the day Neige could finally breathe. Taking him and his brothers to a clean apartment, where the fridge is full and he can sleep easier at night.

Before he gets tossed to the wolves.

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"I'm gonna treat you like a whore." The sweet voice mutters. It sends sparks running down your spine as Neige sucks down on your neck , leaving his marks for anyone to see. He’s greedy, he wants everyone to know that you were his. Walking around printed on by his lips, his adoration comes covered under the night. As much as he would love your marks on him in turn, his agency would throw a fit at any blemishes on his skin.

Annoying, but that’s fine. He can have other things that tie you to him. His red ribbons in your hair with his initials, your school tie made into a bow he wears with his uniform. The world can do what they want, take a poor boy and make him a prince but it never really took what made Neige into the man he is.

His eyes, hard as flint when they took him under their hands. Become a prince for the public, sweet and gentle and innocent. The world adores Neige LeBlanche, and that version of him loves them right back.

All sweet smiles with closed eyes.

The crafted mask hides a two faced boy, a good heart always, but a sharp tongue and steely eyes framed with large lashes. Fair skin like snow, eyes like a doe, fluffy ebony hair, and those lips that were soft like rose petals. Soft pale pink lips that let slip the filthiest words from a sweet face. Not that anyone knows that ‘cept you and his actual friends.

(And perhaps Yasmin when he caught him with a cigarette between his lips)

 Your giggles end with a soft squeal when he nips harder, another love bite to the collection. Gods, he loves that noise you make. With a soft sigh, you relax in his arms as Neige makes his way to your collarbone. His hands run down your body, caressing your curves, and brushing over the sensitive spots he knew so very well. One hand massages your ass before squeezing a cheek.

“Missed me?,” came that cheeky smile he adores.

“Always princess.” 

His mood is much better, squeezing your flesh.

 Affectionate, he rubs the very warm spot where he marked you. A twinge of possession heats his core, desires her to take her again as much as he likes. Soft sighs between quirk firm kisses, and muffled moans. His tongue sweeps over his bottom lip, tasting the flavor gloss you like so much. Apples, his eyes flicker for a moment. 

You squirm, his grip on your ass a bit tighter.

Whoops, he has to be careful, it's not your fault, he’s being like this, nope. His mind a buzz, his hand sneaks itself over your thighs caressing the warm flesh. Neige was focused solely on you, but some recent scenes at his new film brought an unwanted guest. Eyes like Amethyst have no place near him. Your panties had been slid off, hanging pitifully around your ankle as he rubs over your folds, pressing on them feeling that pulse. Rather a really annoying, second hand model was. A tick pulsed on his head at the mention of his so called rival, but he has nothing to do with now. Or even with his dear love.

Oh yes, Neige made sure of that with such great pleasure.

He hums as he sucks on your nipples, swirling his tongue over the lovely bud.

The VDC was just for fun. Dominic and the rest of his brothers all wanted to have one big finale to their Sophomore year and who was Neige to deny them that? To be honest, it was like as if Neige killed two birds with one stone, he got to enjoy one more hurrah before his work life took over and he gets to fuck with Vil Schoenheit’s head one more time.

It's not like he hates Vil. But he sure as fuck didn't care about him either. Still, there was a part of him that did enjoy watching Vil’s smile strain at casting roles he passed up on mere inclination for a more gentle ‘look’.

Vil made a great mistake bringing you that day to the VDC. It felt invigorating, watching that perfectly crafted face finally break so openly, mauve painted lips twist with sour palatable envy. Retribution Neige believes, from making him a poisoned drink of apples. How dare he, was all Neige could feel that day. He couldn’t remember much from waking up, but the sensation. The sensation of his hand trembling as he reached for the tempting apple juice to bring to his lips. Never had his stomach twisted at the scent of apples in his life.  His revenge will come, one day.

And it did, literally in that same second you fell into his arms. The warmth in your eyes did more than make Vil soft on you. It brought back the twinge of gentleness back into Neige. Soot covered, messy with hair that came from a fight it was quite the sight to see. But under the layers of exhaustion that cling onto you like a second skin, Neige spotted a kindness in you that refused to die.

It reminded him of something.

Something good. 

“Mmm, damn princess look how wet you are,” Neige chuckles huskily, he pulls out to show you the strings of thick slick coating his fingers,” Mmm Look at that, so shiny how tasty.” He sucks his fingers, tongue swirling around so as to not miss a single strand.

Slim fingers slip you, exposing you to him, they were careful in their actions, but damn the pretty mouth from their owner is not. The fingers slip into your wet fold, parting them before slipping into you, rubbing you and stretching your walls adding more fingers as time goes on. He switches from rubbing your cute clit, to light pinches as his fingers curl into you. He even slaps your folds, enjoying the debauched way you thrust your hips up at him. You try not to moan too loud, but the sensation of being finger fucked is making you light headed. Neige curls his fingers in you, brushing the nerves that make you buck your hips into his hand wildly, a needy groan leaving your throat as he does. Watching your body suffer and tremble under him, soaking sheets with your juices slipping down your thighs.

He couldn’t help but slide his cock between your folds.. The pressure of his heavy cock between your folds brought a new wave of fluids pushed on by the pulse of your pussy.

An impish giggle escapes his parted lips, a heady darkness tints his eyes as he gazes at the scene of his cock being sandwiched, lathered up with slick by your folds. You shudder and little soft gasps escape with each brush of his swollen head catches her clit.

“Look at that,” he coos bending over her,” You love it when I do this don’t you?”

What a sinful expression you have on, your eyes screwed shut with that dopey smile as you pant his name. Neige can’t wait to have you warm his cock, he’s been denied you way too long. He swaps between his fingers in her walls and coating his cock with her cot slick. He needed you, he missed his sweet princess.

Those videos you sent him were not enough. Fucking his hand thinking of your tight cunt is nothing to the real you and Neige’s starving.

The wetness of his thighs brought his attention to your soaked pussy, laughing softly at the sight Neige cooed at his princess. “Look how wet you got for me! See how needy you are, your pussy practically sucking me in! You think you’re ready, my princess?”

He pressed taunting hot kisses, nibbling at your lips as you gasped out,"Yes."

“Yes what?” He asked.

Neige prodded your cheek with the tip of his tongue, a long stripe on your jaw. You shudder, a whine escaping you,”Yes, I’m ready!”

“Mm, I don’t know,” Neige pretended to mull over it, his eyes crinkled at the sight of that panicked look on your face when he pulled his hand away.” It doesn’t seem like it, haaa, oh well,” he drawls, the sweet smile grew pointed as traces her labia,” I guess it can’t be helped–”

“No come back!” You plead him, clinging onto an amused Neige,”Please fuck me!”

The grin on Neige’s face, the curves of his smiling benevolent eyes was downright wicked to the sight of you thrusting yourself back on his wet fingers. He chuckles, that sweet voice of his too lovely to be denied,” Beg my dove,” He coos taking his fingers away from the pulsing slick walls, he lines the head of swollen cock to  you folds rubbing his cock between them, lubing it in your slick. He grunts, tilting his head back as his cock begins twitching, being slicked up. He catches his bottom lip between his teeth, the corner of his lips grinning in satisfaction of how wet you are.

You bite back a squeal as the head of it catches your clit, making him laugh huskily. His tip pushes into your cunt, drawing a loud gasp from his princess. Her body shudders in glee being finally filled.

“Please! Please! Neige I need your co—,” a loud ring interrupts your begging much to the dismay of you and Neige. A scowling ‘tsk!’ cuts through your moaning, as he snatched the phone off the sheets. He pushes into you deeply, drawing a long raspy gasp as you arched up feeling his cock make itself at home. Her feet tapping against his back in jolts, usually he would love this but the text of words on the white screen made him still.

Even your pulsing walls, eager to devour him didn’t distract the way his body went taut seeing not what it was but rather whom it was.

Chestnut brown eyes hardened at the name that flashed across your phone. 

Vil

"Haaah~ What does the second best want?" the annoyance dripping in his sweet voice. His thumb is swiping through your phone. You bite back a whine, as his hips press into you. Even reading the texts from before, years of acting doesn't betray the stoic expression on his face. At the end, he scoffs.

Spider webbing cracks grown beneath his thumb.

You can feel the throbbing vein of his cock in you, as he laughs reading the text. The grip that held up your leg grew tight. "Pft, What's this?" he holds the phone up dangling it towards you to look."He is actually begging you to go out with him! I wonder, what does Second Best do, if he knew who was in you right now?"

You tense up at the sight of the texts, your name on display with a message from Vil. Scoffing Neige, changes it then angles down the phone at you, and you shake feeling the head of his cock hit the spot that made your legs feel jolt under him. No, focus! It's hard to keep your head grounded, not when he's keeping you on his lap, rocking his hips against you that has your toes curl in pleasure.

“I wonder if he would like to watch me fuck your brains out?” Neige thumb swipe the screen.

 "Mnn.. No, don't," you protest weakly, fingers digging into his shoulders, you close your thighs around his waist. Enjoying the rocking of Neige hips, focus…” Don’t send it…Neige!”

 Neige sighs, shaking his head at you with mock disappointment, he leans down, resting his head between the crook of your neck. Despite his sweet look, the hand that gripped your thigh, rubs it slowly, creeping towards the plush of your ass. "How would he feel seeing my cock in your pussy?"  Neige mouth kisses your neck, its distracting, as he questions you with each kiss becoming closer to nips,"Tell me, do you think  he'll lose it if he sees me fucking your pretty hole?"

Your phone tapping your shoulder much like a sickle on stone.

Images of Vil kissing you and Neige being the one to fill your pussy, swapping between them or Sevens having them spit-roast…–!

You try to keep the moan in at the sheer idea of it, Vil watching as Neige fucks you, but the throbbing between your legs gives you away. Neige laughs,"Oh? Do you want it? You want me to fuck you in front of him? Want to scream my name as I fill you with all my cum, while he watches?"

And Merlin, he pushes his cock into you with a deep thrust, his grip on your hip possessive. The sheer idea of it makes his toes curl. Getting to see the fury coated in desperation and heartbreak in Vil’s eyes would be worth it.

Cause if you do, then Niege will make sure Vil never gets to experience this, by the fair queen’s  hand in retaliation that meets the cold steel of a sickle—

"No, wait-!" Your protests fall, as Neige hands back to resting on your hips thrusting into you with a visceral primal claim. The sound of wet flesh fills the air. You squirm in his lap feeling all the shots of pleasure shock you, his thrusting has slowed leaving you to his mercy as he looks down on you with those dark brown eyes. His free hand caressed her jaw gently, the swipe of his thumb over her lips as he took her in with this expression that dashed away any anger he had over Vil. 

Serene almost.

 Then his smile ruined it, all sharp at the corners, his canines more prominent than the photos make it seem. The sweetness of Neige LeBlance was not there, but rather Neige the man who did many things to get where he is.

No one knows where Neige came from and he's more than fine with it.

“Neige?”  He smothers your voice under a kiss, tossing your phone to the side letting it bounce behind her head. Hot tongues play with each other, his princess’s mewling reverb in his chest as he keeps fucking her pussy into over stimulation. His grip on her thighs is strong keeping her in place as he takes her over and over. His balls smack her ass with every hard thrust into the sheets. 

“Mmmm Niege…Neige,” You pants, whimpering between kisses.

“That's it princess,” Neige muttered as he grinds into her,” Say my name. Say it nice and loud.” His fingers tug at her nipples, drawing mewls from her,” You sound so good princess. Who's making you…,” a low grunt leaves him as he speaks with hard thrusts,”...feel…so..ngh,” he squeezed her breasts as he plucked her nipples,” good. You squeeze me so fucking good.”

“Oooh Neige,” You groan, whimpering loud and clear.

His name fills the air with sweet mewls and cries, his smile growing with the matching pace of his thrusts meeting her own.

“Mmm you feel the way you squeeze me? Fucking love my cock,” Neige croons kissing and nipping along her jaw.

He loves loves how much her walls squeeze his cock, how her nails drag down his back. It felt so good, the way his muscles near his belly feel nice and tight. His knee digs into the mattress as he pulls her up on his thighs, to continue going deeper and grinding against the sweet nerves that made her spasm on his cock. His hand caresses her belly, heading lower and there, he presses down as his paces became shorter and desperate with the gaining of hitting that release.

Faint words register in your ear, faint but familiar. You can almost pinpoint it but it does when the head of Neige's cock buries itself in a bundle of nerves, her core desperately trying to keep him in. For a moment the world goes fuzzy as the tingling sensation melts into your skin. You don't know what brought Neige like this today, but you're grateful for it.

Neige, however, didn't feel quite ready to finish just yet. He grinds himself into her, slow and wretchedly cruel from letting her reach her peak. His head nudges between the crook of her neck kissing her up her jaw and over her ear. The action sweet melts her, but of course nothing sweet comes by itself in this world.

“Choose, Vil or me?,” Neige growls as he goes rougher pulling her closer, his ball aching to spill into his princess. Your eyes widen at the question, biting your lip as if to not say, but he isn't having that.

His hand slaps your pussy, finding your swollen clit as he runs hard swirls over it. A heavy gasp leaves you, the wet slickness between them drips more down her thighs.

“Who princess?,” Neige croons, his voice haunting her with the deep heat that grows in her belly.  He looms over her, his smile is wicked as his swirls become long slow sweeps of her sensitive nub,” Who do you want more than anything?”

Her legs jolt and thighs shaking as the fantasies roll in, chestnut eyes and mauve painted lips….

“Mmm that's..nnmm…good,” Neige grits his teeth with a hiss,” you want it that bad huh? But he doesn't get to have you, my sweet dove. Who's cock is in you? Who’s the one making you soaking wet?”

You tried to keep your voice down but you can stop the way your body twitches and seize,” Neige!”

Hot gushes of cum fill your cunt, the sensation making you pulse madly with greedy suction. Your chest rises with each harsh breath, drinking in air as much as you can as your skin cools. Above you, you barely could concentrate with Neige’s long deep grunt as he kept your thighs gripped tightly against him, determined to keep his seed from leaking. A vain attempt from the rivers flowing down your stomach.

Slowly you open your eyes,” Neige that was so good….Neige?”

You gaze up at your boyfriend to ask why he was so quiet and to come cuddle with you. However, spotting your phone in his hand your words die on your tongue.

“You didn't.”

Your words fall on deaf ears as Neige smiles shamelessly,” Did you get your answer?”. No words can describe the way your mouth feels open as realization hit you to who Neige could be speaking too.

Neige laughs as he hears the absolute venom from Vil, the words fall over him like water as he strokes your belly. Even as you shudder under him, his touch is gently rubbing down your calves and thighs.

“Neige, what are you…?” Your voice dies as Neige holds a finger up to his lips.

“So Schoenheit,” Neige drawls, beads of sweat fall from his chin onto your skin ,” how about it? Interested in one of the roles with our dear heroine? Who knows, I might consider giving you the starring role.”

[lilacmingi]

QUIDDITCH CHAMPIONSHIP

My works are 14+ ONLY. If you’re under 14 DO NOT interact with me or any of my works

Pairing: Slytherin!San x Slytherin!fem reader

Word count: 6,000

Note: Brief cameo from Jooyeon (Xdinary Heroes) <3 Reminder that this is an imagine from my Wattpad from 2023 so there will not be extra parts or continuations

You and your friends started heading off the quidditch field, walking back towards the school when a voice called out to you.

"Hey, Y/n!"

Knowing who the voice belonged to, you turned expectantly to the dimpled Slytherin standing a few feet away wearing his quidditch uniform proudly.

"What is it, San?"

"Did you see me play today?" He questioned breathlessly.

"I did."

"I was pretty good, wasn't I?"

"You were sub-par."

"Sub-par?" He echoed with a scoff. "I'm the seeker, that's like one of the most important roles on the team. I control the whole game."

"For a seeker, you sure aren't finding much."

San's jaw dropped. "I played very well today."

"But you didn't catch the snitch." You pointed out.

"I-" He paused. "I was having a rough day."

"Right." You nodded and turned to leave.

"Hey!" He called to you, making you stop once more. "You know, the championship game is coming up next week. If we win it, will you go on a date with me then?"

The air between the both of you was quiet for a moment until an idea popped into your head and you smirked, deciding to humor him and play along.

"Tell you what, if you catch the golden snitch, I'll go on a date with you."

You could see a look of determination on his face as his shoulders straightened, his eyes sparkling. "Alright."

"Alright." You respond with finality before turning around and leaving the quidditch field.

You weren't concerned in the slightest about your little bargain with San, you knew he wouldn't catch the snitch so you had nothing to worry about.

San on the other hand, took your bet very seriously and planned to work as hard as he could to make sure the quidditch cup trophy belonged to Slytherin.

7 days until quidditch championship

Your textbook landed with a heavy thud on your desk as you set it down, dropping into your seat with a heavy sigh. The empty chair beside you was soon filled by a bright-eyed San who seemed far too upbeat for someone who was up at 9 AM.

"Morning, Y/n."

"Morning, San." You greeted with less enthusiasm than him.

"I'm gonna go to the quidditch field after school to practice. You wanna come watch?"

"No thank you."

San's nonstop efforts to win you over were incredibly annoying, not to mention futile. No matter how much disinterest you showed, it was never enough to push him away.

"Your loss." He sighed, leaning back in his seat and propping his feet on the desk. "I'm going to practice as much as I can. I plan to catch that golden snitch. Just you wait."

"Mr. Choi, feet off the desk." The professor scolded as she strode into the classroom.

"Sorry." He murmured.

You didn't actually think he was going to succeed, not that you thought he was incapable but because catching the golden snitch is a hard task no matter how good of a player you are, so the chances were fairly low.

"You know, there are plenty of empty seats in this classroom." You pointed out.

"Yeah, but I wanted to sit next to you."

"Of course you did." You mumbled under your breath.

To your relief, class began shortly so you wouldn't have to worry about San bothering you for at least three hours. Normally, you'd be upset about having double hours, which is for students in higher grades, but considering this three hour class will keep you from being pestered by San, you're thankful for it, at least for today.

5 days until quidditch championship

Your quill moved smoothly across your parchment as you scribbled down notes for potions class, listing the ingredients for the Blemish Blitzer and Calming Draught potions as your professor spoke. He was talking about all sorts of different potions, telling everyone what they were used for and what was needed to make each potion. You were listening intently, finding some of them to be very useful. There was a potion for calming anxiety, alleviating coughs, and even one to make the drinker drowsy; that last one might come in handy on nights when you can't sleep.

As you jotted down notes, a paper crane flew over and landed in front of you, pulling your attention away from your messily-written list of ingredients. Your gaze lifted to find the teacher's back turned to the class before you unfolded the paper, a note written inside.

Favorite flower?

Your eyes moved over to the only person who could be responsible for sending such a note. Choi San.

The culprit sat a few desks over with a small smile on his face, his cheek resting on his palm as he waited for your answer. Instead of writing a response, you wadded it up and tossed it into your cauldron without breaking eye contact, seeing a small plume of smoke in your peripherals as the bubbling potion incinerated the paper in the blink of an eye. You only did this when the teacher wasn't looking and once he turned around the smoke had dissipated.

San pressed his lips together, visibly sighing before going back to his work.

The day went on as normal and you found yourself sitting in charms class. Your professor was showing you the wand movement for a particularly difficult spell, your wrist flicking and twisting as you tried to get the movement down. Your brows pulled together, your tongue poking the inside of your cheek in mild frustration.

"One more time." Your teacher instructed, his eyes scanning the classroom to get a look at everyone's movements.

"Now, practice saying the incantation." He directed before saying it aloud, the class repeating it.

"Again."

You echoed the incantation once again with the rest of the group. It was a mouthful, but you felt like you got it.

"Alright. Does everyone understand?"

Your eyes shifted around the room, noticing everyone nodding their heads. To be honest, you didn't quite feel like you got the wand movements down, but no one else seemed to have any problems so you decided to keep it to yourself.

San, who was sitting diagonally from you in the next row over, noticed you struggling. Even though he couldn't see your face too well, he could tell you were unsure when you tried to copy the professor's movements.

Later that day, you were headed down the stone-paved halls towards the Slytherin dorms when you heard a crackling sound of sorts that grabbed your attention. You turned your head towards the strange noise which seemed to be coming from a wall decorated with intricate concrete swirls. You took a step back, watching as the sculpted piece slowly began turning black, a doorway appearing seconds later.

Before you could do anything, a hand shot out, pulling you inside the darkness as the door closed. You began thrashing around until a voice spoke up.

"It's just me."

"San?" You spoke his name harshly due to his unorthodox way of announcing himself. "What's going on?"

Just as you asked the question, the room slowly lit as the lanterns sitting about grew brighter.

"It's a training room." He said with a smile.

"Why?"

"You seemed to be having trouble in charms class today. I thought I could help you."

You tried to hide the surprise on your face as you responded. "I don't need help."

"Alright. Show me the spell, then." He countered, crossing his arms.

"I will." You then proceeded to repeat the incantation after taking a few seconds to recall it.

"Now show me the wand movements." He instructed.

You were hesitant and San picked up on that.

"Go on." He prompted.

Heaving a sigh, you withdrew your wand and did the motions in a swift manner in hopes that he wouldn't notice any errors you made.

"Slower." He instructed.

Biting your bottom lip you slowed the movements down, San's eyes lingering on your hand.

"That's wrong."

Your arm dropped in defeat. "Okay, I don't quite understand the wand movement, so what?"

"You need help and you didn't ask for it today."

"I..." You trailed off, the rest of your sentence getting stuck in your throat. "I was embarrassed."

San's perfect brows raised. "Embarrassed? For needing help?"

"It's stupid, I know."

"It's not." He shook his head. "I get it."

You looked over at him, noticing the sincerity in his eyes.

"If you need help, I'm offering it. I know you'd rather it not be me, but if you're desperate enough for assistance then you'll take what you can get."

He was right. You silently cursed him for being so perceptive.

"Fine."

A pleased smile settled onto San's features at your answer.

"Alright, then. Try it one more time, but do it like this." He demonstrated the movements with his own wand, watching you repeat it.

For the next fifteen minutes or so, you practiced the spell until you had it perfect.

Despite how you felt about San, you thanked him for helping you. You weren't above being grateful when it mattered, even if the person that helped was someone that got on your nerves.

"We can meet up at our place whenever you need help." San offered while you both went on your way to your dormitory.

Your brows raised. "Our place?"

"Yeah." He grinned. "The training room."

"It's not our place."

He seemed to deflate a bit at that but was quick to brush it off, changing the subject.

"The sun doesn't go down for another hour and a half, I was thinking of practicing at the quidditch field again. You wanna come watch?"

"I'll pass."

He had been asking you every day if you wanted to watch him practice and you had no interest in doing so.

"I assumed as much." He gave a dry, half smile. "There's no harm in trying though."

3 days until quidditch championship

Your shoes brushed against the grass as you walked through it, the blades making a soft shiff sound in response to your feet moving past. Classes were done for the day and you decided to take a walk around the school grounds, enjoying the refreshing weather. Your brief journey led you to the quidditch field, your eyes unconsciously taking a glance towards it, catching sight of San flying around as one of his teammates, Jooyeon, watched from he ground. Based on the lack of players, it appeared San was doing a solo practice. Without realizing, you came to a stop watching the way San dodged the bludgers coming at him, whizzing through the air with ease. Moving closer to the arena's entrance you stood and observed, making sure you were hidden as your eyes followed San's figure zooming around the field on his broom.

As annoying as he sometimes was, he was a good quidditch player, that much you would admit. Not just that, but his determination to improve was somewhat admirable—you'd never say it out loud though.

All of a sudden, one of the bludgers rammed into him and nearly knocked him off his broom, his once solid form wavering. You recoiled, hissing slightly at the sight as you imagined how bad it must have hurt. He tried to recover, but appeared to be losing control of his broom, unable to get himself back on track, this causing him to tumble to the ground, rolling a few times before stopping, his body a lump on the grass.

"San!" You gasped, rushing out onto the field without giving it a second thought.

He winced as he rolled onto his back.

A feeling of guilt washed over you as you took in San's pained expression, part of you felt like you were to blame for this. You made that stupid deal with him and now he had pushed himself too far and gotten injured.

"Y/n?" San peeled one of his eyes open to look up at you before a cheeky smirk pulled at his lips. "So you did decide to come and watch."

"Don't be delusional. I was only passing by."

"Sure you were." He rolled his eyes with a sideways grin.

"Do you want help or not?" You asked, losing your patience.

"I'm fine." He assured you, pushing himself into a sitting position. "It's nothing a quick trip to the nurse won't fix."

"You need to be careful."

"I need to catch the snitch." He said, meeting your gaze, his sharp eyes full of determination.

It was in that moment you worried he would actually win.

"San! You alright?" Jooyeon ran over with a worried expression, his distressed gaze scanning over his older teammate, searching him for injuries.

"Yeah, I just hit the ground really hard." He responded, rubbing his shoulder.

"We need to get you to the hospital wing."

"Y/n can take me." San insisted.

"No. I have somewhere to be." You lied.

"Not anymore you don't."

Without a choice or a say in the matter, you pulled San's right arm over your shoulder and helped him up, noticing the way his face twisted as he got to his feet. Escorting San to the hospital wing was not how you planned to spend your afternoon.

He was quick to asses the fact that he hit his left shoulder pretty hard on the ground when he fell off his broom, hard enough for it to cause him pain when he moved it. The injury, though minor and easy to fix, was preventing him from getting the rest of his afternoon practice in which agitated him.

The only sound heard was two pairs of feet moving through the grass and the light breeze that blew past the trees on the school grounds, rustling their leaves.

"That was a nasty fall." You commented, needing to break the deafening silence that loomed in the air.

"Yeah. That bludger hit me pretty good. Usually I'm able to recover without any issues, but for some reason I couldn't this time. I guess you're a bad luck charm."

"Bad luck charm? Really?" You sarcastically responded.

"I mean, it happened when you were watching me. You never showed up to my other practices and I never had any accidents then."

"Then I'll be sure to watch you real good during the championship game."

Your jab meant nothing to him, in fact it made him laugh.

Once you dropped San off at the hospital wing, you allowed the nurse to take things from there and turned to leave.

"Where are you going?" San asked.

Truthfully, you weren't sure.

"To the dormitory." You answered.

"Could you stay?"

Something in your gut told you to listen to him and for some odd reason the idea wasn't completely appalling.

"Alright." You caved, moving to sit on an empty bed beside the one San was occupying.

"What seems to be the problem?" The nurse asked him.

"I fell off my broom during quidditch practice. I hit the ground pretty hard and I think I may have injured my shoulder."

"Let's see." She began removing his gear, leaving him in his uniform pants and a black shirt.

She gingerly touched his shoulder, seeing if he reacted. When he didn't, she started moving it which is when San's face twisted in discomfort. After a moment, she nodded her head as if she figured out what the problem was.

"It seems you may have just bruised your shoulder, maybe even pulled a muscle during your fall. That's no problem, though. I'll heal it up right away."

You watched as she cast a spell, immediately healing his injured shoulder.

"Move your arm around for me, please." She requested.

San did as he was told, his eyes lighting up.

"All better." He smiled.

The whole visit took no time at all, you wondered why San even asked you to stay in the first place. Though, some part of you was glad he did. The thought of leaving him alone didn't quite feel right.

Once the nurse walked away, San jumped to his feet, rolling his shoulder to test it.

"Thank goodness it was just rough fall and a pulled muscle. If it were something more serious she might not have been able to heal it and then I couldn't play in the championship game." He went to grab his gear, sliding it back on.

"What do you think you're doing?" You asked.

"Going back out to practice."

"You just injured yourself."

"I'm all better. Everything is fine now." He paused, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You don't want me to practice because you don't want me to win the game. Is that it?"

"No. I just don't see why you're going back out there after getting healed. You should take it easy."

"Ah. So you're worried about me?"

"I never said that."

"You didn't have to." He grinned, sauntering out of the hospital ward.

As much as you wanted to try and stop him, you knew you couldn't. He was determined to get back out on that quidditch field and finish practice no matter what.

Later that night you lied in your canopy bed, staring at the green fabric draped over the wooden frame above. One thing you loved about the dormitories was how everyone got a canopy bed with curtains that could be drawn for privacy. During your spare time you'd sometimes come up to the bedrooms and lie down for a quick nap or just sit with the curtains pulled together while you wrote letters or did homework. The partial privacy the canopy beds gave you made you feel protected.

Tonight, however, your curtain-covered safe haven wasn't proving to give much solace as  thoughts of San swirled in your head, he was plaguing you and you hated it. You couldn't stop thinking about the way your heart clenched when you saw him fall off his broom earlier that day, the scene replaying in your head. You didn't say this aloud, but you were relieved he only pulled a muscle. If he'd gotten seriously injured you don't know what you would have done.

You paused, eyes going wide at your own thoughts. Why did you run out on that field? It's strange. You went out there without even thinking. As soon as San hit the ground you bolted towards him.

"No." You whispered out under your breath.

There's no way you were entertaining the idea of actually liking San. He got hurt, you were worried. That's all. This was just concern masquerading as attraction, you were sure of it.

1 day until quidditch championship

The light gray clouds hung low in the sky, moving languidly across your vision as you lounged in the courtyard. It was an overcast day which was fairly common here at Hogwarts. You didn't mind it.

Your eyelids slid closed as a long relaxing breath was let out through your nostrils, the comfortably cool breeze caressing your cheeks.

A few blissful moments passed before you heard someone walking through the grass, the sound seeming to be close by. However, you decided not to open your eyes, until you heard someone clear their throat, that is.

You peeled one of your eyes open, finding San standing over you, very clearly holding something behind his back.

"What is it?" You asked with a sigh, mildly annoyed that he disrupted your leisure time.

"Sorry to bother you." He apologized, seeming to be aware of your irritation. "I got these for you."

He held out a bouquet of red roses, his eyes staying glued to the blades of grass below as he avoided eye contact, waiting for you to take them.

The sudden gift made you scramble to your feet to get a closer look at the blooms.

"I hope roses are alright. You never told me what your favorite flower was and these are the default."

"Where'd you get these?" You asked.

"It doesn't matter." He responded, still avoiding eye contact.

You'd never seen San act this way before. Usually he was boisterous, overly-confident, and obnoxious. Now, he was shy, almost nervous and much quieter than usual.

Carefully, you took the flowers from him, turning the cluster of blooms in your hands, seeing the way they were tied together by twine, the stems appearing to be thorn-free.

San nervously fiddled with his hands, that's when you could see scratches across his knuckles and the tops of his hands, a couple bandages wrapped around his fingers.

Your expression softened as did your heart.

You cleared your throat, murmuring a quiet thank you under your breath.

"Yeah. You're welcome." He rubbed the back of his neck in a nervous manner. "Well, I'm gonna stop intruding on your alone time now."

With that, he turned around and started walking away. You almost called out for him, asking for him to stop and maybe even join you, but your words were stuck and died on your tongue before you could utter them.

You stood amongst your fellow housemates, watching the field below. Some students around you had signs with players' numbers on it while others had little pompoms with the Slytherin house colors on it, shaking them excitedly. It was a big day and the entire school was buzzing with energy. You on the other hand were nervous. Not only was this the championship game in which you and San's little deal depended on, but one that was between the houses with the longest running rivalry; Slytherin vs Gryffindor. Of course, you wanted your house to win, but if they did that meant you had to go on a date with San and you still weren't keen on the idea.

The players stepped out onto the field sporting their respective house colors, gathering around the referee and taking their places. The quaffle was tossed into the air and the game began. One of the players on the Slytherin team was quick to grab it, zooming towards Gryffindor's goal, but it wasn't that easy. A bludger was hit towards the Slytherin player by someone on the opposing team, but he was quick to dodge it as Slytherin's beater, Jooyeon, came in and hit it back towards Gryffindor at the last second.

It was when you saw a small golden sphere whiz by that your breath hitched. Your eyes followed it as San flew after it.

No, no, no. You thought to yourself.

He reached his hand out for it, but was hit in the side by Gryffindor's seeker.

You breathed a silent sigh of relief.

The game went on and both teams were doing incredibly well, the score staying close the entire time. Your upper body leaned over the wooden railing of the stands, watching anxiously as Gryffindor's seeker and San were side-by-side chasing after the snitch. The latter appeared to be ahead by a hair, his fingers almost touching the golden sphere.

"Go San!" You shouted impulsively.

You were quick to silence yourself. Why were you cheering? If San caught the snitch you would have to go on a date with him.

It was at that moment the snitch darted to the side, disappearing from San and the Gryffindor player's sight, which brought you a little relief.

He won't catch it. You thought. It's too difficult.

But he's been practicing a lot. You noted just a second later.

That little revelation was enough to have you worried all over again. That feeling multipled tenfold when San found the golden snitch and was hot on its trail once again. Even from your vantage point you could see the spark of determination in his eyes and that terrified you.

When he was close enough, he extended his hand, reaching towards the golden snitch while he tried to keep his broom steady with the other hand. You caught sight of Gryffindor's seeker coming up behind San, your nails unconsciously digging into the wooden railing. Moving your gaze back to San, you saw how focused he was, a feeling of dread washing over you. He whizzed all over the field, dodging bludgers and other players, sharp eyes fixed on the snitch. In the blink of an eye, San snatched the flying sphere from the air and the game was over.

"Choi San has just caught the golden snitch! Slytherin wins!" The announcer exclaimed causing the entire section to erupt in cheers.

Your heart dropped to your feet. He caught it.

San caught the golden snitch. Slytherin won the quidditch cup. The students around you screamed and cheered in celebration while you stood frozen and unmoving, your mind processing what had just happened.

You were only humoring him when you made that stupid deal, you didn't think he'd actually win. But now that it had happened, you realized you had to keep your end of the bargain.

You left the stands, keeping your eyes down hoping that you could slip out of the stadium without being noticed.

"Well, well, well." San smirked, walking towards you triumphantly.

"Don't rub it in."

"As bad as I want to, I won't."

"You know, I didn't even want to do this."

"I know, which is why I've decided something. You keep your end of the deal and go on a date with me, then afterwards if you really don't feel anything for me I'll leave you alone."

Your brows raised slightly.

"You're serious?"

"Very."

"Okay." You nodded. "That's fair."

"Great. Meet me outside the school's entrance tomorrow at noon."

A vague feeling of dread creeped up on you as you stepped outside the school, hoping you wouldn't regret your decision to keep your word.

"You're right on time."

San was standing not too far from where you were, giving a friendly wave as you approached him.

"Alright. What's the plan?" You asked, noticing the broom in his hand.

"I'm glad you asked." He grinned while he straddled the handle. "Get on."

You hesitantly slung your leg over, standing behind San.

"You'll have to get closer than that."

You stepped forward, chest pressing against his back.

"Have you ever ridden a broom before, pretty?" He asked.

You ignored the way the nickname made your stomach flip and answered his question.

"Only once during first year when we were learning how to use them."

"Hold on tight."

You barely had time to wrap your arms around his waist before the broom lifted off the ground. San angled the stick upwards, lifting the both of you higher into the air making your anxiety skyrocket.

Your hold on his slim midriff tightened as he flew around the school, your face pressing closer to his back as you fought the urge to squeeze your eyes shut and shield yourself from the heart-stopping view below.

"There's no need to be scared, Y/n." He told you. "You're safe with me."

You hoped that was true.

Lifting your head, you peered over San's shoulder, looking out at the view of the lake sitting below Hogwarts. The outlook from above was incredible and helped distract you from being so nervous.

"It's pretty, isn't it?"

"Yeah." You breathed. "It is."

"See? This isn't so bad."

"I guess not."

After making his way around the castle, San landed on a flat area on the roof of the school, which you were partially relived about, thankful to be on solid ground again.

"The roof?" You questioned, glancing around at the empty area while San set his broom aside.

"Just wait." He grinned excitedly, moving over and grabbing something that you clearly couldn't see.

He pulled back on the unseen object, revealing a picnic setup.

"Ta-da." He beamed, gesturing to the arrangement.

"You had an invisibility cloak? How did you manage to get your hands on that?"

"I have connections." He shrugged. "C'mon. Have a seat."

Obliging, you made yourself comfortable on the blanket he had laid out, getting a look at all the snacks he prepared.

A small array of fresh fruit, sandwiches, and small desserts were spread out before you, even a couple bottles of fizzy sodas. You didn't want to say it aloud, but you were impressed. He really went all out for this.

"Would you like one?" San offered you a plate of small sandwiches.

You obliged, plucking one from the saucer and having a taste. Your brows raised in astonishment.

"Where did you get these?"

"I got permission from the kitchen staff to prepare all of this."

"You made these?"

He nodded, mentally fist pumping in celebration, thanking Wooyoung for teaching him how to prepare the sandwiches.

His dedication was, in a way, endearing and made you feel warm and fuzzy inside, your heart fluttering slightly.

"Is there anything you'd like? I can fix you a plate." He offered.

You accepted his offer and told him what you'd like, watching as he piled the plate with food. He handed you your platter with a smile, grabbing a bottle of soda.

"A drink for the lady."

Either he was really turning up the charm for this date, or he was actually a nice person and you severely misjudged him—you feared it was the latter.

"Thank you for agreeing to this." San gave you a dimpled grin, his cheeks painted a light shade of pink.

"Yeah, you're welcome." You spoke quietly, popping the top on your drink using a simple spell. "It's nicer than I expected."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

The both of you sat in silence for a few moments as you quietly snacked on fruit and took a sip of your drink.

"Thanks for the flowers." You spoke up suddenly. "And also for removing the thorns."

San appeared stunned at your words.

"You picked them yourself, didn't you?"

"How'd you know?" He asked.

"I saw your scraped knuckles and bandaged fingers."

He pressed his lips together, unconsciously fiddling with his fingers that were still healing.

"You're welcome. I hope roses were alright."

"They were. I really liked them, actually."

"You did?"

You nodded. "They're in a vase beside my bed."

Hearing that made San's heart soar. You'd always shown so much disinterest in him, but knowing you kept the roses he picked for you, in a vase no less, made him giddy. Maybe you didn't dislike him as much as he originally assumed.

"Would you like dessert?"

"Did you make this stuff too?" You questioned, reaching for one of the confectionery treats.

"Unfortunately no, just the sandwiches. I'm sure that makes all of this less impressive."

"It doesn't." You responded, taking one of the tiny sweets from the plate San had offered you.

San packed up the empty plates and other leftovers placing them into a basket, casting a spell to make it compact and easy to carry.

"We have to get back down and there's only one way." He stated, picking up his broom.

You peered over the edge of the roof, looking down at the ground below.

"You're not scared, are you?" San asked almost teasingly.

"No." You denied. "I can handle it."

"Get on, then."

You took your place behind him on the broomstick once again, this time feeling more comfortable wrapping your arms around him, the closeness making butterflies erupt in your stomach.

The descent from the roof to the ground wasn't as terrifying as you expected it to be. As soon as you landed, both you and San headed back towards the school, though a part of you didn't want the date to end.

"I have a confession." You spoke up.

San's gaze landed on you upon hearing the word confession, giving you his undivided attention.

"The date was..." You hesitated.

San's eyebrows raised.

"I enjoyed it." You finally admitted. "I was impressed with everything."

His eyes softened as a gentle smile spread across his lips, thought his heart was doing flips. "I was hoping you'd say that. So, what's the verdict?"

"Verdict?" You echoed.

"Yeah. How do you feel about me?"

The question alone put you on edge. How did you feel about San? He was so charming during the date and you couldn't deny that you had some sort of attraction towards him.

"Well, I don't dislike you." Was what you decided to say.

That made San chuckle. "So that means you like me?"

"I suppose it does."

"The real question is, do you like me enough to want to go on another date?"

It only took a couple seconds for you to answer.

"Yes."

"Can I escort you back to the dorms?"

"I'd like that."

The walk back inside the school was a quiet one, assumably because you were both feeling a bit shy after your confession. Truthfully, you were kicking yourself for constantly brushing him off, wondering why you hadn't given San the time of day sooner. He wasn't nearly as obnoxious as you originally thought he was.

You were so lost in thought, you didn't realize you'd already arrived at the Slytherin dorms until you heard San speak the password to get inside. He escorted you through the common room to where the girls' dorms were located, standing awkwardly outside the door, his face red. You turned to him, waiting to see what it was he had to say.

"Is it okay if I give you a kiss on the cheek?" He finally asked.

"Yes."

He leaned in and pressed his lips to your cheek in a gentle manner, the moment not lasting long enough. When he pulled away he was unable to hold eye contact, bidding you a shy farewell before scurrying away.

Your eyes scanned the hallway warily as the secret entrance to the training room slid open. Giving one last glance to your surroundings, you stepped inside, the already dim room shrouding in darkness as the entrance closed.

Your back immediately hit the wall as a pair of lips landed on yours, a set of hands squeezing your waist, keeping you pinned to the brick wall. Knowing exactly who it was, you welcomed the display of affection and kissed back. Your fingers tangled themselves in San's black hair, tugging at the strands any time his teeth latched onto your bottom lip, eliciting a string of blissful sighs from you. His actions made your mind foggy and your face hot, his kisses feverish and desperate.

You tugged his robe off, hands groping his arms, feeling his strong biceps under the fabric of his school uniform.

San parted ways, giving you only a few seconds to catch your breath before taking it away again by reattaching his lips to your neck. He pressed open-mouthed kisses to your sensitive skin, sending a wave of chills down your spine. Your fingers unconsciously curled at the base of his neck. The feeling of your nails dragging against San's scalp elicited a low groan from him, the sound vibrating against your skin and making your eyelids flutter slightly.

When he finally pulled away, you noticed the lanterns inside the secret training room had lit up, wondering when that happened. San rested his forehead with yours, gazing at you with half-lidded eyes.

"I wasn't sure you'd show." He said breathlessly, his chest moving up and down with each huff.

"Why? You asked me to meet you here. Plus, this is our spot, isn't it?"

His eyes widened as a bright grin broke out across his face.

"You called it our place."

"Yeah, I know." You lightly rolled your eyes, huffing out a chuckle.

San had a game in an hour, so you were glad you got to spend some time with him prior, but part of you was selfish and wanted to spend the rest of the day with him.

"Good luck at your quidditch game today." You told San, cupping his cheek. "You're gonna need it."

"I don't need luck."

"I don't know." You trailed off. "Ever since we started dating you haven't been practicing as hard since there's nothing to win."

He smirked, pulling you flush against him. "That's because I've already got my prize."

Hongjoong ⟡ Seonghwa ⟡ Yunho ⟡ Yeosang ⟡ Mingi ⟡ Wooyoung ⟡ Jongho

Masterlist ᝰ — enjoyed this imagine? reblogs & comments are very much appreciated!

DO NOT steal, plagiarize, copy, repost, alter, or translate my works in any way

🏷 @h3arteyes4mingi @weird-bookworm @poppy2007 @parkjennykim @evidive @mxlly143 @lizzymizzy-blogg @minhanbyeol @dinossaurz @laylasbunbunny

[ladyredmoon13]

DCXDP prompt:

Female Danny Fenton (Dead Serious)

You know how some colleges require you to live in the dorms for your freshman year?

Well, Damian was not happy with the fact that Gotham University was one such institution that required their students to live in such subpar living conditions.

Suppose he should count himself lucky that he will be living in one of the newer dorms. Though he wished that they weren't co-ed. The amount of girls who had knocked on his door in order to introduce themselves already was irritating.

So when he heard another knock at the door needless to say he was prepared with a barrage of insults. Only to snap his mouth shut and swallow his words, figuratively speaking; when he laid his eyes on the girl currently standing in his room's doorway.

Holding a heavy-looking box and looking confused." Um hi, is this room 609?" She asked. Looking around at his scattered belongings on his half of the living space.

"Yes, it is." Damian answered, silently thanking nearly two decades of training that his voice did not falter nor stutter. The young woman before him was breathtaking. Literally, as she had stolen Damian's with just her presence.

Her hair was ebony, her eyes a sparkling blue that he swore held stars. Her skin was impeccably pale and held no blemishes. He says that because there was no way that the artfully scattered freckles across her nose could ever be disgraced by ever being called such a thing. She was gorgeous.

And she was staring at him.

"May I help you with something Miss-?" He asked and she smiled as she balanced her box in one hand, holding the other out to him to shake. Which he did with a fluttering heart." I'm Danny, and no I don't think I need help. I just wanted to make sure this was my room." Making Damian pause.

"Your room?" He asked, there had to be a mistake. True the building was for both boys and girls, but surely the housing office wouldn't let two people of the opposite sex share a room." Yes." She said with a smile. Walking over to set the first of many boxes on her bed.

"So are you a friend of my roommate, or are you her brother or something?" She- no, Danny asked him. Shaking his head Damian looked Danny in the eyes," This is my room." He told her.

Damian watched as her beautiful smile morphed into confusion." Your room?" She asked and he nodded." That can't be right. Let's go down to the office and get this sorted out." She suggested," I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding." She rambled nervously.

Sighing the youngest Wayne followed her out and was thankful that his brothers were not there to bear witness to this awkward situation. Goodness knows that he would never hear the end of it.

-Due to a mix-up at the housing office, aka them thinking Danny is a girl; both Danny and Damian get put into the same room. Danny of course blames all of this on the Fenton luck. Despite the fact that she could have fixed this if she had read the paperwork she was given months earlier. Damian tried to resolve the issue himself but it would seem that what's done, is done.

It was the beginning of the year and they had no available rooms to move them to. So they were stuck, and Danny was sure that Clockwork was laughing at her. One day into adulthood and she was already in a mess. Great! As if things couldn't get any worse. Wait, is that Dash?! Oh no, no No NO!!!

[thebellearchives]

𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑

~ fushiguro megumi ; jujutsu kaisen

✧˚ · . S Y N O P S I S : Megumi slowly realizes he’s falling in love

‧₊˚ c o n t e n t s : gn!reader, opposites attract, reader is generally a mess but has ~ unshakable character ~, fluff

‧₊˚ a / n : it’s literally 4 am pls spare me if i made any mistakes ):

When you first showed up amongst the first years, Megumi Fushiguro thought you were tiring. Sure, you were nice, but you were just so opposite to him it was almost draining. He watched silently as you laughed loudly at Yuuji’s jokes. His eyes followed when you locked arms with Nobara and ran excitedly towards a different shop. And the way you easily struck up a conversation with the girl who sold you some ice cream cones. It was nice though, when you turned around and offered him his ice cream, with a soft smile on your face and your voice suddenly becoming tender and nice. He didn’t know why, but his heartbeat almost picked up a faster pace when he noticed a special shimmer in your eyes.

The fact that you found it easy to interact with others was one thing, but he also noticed you were a bit of a mess with your belongings. So Megumi sighed and picked up your backpack, silently following behind you, Yuuji and Nobara. You were chatting and explaining something eagerly, moving your hands around and being completely oblivious to the fact that you had left your things behind. But when you turned around and saw him carrying your stuff he couldn’t help but think your surprised expression was adorable. The way you ran up next to him and giggled shyly when he handed you your backpack. Your eyes looked up, your face tinted a cute peachy color and muttered an adorable thanks. Megumi gulped, cheeks quickly matching yours when your hands touched his. He just nodded, this time not because of his silent nature but because your warmth had left a tight knot in his throat that made it impossible for any sound to leave his mouth. You didn’t run back to your other friends though, instead decided to just walk silently next to him. A sigh escaped from his chest, finding the lack of words not only comfortable as usual, but there was something special, some type of different sweet feeling lingering in the air that he couldn’t quite define yet.

The feeling persisted. Like when you both went out on a mission together. Seeing you so determined to win, despite the exhausted panting of the fighting, the sweat covering your forehead and the small blemishes of scarlet in your scraped skin, he felt it then. Or that time when he invited you, Nobara and Yuuji to eat over at his place and you tried to help him to cook. He caught himself smiling slightly, watching you make a mess of the ingredients and even smearing some in your face unconsciously. Megumi almost felt strings pulling from his heart when you assured him you’d make it work no matter what.

He could feel it in the silence of your concentration, in the kindness of your eyes, in the fondness of your smile and in the brushing of your shoulders. And it only became stronger, when his fingertips brushed the skin of your face and his heart longed for the feeling of your lips on his. Megumi was certain this feeling was love when you kissed him and he held your face in between his hands. Your hands nervously clinging from his shirt, his fingers threading your hair and his lips passionately looking for warmth on yours.

Then suddenly all the things that made you different from him were beautiful. The ease with which you talked to people was amazing to him, the way you would lose yourself into your own little world to the point of forgetting your surroundings was simply charming, the mess you’d make in the kitchen made him want to chuckle and stop you in your tracks and kiss you on the tip of your nose. Megumi knew he was in love, falling asleep in your arms, with your fingers caressing his raven hair and your whispering lullabying him into sweet dreams of you.

“I love you” he murmured when his eyelids finally became too heavy.

[tillthelandslide]

Prove It Princess: Chain Matty! - The Sequel

Perfect Girl

A/n: a huge thank you to @lottiecrabie and @lastnightwaskindofablur for reading this for me and helping me 💘. This is long awaited I feel and I'm sorry to everyone who really wanted a sequel, but it's here (kinda?) it's not fully finished but I'm kinda of done with it. Hope you all like it 🩷

MINORS DNI 🫵🏼

Matty's eyes haven’t left you the whole day. No matter what he does, they always seem to land on you. When you’re not there, he's been searching for you, needing to see you. Clad in a lace bodysuit that was entirely too similar to the ones you wear for him, tucked into a leather skirt, teasing him. Forever teasing him.

But what got him the most, is the silver chain resting around your neck, worn like it was a medal. His chain, grazing the skin he so desperately wants to mark. To cover with beautiful hues of purple and red. A reminder to everyone that you are his girl. But the chain is not enough; it still gives too much room for guessing. People who do not know him, don’t know the true owner of this necklace. Have no idea it claims you as his. For all they know, you don't belong to anyone. Though it doesn’t really matter when it looks that good, and God, does it look good. Even the shining ring on your left hand isn’t enough, not for him. He needs to mark you. Show everyone that you are taken.

He watches the way your thumb hooks underneath the dainty chain, playing with the metal, letting it graze against your skin. He is in a daze, obsessed with the way you run your thumb against it absentmindedly, caressing the metal. Your finger runs along the silver and he swears he feels the sensation on his own skin.

You talk to George, his arm wrapped around your shoulder, skin grazing the metal. Matty doesn’t care that it’s his best mate's arm that’s wrapped around your neck. He smirks. In fact, seeing his friend's skin touch the metal that was once coated in him, it makes him feral. It's a disgusting thought. Erotic, but vile. If only he knew…

You pull the chain with your thumb, the back of it digging into your neck as you listen to George speak about some after party, running through his supposed ‘un-thought of’ idea of a remix he wants to play.

Matty swallows as he sees the metal bite into your nape, leaving an indent. His eyes are focused on the hollow of your throat then, wanting nothing more than to nip it himself, right next to his chain. To make you bleed and bruise. To leave traces of him on your skin for the whole world to see. To remind you of the sinful things he loves to do to you. That you beg him to do to you.

Your eyes finally land on him. You take in his dark, blown-out eyes and his bitten lip. You knew that look all too well. You smirk as you bring the chain up to your own mouth. Matty knows your next move before you do it. He shakes his head and draws in a shaky breath as your lips wrap around the necklace. His mind flashes back to that night. The way your lips sucked the silver coated in him, the way you licked it clean.

It was then that he made you promise to never take it off, ever. Your attention is pulled from him by George again. You mumble a little “hmm?” and the metal falls from your mouth, almost in slow motion, landing against your chest. It bounces slightly upon impact, drawing his attention to the swell of your breast.

He notices the faint remnants of a hickey there, the bruise nearly healed, looking more like a blemish than anything else. He wants to place his mouth there again, darkening the skin over and over until his imprint on you is nearly a branding iron.

He needs you. God, he needs you desperately.

His blood almost boils when he sees George lean down, his lips grazing your ear. Matty doesn’t know what he says and he truly doesn’t care. He doesn’t even care that it's his best friend, one that he trusts with his life. Not when he sees you smirk, eyes snapping up to him, smiling as the drummer murmurs into your ear.

“He hasn’t been able to stop staring at you all night,” is what George says, making you smirk, your eyes finding the curly haired man in question.

"It's the chain," you mutter back into his ear. Your eyes find Matty, he sits with his legs spread beside Ross and John. Matty isn’t listening. Instead, he glares at you and George, ever focused. Your eyes rake down his form, noting the way his thighs part further and one hand grabs the back of his neck, drifting up to his hair, tugging the curls.

"He's so…" George pauses, pulling back to look at his friend, smiling at him and watching him nod back. He leans down again, arm slipping from your shoulder, hand gently holding the back of your neck. “Possessive over you," he breathes into your ear.

“I say we give him a little show, hmm? Make him finally do something about it,” he speaks and your smirk spreads, breaking out into a toothy grin. You chuckle, eyes flicking up to the man as he pulls back from you. It doesn’t matter that his girlfriend is somewhere in the venue. Heck, she’d probably join in on the fun. For that’s all it was, a bit of harmless fun.

George continues to speak slowly into your ear, lips nearly grazing your skin with every word. Matty doesn’t like it, but he doesn’t move, not yet. He’s entranced sure, but nothing has hit a nerve just yet. He was enjoying the show… for now. He breathes shallowly, watching as your lips twitch, smirking and smiling and fluttering your eyelashes up at his friend, wanting Matty to react. He watches as George’s eyes flick to him, throwing an evil little smile his way, playing with him as much as you were, daring him to move.

George’s eyes fall back to you, drifting along your skin, not in a predatory way but searching for something, something he could focus on to draw out the needed reaction for Matty. His eyes fall on the silver jewellery resting against your chest and he smirks.

“This is nice.” His fingers hook underneath the chain. That's all Matty needs to see before he’s moving. He rises in an instant, practically falling over himself to get to you, and he stands with you before George has even had a chance to raise the chain upwards.

“Don’t you have a girlfriend to bother mate.” His words are harsh and they have both you and the drummer smirking. George jokingly hisses at the man for his catty words, making you chuckle. Matty’s eyes snap to yours, silently warning you to watch your mouth. Your lips close and you swallow.

He stares his best friend down until he drops the metal, letting it fall and collide with your skin. George inches back, still standing close to you but raising his hands up in surrender.

“Alright don’t have to tell me twice,” he says, but he quickly leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek making Matty practically growl. Before he’s walking backwards, raising his eyebrows at you and mouthing a “you’re welcome” as he leaves.

“Having fun, were you, love?” Matty says, hand hooking behind your neck and squeezing. Just hard enough that he feels the chain against his palm. Enough so you know what’s to come. Enough so you know exactly what he’s going to do to you. The singular gesture makes your core clench, preparing for him. You know if he was to spread his fingers through your folds he’d find you wrecked, wet and ready for him. You also know that despite the fact you’re surrounded by your friends, you’d let him take you right there, quenching all of your wanton desires.

"Just having a friendly conversation Matty," you say innocently, hand finding his chest, running along the covered muscles, gently, soothingly. But your eyes hold a storm behind them, something dark and all too dangerous brewing behind the teasing stare he is fascinated in.

"Friendly my arse," he murmurs, eyes leaving you and searching for his friend, only to find him standing with Charli, arms hooked around her. They’re both looking back at him, Charli giggling into his neck whilst he smirks at him.

"Fucking twat,” Matty murmurs to himself more than anyone else. “Fuck off mate” he shouts, across to his friend who just laughs loudly, pulling his girlfriend away with him. You coo up at him with a pout, leaning forward until your lips graze his neck.

"Poor little Matty… doesn't like it when his best friend talks to his girl." His eyes snap to you then and you smirk. Rousing a reaction from him was way too easy, and too fun to refrain from.

"He wasn't just talking to my girl… he was flirting," he says with a raised eyebrow. You just lean forward, lips finding his neck again, grazing the flesh with your tongue.

"Sure… your best friend was flirting with your girl." He doesn't like that you're making fun of him. You raise your lips to his ear, brushing them against the flesh. He shudders, a low growl slipping from him. “Maybe you should show him who I belong to." You take the lobe in your mouth feeling the cool metal of his hoop that you finally convinced him to wear again against your tongue.

He grunts and tears you away from him, dark eyes finding yours as his arm hooks around your shoulders and he smirks. "Come with me." He pulls you with him, walking out of the room, turning a corner and then another and then another until he's found his dressing room. He drags you in and slams you against the door.

"Such a dirty slut… begging for daddy's attention. Flirting with his best mate just so I'd give you some attention…" His lips find your neck, tugging against the metal. "Little greedy thing, huh?" He says, asking you for something, anything: to confirm his words or deny, he doesn’t care. All he wants is those breathy, whiny moans of yours against his ear.

"Tell me how much you want me." You move forward, just an inch, needing him closer to you. His hand snaps to your throat, pinning you against the door. You moan and your back arches. It makes his head spin, a loud groan rumbling from his chest.

"Need you so bad Matty… so fucking bad" It's not good enough. You know by the way he tilts his head to the side and he tuts.

"Daddy, please." with the way his eyes sparkle and a menacing grin rests against your lips, you know you've got him hook line and sinker. Or at least you think you do.

His lips are on yours not a second later. His tongue is in your mouth almost instantly, aggressively pushing against yours. Your head nearly hits the wood upon impact, but it’s cushioned by one of Matty's hands. It weaves between the strands of your hair, fingertips threading through before closing. He tugs your head to the left, making you moan into his mouth. His lips slip from yours, dragging down your neck slowly, landing against your chest before following his previous path back up, halting at your jugular, right next to the silver chain.

“You drive me fucking wild, baby girl.”he bites your neck, the cold of the chain on his tongue. Your flesh tastes like metal and salt and heaven and you. So much like you that he moans into the hollow of your throat. The sound that slips from your mouth is a glorious melody that he’s obsessed with. It makes his pants tighten. He swears if he’s not buried inside you in the following minutes, he’ll combust.

He pulls back a little, the chain slipping slightly, colliding with his lips as he talks again, "And this fucking chain," he says, fingertips hooking underneath the metal, pulling until it's taut against your neck. It chokes you slightly, leaves you breathless.

“Shoulda never given you this fucking chain,” he growls the words out, his fist taking up the place of his teeth, clenching around the chain and tugging slightly until your lips are against his. You don’t move. You can’t; you’re choked. But if you said you didn’t love it, you’d be a liar.

You moan out a breathless sigh of his name, groaning when his hips thrust forward, just once. Enough so you can feel him, heavy and hard against your core. “Wanna fuck you in nothing but that chain and the pretty little ring on your hand," he admits into your neck, tongue running along your neck, hitting the edge of the cool metal.

"Please." The word barely leaves your mouth before Matty’s hands find your hips, turning them until your chest is against the wall, his mouth buried into your neck as he grinds his cock against your arse.

“Fucking hell,” he says, groaning once before he steps back. You turn again and your eyes find his dark stare. The way he runs a hand through his hair as the other is fumbling with his belt has you sighing, head falling back against the door. He peers your body as his hand continues to struggle with his pants.

You reach forward and grab his hands, halting his failed attempts, easily undoing the belt buckle and slipping the leather from it. You sneak under the waistband of his trousers and tug at it until he’s in between your legs again. You then find the zip, pulling it down torturously slowly whilst you smirk up at him.

“Here I was thinking you were going to be a good girl, but you just can't help but tease me, can you?” He says. You coyly shake your head up at him, biting your bottom lip. You watch the way his eyes somehow darken further, a near impossible feat.

“You prefer me this way,” you say as you finally tug down his trousers, not bothering to waste any more time and tugging his underwear down too. Your eyes fall to him, enthralled with the way his hard member snaps up against his abdomen. He watches as your mouth opens and he smirks.

A hundred ideas flash through his mind. He debates pushing you down to your knees and fucking your throat until you behave like his good girl. He toys with the idea of stripping you and fucking you against the wall until you crumble around him. Right now, he much prefers the idea of watching you strip for him, until your jewellery shines on you and your thighs glisten for him. So he steps back, inching further away from you. You try to take a step towards him, but a singular tutt has you freezing.

“Who said you can move?” He says, moving further back until his legs hit the sofa. You watch as he lowers himself, legs parting and hand wrapping around the base of his cock.

All the air in your body, the room and probably his body too, could be taken away with the deep inhale you take. It makes him chuckle, a mean sound that would make you pout if you weren’t as focused on his hand, slowly working up and down his cock. You watch the way his eyes never leave you, they trail up and down your body twice before he utters a word. The only word you need to hear.

“Strip.” His voice is perhaps the deepest you’ve ever heard it and it shocks you. It has you freezing up.

“I said,” he says, hand stopping at the base of his cock again, he squeezes slightly, “strip!”

You’re unsure whether to strip quickly or make a show of it. You opt for the later, deciding that if he made you wait, you could do the same. You could torture him far worse than he could you and you were certain of it.

Both of your hands weave into your hair, you pull it up, revealing your neck, tying it into a sleek ponytail, knowing the things it did to Matty. He instantly regrets his decision but knows he can’t back down now. His hand moves slowly against himself, working himself up, teasing himself, just like he knew you would.

He watches your neck like a hawk. He swallows when you do, seeing the way the chain shifts slightly. The hands once in your hair drifts down your body slowly, inching across the curve of your breasts, dipping in at the waist before beginning to trail down your legs. One hand continues whilst the other finds the zip at the side of your skirt. He swears the sound of the zipper is amplified, and he can hear his heart beating in his ears. He sees the fabric loosen slightly, watches as you turn, tugging down the fabric slowly, revealing the lace of your underwear inch by inch.

“Fuck,” he says when your arse is revealed to him. He wants to move forward, to reach out and touch you or spank you, but your movements have him frozen. The lace bodysuit you wear clings to your body perfectly, the thong of it revealing you practically entirely to Matty, the swells of your arse that he loves so much virtually begging to be bitten. He nearly cums right then and there when you bend slightly, hand finding the clasp of your heels.

“No” you stand and look over your shoulder “keep them on”

"Good girl, now turn."

You turn back around slowly, eyes snapping to his hand again, staring intently at the way his veins swell as his hand works himself slowly. Far too slowly. You know Matty, perhaps more than he knows himself. You had received a plethora of phone calls from the curly haired man when he was on tour, calls where his hand would be wrapped around his cock and he'd be groaning down the phone the minute you picked up, begging you to join him on tour, telling you how much he missed being buried in your tight cunt. You remember those moments well and you distinctively remember the sounds, the movement of his fist far quicker than his current pace.

He was teasing himself, just like he knew you would.

"Are you just going to stand there or are you going to give Daddy the show he deserves?" His voice snaps you out of your thoughts. It's deep and commanding and it has your fingertips eagerly finding the poppers of your bodysuit.

They come undone with a "pop" that seems to ring around the room, only drowned out when Matty thrusts his hips upwards into his hand, groaning as his eyes fall to your core. The sound he lets out lets you know he likes what he sees. And boy does he like it.

"Fucking hell" he says, hand momentarily halting its movements. You watch his dark eyes flick from your folds to your eyes, he bites his lip and he sighs.

"Fucking dripping" he bites his lip for a moment before his mouth is opening again but you cut him off before he can continue.

"All for you daddy" you sigh, hands finding the fabric around your waist and hitching it upwards a little revealing more of yourself to him.

"Really?" His hand continues, he groans and his eyes shut but they open a second later, trained on you again.

"Of course Matty" you say, he scolds you, you apologise, correcting yourself "daddy". You don't miss the way he smirks and mumbles a "good girl".

"What with the way you were flirting with George… I wasn't sure" your mouth opens at that and a mean chuckle falls from his lips.

“Matty” the name falls from your lips softly and he doesn't correct you this time, His eyes soften but only slightly and he allows you to step towards him.

You walk until you're towering over him and you sigh when his hands clamp around your thighs, running up and down the skin, goosebumps and shivers forming.

“What is it hmm? Feeling guilty that you made me feel this way?” You know he's committing to the bit, degrading you only slightly so you could both get what you want. Hot, hard and heavy fucking.

Your lip ruts out slightly in a pout and you nod. Matty copies you before he smirks slightly. You place one hand on his clothed shoulder and hike your leg over his lap, one at a time, slowly lowering yourself down onto him.

He sits hard and heavy against your cunt and you both sigh as he ruts up against you. Both of you want nothing more than for him to hitch his hand around the base of his cock and thread himself through your folds, but this was a cat and mouse game now, and he didn't want to be the first one to break.

He wanted to break you, until you were begging for him to fuck you. He could easily lean forward and press his lips to your neck but two lean fingers hook under the chain and he tugs. He uses the hand that was wrapped around him, the remnants of his pre cum coating the skin near his knuckles. Stickiness that has bubbled over as he tortured himself.

One jerk of his hand and his teeth are enclosing round your throat. His other hand grips your hip firmly.

“Show me how bad you want it” the hand on your hip forces you to roll them, giving you permission to take control of your movements. You're hesitant at first, eyes flicking down to his lips, watching the way he bites the bottom one. You finally roll your hips forward against his, revelling in the way his hands grip your hip and the way he lets out a low grunt.

You repeat the motion, rutting against him slowly, making your eyes flutter and a sigh fall from your mouth. You roll your hips forward again, Matty surprising you with a thrust of his own hips, the tip of him jolting against your swollen clit. It has you throwing your head back and a blissful moan falling from your lips.

You feel Matty hook his hands under the chain, gently pulling until you're looking at him. He smiles when he sees your eyes, blown out and completely wild.

“My beautiful wild girl” his other hand clamps around your hips, forcing you to apply more pressure. He knew how to get your begging for his cock and your current movements just weren't enough. You were playing it safe and safe isn't what he wants.

“My sweet, sweet girl” his name falls from your lips again and he tutts.

“I said show me how bad you want it” he thrusts up then and it's as if he's shocked you into motion.

Your hand clamps around his shoulder, hips moving backwards and forward harshly against.

“Fuck Matty… you're so hard, feels so good” you lean forward to claim his neck with your lips. They move against the skin, teeth nipping here and there, noticing the way his breath picked up. Little grunts slipping from his lips. You feel the tilt of his head, down, you didn't need to pull away to know what he was staring at.

“I need you so bad Matty” you beg. He knows you do, he can feel it. A small “fuck” slips from his lips and his hands clamps down on your hips, slowing your movements. You can feel the way he twitches beneath you, so close. You were winning and he didn't even know it. You had hardly begged and here he was, precum leaking against your folds, eyes trained on your cunt and the way his hardness was coated in you.

“Only you can make me feel like this, just you Matty, only ever you” he pulls you back from his neck at those words, smearing his lips against yours as he forces you to raise your hips. You feel the tip of him at your entrance, you sigh into his mouth and he swears.

“Yeah? Only me?” He says, his words moulding against her mouth, tongue teasing hers as he smirks, on hand clamping round the base of him whilst the other lowers her hips down onto him. They sigh in tandem, both groaning when he finally bottoms out.

“Prove it to daddy, princess”

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[mugman64]

Percy Jackson Headcanons Pt.2

(Some of these tie into the first part)

-Powers

The gods adapt to modern day but only partially, they reflect the way their domains were in ancient Greece or Rome more than how they are now. Their children on the other hand have adapted. Poseidon remains the god of the old sea, the unexplored, the terrifying depths that few would dare to enter.

Percy is the son of a much newer sea, one that has been home to all manners of beings. Millenia of people coexisting and traveling the ocean has given it some newer powers. When Percy needs help and does not have the energy to raise a storm he can sing, the songs of pirates, of sailors, he can funnel the lives of all those who lived and died by the sea into magic. A magic that belongs to the sea, that has become one with the sea. Some even rumor that the Princess Andromeda was pursued by the ghost ship herself, The Flying Dutchman, the seas wrath wrought upon it by Percy’s hand.

Clarisse has a similar power. The Spartans her father swears by never did get much into things outside battle. But as times changed so did war. During capture the flag when all seems lost its been said that the songs of marches seems to emanate from the children of war, empowering their allies. When they are beat down and tired, they die with their backs strong, a distant chant of "a Hell of a way to die" blowing in the wind. And when Silena Beauregard perished the battlefield fell silent as a memorial for a fallen friend rang through the air.

-Appearance

Most demigods use the mist to hide their blemishes. Percy is no different, he hides his scars, some from monsters, some from accidents, and some from Gabe. But the biggest thing he hides is his skin. Percy has fought many gods, titans, immortals, you name it. They have left their mark on him. When Percy defeated Hyperion the golden ichor that fell from his wounds never washed away, when he fought more titans in the pit it added to it. His body has always been an amalgamation of scars and tattoos, now it has splashes of the golden blood of immortals and the green blood of the more powerful monsters he killed thrown in the mix.

Him and Annabeth have theorized why it only happens to him and struggled to find an answer. It was only after Thanatos informs them that he understands. The fates wanted to remind the gods that they aren’t infallible. How better to do it than to mark their savior, the most pertinent demigod of all, with the blood of the immortals he’s beaten on the quest to save them. After all it isn’t only titans whom Percy has made bleed

-Vendetta

Percy frequently had to fend off fights from gods before the war. Every other week it’s either Ares or Athena wanting a fight. At least Artemis stopped after he hit her with his car and Dionysius after he broke his knees with a brick thrown at Mach 1. But these two are so persistent it doesn’t matter if it’s knives, swords, spears, fists. He even beat Athena with a waffle iron once. They just never seem to give up. It doesn’t help that Phobos,Deimos,and Enyo seem insistent on fighting him too.

-Trauma

(t/w: suicidal thoughts, Substance Abuse, and Self Harm mentioned )

After the second Titan War Percy and Clarisse where fast on the track to self-destruction. It all came to a head when they encountered each other in their old bunker, hidden deep in the woods. It was a place where they would hang out and have fun with Beckendorf, Silena, and Lee. All of them gone. Percy saw Clarrise holding a bottle of malt liquor, he himself had just felt a bullet break against the impenetrable skin of his temple, the only way to feel. They saw each other and made a pact to keep each other alive, to confide in each other and help each other until eventually they got past self inflicted wounds and survivors guilt. Both of them were supposed to be generals, supposed to be strong. So they were weak as friends, in private, until they became strong. Many think that only Annabeth or Chris could help them through an episode, but when it’s really bad it’s Percy or Clarrise coming to help the other.

-Parenting/Family

Annabeth is the full blown mama bear in the mortal world, she's at every parent teacher conference, every open school night, holiday parties, EVERYTHING. Gods help the school that tries to shun her kid for having ADHD and dyslexia, she will rain hell on them. She makes sure to listen to her kids side of the story before making up her mind.

Percy on the other hand is pretty laid back, until the Greek side of the family gets involved then all hell breaks loose. No child of his is going a quest before they're fourteen, thank you very much. Aphrodite needs to find her hairbrush for the 12th time this decade? She can go hook up with some actor and make a kid to do it for her, his child won't be risking their life for a fucking hairbrush.

Thalia, Piper, and Reyna are all in equal competition for the cool aunt title. It’s a much less intense competition than the vine riddled flaming skeletal mess that is Grover, Nico, and Leo’s competition to be the favorite uncle. (In reality Frank and Hazel have already claimed the titles)

Grandma Sally is a favorite of all the kids, and both Annabeth and Percy find family dinner where Athena glares at Poseidon from across the table very amusing.

-Protectiveness

Percy has always had a “me and mine” mentality. That is to say he’s fiercely protective of his friends and himself. That is why he fought in the wars. That is why he mouths off to the Olympians. Everything he does is to protect his friends and family, not the gods who sit and watch, but his siblings who fight next to him, who he protects with each battle.

His rage during the Battle of Manhattan was equally about his sorrow for losing members of his family as it was about protecting Annabeth. Even to this day demigod veterans remember his anger when he found that the enemy rolled a Panzer tank through HIS PEOPLE into HIS CITY. -Safehouse

Sally has an open door policy to all demigods. If you’re on a quest and you need a safe place to sleep or a meal you’re welcome to stay. Even the Hunters have taken advantage of such a boon. Not once had there ever been a monster attack on the apartment.

A couple people have theorized on how this works and the best answer is Percy is so terrifying to the monsters that know to stay away from his mother. And they’d be partially right, but Sally Jackson knows better. Because she’s the one who put the shotgun with celestial bronze ammo next to the door. Percy got his protectiveness from somewhere, and it wasn’t the God of the Seas.

[1slxt1]

Bride

Atreides!Reader x Feyd Rautha Harkonnen

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Chapter II

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The sound of footsteps echoed through the hallway. Shuffling feet, hushed voices. Or not. Some did not bother to talk quietly.

Whispers of shocking news coursing around the keep.

“-married to a Harkonnen..-”

“..terrible, terrible news-”

“I heard that the young mistress..-”

Gasps and shushing being uttered was as common as the rain on Caladan the past week, it seems.

Specifically, the young Miss did not exit her room if not directly summoned. Rumors that she was sulking, plotting an escape, or anything else did not help with the recent news of her arranged marriage.

Most of the servants avoided entering your room as they would hurry to tell everyone how depressed you had been. It was more of a mix of anxiety and sheer fear, but nonetheless not aiding your situation.

Paul has been great company, bringing you most meals and eating next to you. You enjoyed spending some time with your cousin, as it was likely he'll never be able to contact you once you’re shipped off to the hell hole.

News of who your betrothed would be had not arrived yet, but still, you were still quietly hoping it would not end up being Glossu Rabban.

The Bene Gesserit witches seemed to be coming to your home planet much more often these days. Always one or two spotted around your home. Watching.

But who?

Assuming it was you, no reason could be found except maybe a plot for escape. Your aunt? You knew she loved you very much but would not do anything to stop them. She had already disobeyed direct orders by birthing Paul, or so you have heard.

It was all irrelevant anyways. It was as if you could feel the phantom touch of the cursed promise on the nape of your neck. Quietly hovering there, the disgusting breath of it making you nauseous.

Your room felt eerily empty as you looked at it thoroughly. Almost naked. One of the things the cursed witches made you do was pack. Clothes, belongings, everything was packed.

They were ready to just ship you off as a moment’s notice. Why was this marriage so urgent to them? Why you, out of all people?

Your parents’ will. They had offered it to you to read, but you declined at the sight of dried brown blotches on it. A digital version was promptly sent to you, with no blemishes. Kindness? Or a silent reminder?

The doors to your room opening abruptly startled you, as it took quite some force to open them as swiftly as your guest did.

Paul stood in the doorway, looking at you with a wild glint in his eyes. You stood up from your place on the bed as he nodded quietly.

“A message from Geidi Prime has arrived. My parents and the witches are holding a meeting, I was told to notify you, you will be told as soon as they finish.”

He approached you, sadness taking over his gaze as he embraced you. You returned it, reveling in what could be one of the last moments with your dearest cousin. Your best friend. Your other half.

It was more than probable the beasts wouldn't allow you contact with family.

Paul was breathing deeply, you felt the rapid beats of his heart. Frustration. Fury. Pain. Anxiety. It pained you to see him like this.

For years you spied on whatever lessons Jessica had with him, as she was insistent to not include you. Paul would usually tell you afterwards anyways, but it did not have the same effect.

You spied in on them as a child, learning some of the witch-teachings. How to pitch your voice to make someone do your bidding, how to speak in secret languages known only to some and much more. Hopefully enough to help you survive when they throw you to the dogs.

Paul let go of you, holding onto your hand.

“I know my mother did not birth you, but you are and forever will be my sister. My kin. I truly love you as my own, and I will never allow any Harkonnen to lay hands on you, lay his gaze on you the wrong way.”

His eyes screamed fury, a raging promise to the threat looming not so far away. You laid your other hand on top of his.

“I will do my best to make this house proud, brother. I will not allow myself to be walked upon like a doormat by the rabid animals. If they wish to cut me off, my letters will be smuggled to you.”

Paul nodded in approval, smiling the true smile of the duke he would grow to be. A formidable ruler. You envied him a bit, for he did not have deceased parents that decided to marry him off out of lunatic depression.

A knock sounded at your door. You knew who was summoning you even before you stepped foot out of your room, Paul following suit.

As you walked towards your uncle’s council room, you traced the rough rock from which the keep was hewn.

From which your home was hewn.

Caladan.

The place where your heart lay, since birth and until your death. No other planet in the universe could compare to the green, rainy plains of Caladan.

Both you and your cousin remained silent the entire trek to the room. Your fate would be determined in that place in no more than half an hour. Such a small period of time, you thought to yourself. Only a week ago you thought you had all the time in the world.

Tiles that made up the colorful floor beneath seemed so dull coloured in the setting sun as you made your way over to the meeting.

Searching for that pang of horror, of the shock, only for it to be nowhere found in the pits of your stomach was surprising. As if it were a silent reminder this was your duty as an Atreides, and no amount of sulking would change it. Sulking would not prove useful to you anyways.

Your femininity were the chains that bound you to the promise your parents made. In a twisted way you envied Paul, for he could choose what, or rather who he could marry.

The large windows of Caladan castle illuminated the dust in the air, warm light falling in streams on the stone floor. You felt the warm, moist air setting down like a draped curtain over your senses.

A few hooded women stood before the doors of your uncle’s council room. Guarding? Or making sure you came?

It did not matter anyways, running away from this marriage would be considered treason over the Harkonnens, and would surely deepen the feud of your two families, if not even open a war.

You entered the room, your aunt and uncle sitting at the head of the table, the Reverend Mother taking a place to their left.

Mistrust.

You and Paul hot seated to their right, taking note of the metal scroll laying proudly on the table. Unopened. You looked at the blood red wax that held it closed, Harkonnen emblem engraved in it. Angular droplet fiercely staring back at you from the wax. It looked like blood.

Without bothering to ask for permission, you reached for it, snapping open the lid and watching the wax tear from its sides. Sliding out the letter, you skimmed your eyes over its contents.

The room was in stiffening silence, only the steady rhythm of rain trickling on the windows cutting through the silence.

“Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear.”

A clang echoed through Castle Caladan as you tossed the message on the rock hewn table. It bounced miserably a few times, then landed at the hands of your family.

“Feyd Rautha Harkonnen.”

You announced as your uncle and aunt read through the scroll, eyes darting over the text inscribed on its smooth metal surface. The letter was handed over, circling as you sat opposite to the Reverend Mother.

Her eyes glittered like jewels under the layers of veils she wore. Boring into you, as if her arms stretched through your chest and penetrated your very soul.

“Feyd Rautha Harkonnen.”

You repeated, eyes flying to your face. You would not let them see any fear, for sniveling wouldn’t do anything.

You almost felt embarrassed for acting like a child at your family meeting. A shaking mess. You must have appeared a scared little girl.

“I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past, I will turn the inner eye to see its path.”

Paul stood up and left the room. You knew he would be reprimanded for it later, but it made no use to hide how upset he was

Your eyes followed him as he left, your uncle following suit soon. Most probably for show, but still the room remained silent. The doors slammed after them.

Jessica took hold of your upper arm, tugging you with her as you shuffled out of the room, casting one final look at the veiled witch in the Duke’s council room.

She stared back.

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“Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.”

The halls echoed as your aunt half tugged, half dragged you to her morning room.

You obeyed.

What else was there to be done? Fight back, scream at the injustice? You weren’t stupid, you knew nothing you did from this day forward mattered.

It was silly, truly.

“Aunt, where are you taking me?”

Jessica stopped in her tracks, casting you a pained look. Her hand took place at your shoulders, giving a comforting squeeze, smoothing out the ruffled fabric of your dress clothes.

“Listen to me carefully, the Reverend Mother has requested to personally test you. It’s of the utmost importance. Remember whose child you are. We see you as our own. Don’t keep her waiting.”

She pushed you forward, the doors to her personal morning room only a few steps away. How had the Reverend Mother gotten here before the two of you?

Don’t keep her waiting.

You opened the door and saw the old crone sitting at your aunt’s desk, the evening light illuminating the river flowing by your castle in shades of pastels through the high windows.

“Sit down.”

Body lurching forward, you found yourself sat in the chair directly in front of the old lady.

“How dare you use the voice on me?” You spit out, hating the Reverend Mother more with every appearance she made. Not only is she disrespecting your aunt by sitting in her chair, but insulting you in this way?

“Put your right hand in the box.”

She ordered, without using the voice this time. Looking down to see a box materialize in her hand out of seemingly nothing, you hesitate. It was tiny, how would your hand fit in it?

“What’s in the box?”

You asked cautiously, looking at the weather worn metal object, green corrosion crusting it. A shudder ran through you at the mere thought of touching such a dirty thing. What if you get an infection from it?

“Pain.”

You saw her hand no longer rested by her side, rather stilling itself next to your neck. A shiny needle glimmering in the dusk.

This test is very important…

Recalling your aunt’s words, you placed your hand into the box. A tingling sensation ran through it, like being pricked.

“At your neck I hold the Gom Jabbar, poisoned enough to give you a quick and silent death shall you move. It is simple, remove your hand from the box, and you die.”

At the sight of the needle you felt a feeling long forgotten stir in the depths of your gut. The blade awakened horrid memories of matted hair, the slit necks…

The prickling sensation shifted to that of numbness, before pain, hot and searing enveloped your entire hand. Any thought before was quickly replaced by that of utter terror.

Your hand was being ripped apart, skin torn and your muscles ripped apart savagely, as if something were gnawing on your bones.

It was agonizing. Soon the pain turned to that of fire, the blazing heat attacking what was left of you. The flames seemed to lick your entire hand, scorching it so deep, burning off the flesh from your bones.

As if the entire flame of the universe was biting at your hand, tearing apart the nerves, pulling at them, seeping into your blood like venom.

You wanted to scream. Tear your vocal chords to shreds with the agony coursing through your arm in rapid beats. Yet only choked, pathetic noises came out.

“You’ve heard of animals chewing off a leg to escape a trap? This is an animal kind of trick. A human would remain in the trap, endure the pain and feign death to kill the trapper.”

A wrangled scream finally managed to escape your lungs, the Reverend Mother giving you a look that made you shut up again and push through the fire that surely melted your bones away.

“Silence.”

The cursed jolts of pain seemed to devour your wrist, pulling on the exposed nerves, unraveling your muscle fibers.

Then just like that - it stopped.

“Remove your hand from the box, silly girl.”

You pulled it out as fast as possible, expecting your hand to be missing, a charred mess. Yet - shaking, it was whole, the skin glistening with sweat but otherwise unharmed.

“What is this witchcraft?” Your voice cracked as you asked, throat sore from the little screaming you could accomplish.

“Pain by nerve induction.”

A simple answer, she did not deign you worthy of more. It would have offended you, had you not been preoccupied with checking if your hand is functioning as it should.

Your aunt opened the door, exchanging a few quick, hushed words with the Reverend Mother then watching her leave.

As soon as your figure straightened her arms were there, tightly embracing you. One was stroking your hair as she obviously forced herself not to weep.

“I am so sorry my dear. I did not wish for this to happen, but my hands are tied.”

You hugged her back, tears pricking your eyes. It was nice knowing she did not do this to you willingly.

The sun had long set when she let go of you.

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The dual doors of your bedroom were locked and secure, as now the vulnerability of anyone walking in on you would not be pleasant.

Still shaken from the previous encounter, you calmed yourself by watching droplets of water race down your window as the wind howled outside.

Your wardrobe lay open, almost empty save for a few garments that lay scattered in it and on the floor below.

You were sitting on your bed when the weight of everything seemed to dawn before you.

Or rather, crashes upon your shoulders with such force you fell down between the pillows and layers of sheets, sobbing.

You were off to be married to a sadomasochist freak like cattle for breeding. Is that not what it is? You’re simply a puzzle piece in some grand plan of the Bene Gesserit.

Everything seemed to accumulate to this particular moment in your life. The test, the marriage, everything.

You wished for a minute with your parents before they died, to stop the madness they brought to you. For more time. With Paul, with your uncle, aunt, anyone.

You wished for a normal life.

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[zorosdimples]

i love giving canon characters insecurities—it makes them feel achingly human. here are some things that zoro is self-conscious of:

being an orphan. it’s hard for him to feel like he belongs because he spent most of his life alone. sometimes he wonders if his curse is to walk the earth without friends or family.

his vocation. he has nightmares about wading across the sea of blood of the people he has slain. his hands are forever stained; some sins are too grave to atone for.

his stretch marks. he wears scars with pride because they are a record of his progress and feats. the striae on his arms and legs, however, feel pointless. they’re unseemly blemishes on his hard-earned physique.

his discomfort with physical affection. this ties into how he wasn’t raised by a loving family. hugs, kisses, simple touches—none of it comes easily to him. perhaps he isn’t worthy of love.

[acerathia]

two birds || Act II

Summary:

Hanahaki: A disease stemming from bottling up romantic feelings, as these decide to grow inside the lungs and the blood system of the sick person, resulting in flowers. Thus the first symptoms are the coughing up of flower petals accompanied by pain and breathlessness, as the flower continues to grow as long as the affected does not confess their feelings. Alternatively, the growing flower can be removed via surgery, but it may affect the ill person’s ability to feel love in various forms. Or How do you react with falling in love with no real chance? Simple, a tragedy in five acts.

Wordcount: 2.8k

Read on AO3 || Masterlist

Pairing:

Obito Uchiha / Reader

Tags/CW:

features of a tragedy, hanahaki disease, childhood friends, some degree of isolation, No War AU,

Note:

Please note that I choose to not tag some stuff, as it contains heavy spoilers, proceed with caution and with the knowledge that everything is either connected to the tragedy aspect, or the hanahaki disease itself. !! I didn't forget abt this!! Here!!

Scene I. – YOU, KAKASHI HATAKE, RIN NOHARA and MINATO NAMIKAZE, and afterwards OBITO UCHIHA, sitting between the grass, enjoying the cool breeze of remembrance

The scene: The training field, the whispers of the trees around you, where everything truly started.

The grass blades tickle your wrists as you lean, rest yourself on them, face stretched towards the sun, eyes closed flashing orange. Someone shifts behind you, shoulders brushing, tipping your balance, barely. A pop cracks, the joints of Kakashi shifting after this wait, minutes laying down on you heavy as hours. 

“I can’t believe he’s actually late. Again,” a husky voice starts, Kakashi, his expectations bleeding through his complaint. 

And you can’t help but turn to look at him, his face pulling a straight line to Rin, trying to connect, convey something. Instead, you’re the one answering. “Hm, you know as well as we do that he just gets busy, you know? Teaching a team and all that.”

Don’t you know how exhausting being a team is. Well, Minato-sensei does, but whoever belonged to that team had lived with the quarrels and arguments of the two boys, men. As much as they had learned to trust each other all these years ago, they still keep a hand deep in each other's hair, ready to drag, to rip, to tear. So you have every right to protest and to protect. It’s not fair otherwise. 

His head had turned to look at you, his dark eyes bore into you, searching for something in the blemishes of your skin. Maybe he found something, as his jaw works and opens, but before the words could even coat his tongue, the grass crunches, alerting you of the newcomer. A pair of sandals start nudging your hips and you look up, meeting an embarrassed grin and a hand rubbing the back of a neck. 

“Hey, sorry for my tardiness, the kids wanted to try one last mission today, and I couldn’t refuse them,” Obito immediately apologizes, eyes wandering over the spread group before landing on you. But only for a brief moment, as it jumps back to Rin. 

You unlink from whatever argument is currently arising, taking a swing to lift yourself onto your feet, standing up, stretching until you hear a couple of tiny pops. Continuing with your movements, you work on the musculature, feeling the pull in your calves, hips, arms. 

After you feel ready, you simply grab Obito’s arm, disrupting the heated fight about their ideals and expectations, dragging him to the middle of the field. Depositing him in a spot before taking your place a couple of steps away. 

“C’mon, like we used to do!” you demand, sliding your foot behind you, lifting your hands in front of you. No weapons, no Jutsus. Just raw power, just the two of you. 

The pout caused by Kakashi melts off and a bright, excited grin takes its place, and he too takes his position, bending slightly forward. His arms flex with each movement of his wrists, his thighs tauten, the band of the little bag around it stretching. You let your eyes roam over his shoulders, waiting for any indicating flinch, proceeding to glide over his biceps, his neck, only to stop over his plush lips, still puckered into that grin of his. You feel yourself trip, freefall, your heart drops, and yet you remain in the same position. 

You take a breath, trying to calm your heart down, the beat rising to your head, thumping words into your ears, whispering something you cannot discern. The echo only intensifies as you glance over his nose, his eyelashes squinting over his dark eyes, as if space had taken residence inside them. And you can’t help yourself but drown in them, the stars inviting, coercing you. 

And the taste of iron coating your tongue rips you back, out of that thought. You have been biting the inside of your cheek, tearing the tissue apart, popping blood vessels. Only because you have been distracted for a moment. But you’re glad about it, as it brought you back to your senses. 

So you couldn’t miss the kick aimed against your head, blocking it, grabbing his ankle, and yanking him to the ground, trying to gain some time. But he catches himself with his hands, kicking his other foot, and barely missing your chin, as you let go of his other leg to take a step back. Taking advantage of his open position, you decide to throw some of your own kicks in, trying to make him lose balance. And he does, but he’s able to latch onto your lower leg, pulling you onto the ground with him. You immediately just grab his hair, attempting to put him into a triangle chokehold. To your misfortune, he has a talent for evasion, leading to him being able to grab both of your wrists, pinning you down, knees heavy on yours, pressing on a nerve. 

His face lingers above yours, grinning, gloating about his win. His breath fans over your face, herbs and spices, and your eyes jump from his pearly smile to his crescent eyes, to his arm stretched over you. And you finally understand what your heart has been telling, thumping you all along. 

I love him. I love him. I love him

The air escapes your lungs with this realization and you have to force yourself to calm down, to act like your breathlessness is due to that fight. Yeah, there’s no other reason for you to almost choke on the air around you, his presence suddenly too overwhelming, pressing over your insides, squirming. 

Acting like nothing is wrong you swing forward to act like you want to bite him, or to headbutt him. Thankfully he takes the hint and he releases you from his hold, flopping onto the grass beside you. You have been observing him, and you don’t miss the way his eyes immediately jump to Rin, and the echo in your head gets warbled, wrong. You knew of his crush on your friend, it’s obvious, and he’s been looking at her like that for years at this point. And you also knew, the conversations under the clouds, just the two of you, Rin had started to reciprocate those feelings. And who are you to interfere with this blooming relationship? With this you decided to keep the thumping of your heart a secret, may it travel along your veins and unfurl between your bones, until it withered with time. 

You stay laying on the ground, watching as Obito finally stands up to join Rin, both their smiles brilliant under the shining sun, complementing each other, eyes roaming and accepting. With a snort you avert your eyes, staring at the clouds passing by. Of course you won’t tell, won’t even think about whispering those words to him, your pride heavier than the echo between your ribs. Your friendship heavier, your dignity heavier. You don’t dare think about the repercussions of these simple words, what could shatter, what could break. You aren’t even sure how you would handle the rejection, the rejection which is certain as the grass beneath your fingertips. 

Something nudges your ribs and your gaze wanders to the source. Grey hair meets you, not the ones you want to see, but you grin nonetheless, heaving yourself into a seated position. 

“What? You wanna make fun of me for losing?” you ask with a small giggle, aware he wouldn’t outright do so. Rather he would simply tell you what you did wrong, maybe offer you to show you how to execute whatever move he explained to you. 

But he just sighs, shaking his head. “Let’s fight.” Was the only thing he says, cocking his head to tell you to stand up. And you do, you’re almost glad for the distraction, and you wonder if he has noticed something, but his gaze to the conversation at the edge of the field tells you something else. 

You bump slightly into him, bringing him back to the current situation, exchanging a quick look, to which he frowns. You don’t give him enough time to truly grasp the situation and get into position at the other end of the field. He eventually does too. 

This fight is more intense, as you could concentrate a bit tiny better, than you earlier had. Doesn’t mean you necessarily win, rather Kakashi actually used the same move you wanted to use, to end this fight, indirectly showing you how to actually carry it out without worrying about slippery enemies. You have to tap out of the chokehold because you knew if he had been serious, you would be passed out by now. 

He releases you and you just flop, going limp on top of him. A scoff escapes him, the equivalent of a giggle for him, before he shoves you off not ungently. Your face meets the sandy ground and you close your mouth to not inhale any grains, and you had no other choice but to actually move and roll around. In this movement you catch sight of the pair still deep in their conversation, his hand on her knee, her body leaned towards him. 

A sudden urge to cough overwhelms you, and you clear your throat. It seems like you still inhaled some sand. You raise to your feet to grab some water, helping with the tickle at the back of your throat. While you were almost drowning in your water, Kakashi had joined the other two, vying for her attention in his own way. And you can’t help but snort, surpressing a laugh. Then your eyes meet Minato-sensei’s, his eyes laughing and yet overwhelmed, almost like the very first day he met that particular group. And now you can’t help but giggle, the tickle in your lungs just bursting out, almost forgetting everything troubling you, almost feeling like a little kid again. 

So you quickly join the group, leaping at Obito’s back, trying to convince him to carry you to Ichirakus, and he’s attempting to throw you off, complaining about how you always make him carry you, and how you never carry him, how about that?

That’s how you end up jumping off, grabbing him and throwing him over your shoulder, despite his larger frame. You laugh and just begin walking with him like that, answering his complaints with the reasoning he gave you, you never carry him, and now it’s your turn. 

Scene II. – The foregoing, the smell of herbs an echo of the past, the taste of promise coating the tongues

The scene: Ichirakus, the imprints of your shared history, the place where everything happened

On the way to the ramen place, you were forced to put him down, as his movements made it near impossible to properly carry him al the way, so you had no other choice but to comply, at least for now. 

That’s how you still ended up at Ichirakus with no bruises or empty laughter. Because you’re quite sure he would have started tickling you if you refused to put him down, and that would’ve lead to you both tumbling down the road. But you showed restraint and so you both could sit at the booth with no aching bones. 

As usual the boys frame around Rin like a rim from the outside world, you and Minato on the outside, forming concentric rings around her. And you all order whatever you’re craving at the moment. Waiting for your food another argument breaks out, and you miss the reason, but you help Rin and Minato-sensei to calm them down nonetheless. And due some miracle, they actually stop, even if both turn their noses up. 

Once the food arrives everyone gets chatty again, surrounding the center like a magnet. But your gaze wanders back to Obito, his back turned on you, a smile as bright as stars, eyes only for her. And you grin cheekily, trying to come up with something to tease him with, hinting about their feelings in the most obvious, most embarrassing way possible, when you suddenly have a cough fit. Your lungs rustling with every inhale, with every rasp they tickle. 

With watering eyes you try to grab some water, but there’s no glass of water on the table yet, and you have to turn around to avoid disturbing the others. It seems like you’re actually getting sick, rather than having inhaled some sand. Some kind of luck you have. At least you manage to grab your water bottle, letting the warm rest rinse your throat. 

You turn back around to see that your food has been served. Digging into your ramen, you momentarily forgot about your cough, not giving it more meaning than it probably has. And you try your best to ignore how barely anyone had noticed your problem just a few moments ago; only Minato-sensei has send you a worried look, to which you slightly waved with your hand, mouthing the words ‘sick’. With that he reluctantly nods, steering his focus to his own food, as the two fighters are momentarily distracted. 

Usually you would initiate some kind of eating contest, but you feel tired and drained for some reason, so you stuffed yourself full, enjoying the spiciness of the food, the way it fills your craving insides, almost like calming something inside of you. 

Warm and comfortable, you pay for your meal and stand up, telling the others that you’re going to head home. And you repress a flinch, as Obito decides to join you, you don’t know why, he always joined you home. 

So you make your way home, the street lamps slowly flickering to life. And what else are you doing but pestering him? 

“Man, you’re really whipped for her, aren’tya? Getting really bad at this point, ugh,” you act as if you’re gagging, until he slightly shoves you aside, hand in neck, skin pink under the dim light. 

“Hm, do you think she would accept if I ask her out?” he asks instead of denying it, because for how long you two had known each other, he would wonder more about why you wouldn’t know about his feelings. You always have been good at reading him. 

You hum, acting as if you’re deep in thought, even though you knew her response very well. But you wouldn’t tell him, that’s a secret you got, and who are you to share it? “Well, who would want to go out with you,” you finally answer in jest, not able to stop your shit-eating grin from emerging at his pout, before avoiding another shove. 

And you try to avoid the thumping inside of your head. I would. I would. I would

“Hey, I’m being serious here!”

“Me too! You eat like a little kid! No one wants a person who eats with their cheeks.” You stick your tongue out and giggle at him feeling his face, looking for the nonexistent food there. 

Upon realizing you’re making fun of him again, he stops and groans in frustration, only for a grin to spread over his face as he suddenly pounces on you, hands on your ribs, luring screams and laughs out of you. And you immediately start running away, trying to get him to stop tickling you. 

“Fine! Fine! Stop! Please, I will tell you what you wanna hear!” you beg as he has you locked between his armsl, torturing you with his nimble fingers, as you try to kick and shove him away. 

Immediately releasing you, he asks: “Yeah? Tell me how awesome I am!” A cheeky grin sits on his face, illuminated by the moon. 

And you only sneer at his request, just staring at him with disgust until he relents. 

“Okay, okay. Just… Tell me if it would work out?”

You sigh, clearing your throat, your breath tighter than it’s supposed to be, than you’re used to after such a small exercise. And you curse this random sickness. 

“Well, I think it wouldn’t hurt to try, yeah?” you rasp, throat suddenly feeling clogged, but you manage to swallow just fine, getting your voice back. “Trust me, just do it.”

He brightens up at your response and it feels like you stepped into the sun, blinking and squinting. You gag and continue your walk home, which surprisingly doesn’t take much longer anymore. 

At the door he wraps his arms around you, a goodbye hug, like always, like your bodies are used to. But this time it doesn’t feel like every last time you hugged him. Your heart is working overtime, screaming at you, and you hope he can’t hear the choir of confessions. And he doesn’t, as he breaks the hug with a bright grin and a goodbye, before going his merry way. 

And you stand in front of the door, trying to dilute these words into your veins, trying to push them out with every breath of yours, every hurting breath, every tickling, wheezing cough.

[illunicae]

Another snippet from my current FNAF & ROTTMNT crossover fic: meeting April!

Listening to the various machines buzz, you pulled out your phone to check the time. You still had 45 minutes before you had to be into work. That’s plenty of time to get your shit together before you had to interact with your coworkers. However, the various news articles suddenly popping up on your feed while you were trying to scroll was not helping. It seemed with the anniversary coming up all the local news stations were set to revisit the town’s only mystery.

You groaned and turned off your phone. You’d settle for just staring out the window if someone hadn’t approached your table.

A feminine voice spoke up with a clearing of the throat. “Excuse me, are you (Y/n) (L/n), by chance?” 

Glancing toward the woman who approached, you took in her appearance. Dark brown curly hair held back in twin buns, red rimmed glasses framed dark green eyes, blemish-free brown skin, and a smile that wavered just slightly at your small bout of silence. You tilted your head slightly, “Who’s asking?” You questioned. You didn’t have many friends, so it was rare for someone to ask for you by name.

“Oh, I’m April O’neil. Journalist for paper.” You were even more confused, yet slightly intrigued as you nodded for April to sit in the booth. “Thanks.” April smiled. 

Before the conversation resumed, the barista set your order down in front of the you before turning to April. “Can I get you anything?” She asked.

“No thank you.” April declined with a polite wave and smile. The barista shrugged and moved on, but not without sharing a curious glance with you. You just picked up the mug and took a small sip of your drink. “So, Ms. (L/n)–”

“Please call me (Y/n), no one respects me enough to call me Ms. (L/n). That title belonged to my cousin.” You stated, bringing the warm drink away from your lips. 

“Right, (Y/n). Well, I’m reaching out to you because I’ve got some questions.” April explained. 

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Questions about what?” 

“Questions about the mystery surrounding this town. And the boys that went missing.” 

Your grip on your mug tightened, though April didn’t notice. “Why?”

April grew a little nervous, “Because I’m doing a story on it. Why else?” Humming, you took another sip of your drink to hide your obvious distaste for the reporter sitting across the booth. April took a breath and leaned in as if to tell a secret. “Look, I believe something sinister is at play in this town and I think I could crack the case, solve the mystery. So if I could just ask you a few questions.” She explained.

You tipped the mug back as you drained the rest of your drink. You put the mug down a little harder than you intended. “I don’t know why you chose me out of all the persons sitting in this cafe, but I don’t have the answers you seek.”

“But–”

“Listen, O’neil, you seem like a nice woman, but I don’t know anything. That mystery is twenty years old. If you want a kickstarter for your career, find a different town with a different story.” You stood from the booth, checking your phone as you did so. “However, if this is where you must get your fix then ask anyone else in this cafe. I’m sure they’d love to answer your questions and gossip their theories, but I have to get to work, so goodbye.” After leaving a bill on the table to pay for your drink, you turned and began walking out of the cafe.

“Wait! Please!” April quickly shuffled out of the booth and raced after you. “It’s just a few questions and I’ll be out of your hair, I promise.” The bell jingled, signaling your departure as April ran to the door. You were a few strides down the sidewalk before April realized which way you had gone.  “I don’t want anyone else’s answers or theories. I want yours.” April called. She sped-walked a few paces behind you. “I think you and I both know your’s are the only ones that matter.”

That made you pause. You turned to face April, who was a good head shorter than you. Your eyes were an ocean of different emotions as you stared at the persistent reporter before you.

“You asked for me specifically, by name, why?”

“Because you were friends with the Hamato boys, weren’t you?”

[yeahcurrahhe-e]

𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋 𝐈𝐍 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐄

〚 𝐑. 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐈𝐑𝐒 〛

“𝐖𝐇𝐘 𝐄𝐍𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 in the army when there’s numerous jobs for women around here? Women don’t belong running across a battlefield, sitting in trenches, dirty and sweaty beyond any recognition of beauty.” Had been the sickly pleasant words of a meek woman, her mother, stifled by a stereotype.

Joining the WAC had been the shattering point between Y/N Y/L/N and her parents, two individuals adhered stubbornly to a sexist mandate and desperate to groom her to be another product of the status quo.

What they received was her enlisting promptly in the WAC upon its creation, burying their desires in a shallow grave with the sole of her uniform boot. The day she was transferred to the European Theater saw a vacancy of family for her, an orphan beneath the youthful sun and amidst tearful farewells.

It was quite obvious that when she returned home — if such godly luck was bestowed to her — her parents would have long since disowned her in her absence, mourning an alternate daughter that they never would have, regardless of what she has accomplished in the WAC. Upon her enlistment, their neighbors, who had been adoring the brazen little girl in their small town, had abruptly turned such revere into cascades of judgements similar to her parents. Maybe returning home was more so social suicide than a strike of luck.

Her true strike of luck was being a first lieutenant, a living example of a woman who set ablaze a witless sexist stereotype. To whatever extent those moronic boys worked, she always worked twice as hard to acquire any dregs of recognition.

Hence why her presence at their current Regiment was defined by chaotic, blurred glimpses of her as she bustled about with paperwork and maps, and sporadic visits into hospital tents, a bearer of supplies and a consolation for the youngest soldiers amidst the wounded. At Regiment, the female lieutenant was a living illustration of an army disciplinary booklet, the words alive in the calculated steps she’d approach a soldier with, the stoic expression that deprecated all of her recognizable kindness, and her grace to shift the demeanor for the infrequent kind soul that would drift in from the frontlines.

Typically, the individuals that would wander into their war-blown building had their souls in crumbles in their bloodied, dirt-smudged palms. Or they were a shell of humanity, a facade of a man but the internal components of a vacant abyss, their soul breaking at the seams amidst the disaster.

The man who trudged through the bullet-ridden threshold that afternoon was a vacancy of humanity; perhaps he could’ve once been a keen-eyed boy, welcoming to the unknowns of the world before the cruelty of war shattered it all.

Granted, no one departs from a war as the same soulful-eyed enlistee they were at the start, but why give the devil the contentment of entirely tarnishing yet another soul? She wasn’t spared from psychological cracks, but her perhaps was just better at subduing the surges of temptations that frisked about with each traumatic scar. It always ached to see so many men disintegrate into a frail shell, cracked and withered by screams of dying friends, splatters of blood, and brightly shattering mortars.

Y/N watched him traipse into the vestibule from behind a crate of unsorted files, the rasp in the floorboard settling an anchor in her core as he dropped with a bustle of his uniform on a chair. Blood was soiling a majority of his clammy skin, her medic instincts poking and prodding out wounds and lacerations across his face.

His blood smudged knuckles wiped briefly at his nose, its surface and his eyes pulsating red from an apparent cold contracted from their bitter surroundings and close quarters with others. His brown hair was littered with dust and debris, skin blemished also by dirt. His shirt was a shambled mess, ghastly saturated with blood and sweat, and her hand slipped down the ridged side of the crate from shock when he glimpsed towards her for the first time.

He was uneasily silent, bloodshot eyes searing holes into her soul, a fleeting glisten of similar shock in the vacant abysses as if he was bewildered that there was a woman in front of him — particularly one that adorned the emblem of lieutenant on her sleeve. She regarded how he winced like he was in anguish when he abruptly turned away to cough horrendously in the crook of his elbow.

With their tense stare vanishing in the bitter, stale atmosphere, Y/N reluctantly jostled away the crate when his fuss of coughs worsened and resounded with crackles in the quiet vestibule. She wasn’t one to disregard paperwork or push it as a responsibility onto a lower ranking soldier, yet felt compelled to assist the coughing man to some extent. With a brief glance to the upper curve of his uniform, Y/N noted the familiar lieutenant emblem sewn amidst the threadbare cotton.

“Lieutenant,” she acknowledged with a veneer of professionalism, adjusting her garrison hat with a perturbed twitch.

A rasp of breath was inhaled amidst the quiet air, the remainder of the personnel upstairs or scattered on the frontlines, and the man gradually eased away from his tantrum of coughs to face her. Y/N regarded the trickle of sweat that tickled the side of his face that had a scanty rub of blood on it, and the bewilderment amidst the grot, as if not anticipating such a demanding voice from her — or that she wasn’t a fidgety disaster within his presence.

“I can fix you a cup of tea,” she nonchalantly offered, discarding his shock to an abyss of irrelevance and continuing into the middle of the room, “I only offer because you look like you’re sick.”

His mouth was open as if to retort, but it was an oblivion of silence, not even a single wisp of breath as if his mind was backfiring in comprehension.

“I actually can see what cold medicine we may have—” Y/N blurted when the silence solidified similar to an anchor in the room, only for her to be hindered in her attempt,

“Tea,” the soldier rawly retorted, subtle gusts of bitterness in his tone but she permitted the misery as it was a typical spirit in the daylight these days.

Y/N approached the kettle of tea that a fellow WAC soldier had arranged twenty minutes prior to his arrival, him still projecting bits of coughs from his sorely chapped lips as she rounded the corner into the home’s dining room.

The superiors had arranged a couple of coal stoves on the ornate German rug, utilized the grandiose China in the oak cabinets, and had an adequate cache of K-Rations situated in a crate alongside one of the stoves. The stoves were primarily utilized for projecting warmth as the house was a crippling husk from bullets and dogfights.

Y/N hastily snatched one of the military-supplied cups from the shelf, pouring the tepid tea into its metallic chasm when the floorboard behind her rasped with the footfall of another presence, subtle sniffles specifying it was the ill soldier.

“You part of the WAC?” He inquired, a verbal struggle through a slick of snot. His weary eyes revered how her orderly hair and skin had a lustered edge from the faint cast of moonlight that pierced the frost-bitten window.

“Yes,” she retorted shortly whilst placing down the balmy kettle on the stovetop, facing him and crumbling the halo that calcined her silhouette. She stretched the cup forward to him with an introduction, “I’m First Lieutenant Y/N Y/L/N. You?”

The soldier stepped towards her with fingers just mere inches from her goosebumped arm, plucking the warm cup and wavering on the answer — something that should be fairly easy and thoughtless.

“Ron,” he eventually informed, feeling too unbearably close to her now in the sweeping dining room; now she could truly admire his dark brown hair that was disheveled by spurts of sweat, the occasional blemish of dirt, yet still balanced by a parting in the middle. His eyes were in the midst of a wrangle between being blazing yet shadowy, a clean-shaven, pronounced jaw evidently accustomed to being clenched, prominent cheekbones to match, a regally arched nose, vulpine mouth.

The military was a perpetual production line for handsome young men, a whispering allure to her the entire time she had been amidst them in her training, one she always quashed with the belligerence of a lunatic. Her succumbing to the natural attraction to a man would be an exploited infraction fiendish superiors would never hush about.

Y/N varnished herself in a dense veneer of professionalism when she forced her gaze to shift away from their thrilling contact, a subtle increase in her heart rate a foreboding anchor in her chest.

She gave a breathy laugh, “Just Ron?”

“Yeah, just Ron.”

“Well, Ron, get some rest while you’re here. You look like you deserve it,” she mused with a crooked grin under the shadow of her garrison hat. with a crooked grin under the shadow of his helmet. He didn’t utter any extent of a retort, her solely beholding his gaze that expressed a continuing conversation of contempt, ire, and adoration — spared for her in that moment. Her.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Ron nodded curtly, a subtle tremor on his lips as they dared to defy and curl up at the corners. He deliberately suspended the metallic mug in front of the patch hemmed between the tatters of his uniform, obscuring the last name that would alter her perception of him instantaneously; she couldn’t be aware that the most formidable man in the company was in her presence.

And he wanted to keep it that way.

[nellyofthevalley]

ascendant, ch.5

astarion x fem!tav x gale

rating: explicit content: extremely DUBCON, abusive relationships, emotional manipulation, dead dove, use of aphrodisiac, m/m/f threesome, questionable emotional infidelity, eventual tragedy, porn with plot lol summary: this is a sad story about the transformation of ascended astarion's love for tav into a vampire's dark desire. obsession. possession. astarion says he would've 'ruined your love, used your trust until it was nothing'. that's this. and it's not just her he'll ruin.

As they make eye contact, she frees herself of any thoughts of how bad things might’ve been before. Before now. Before their new outlook on life. “Ah, please,” she whimpers, stroking his hair affectionately. “Please…” “Tell me what you want,” Astarion says. “Ask me anything, and it will be yours.”

chapters: ch.1 | ch.2 | ch.3 | ch.4 | ch.5 | ch.6

read it on ao3 or below the cut

Gale promised her he’d stay and help her out of this, but when she checks his room in the morning, he’s already gone. Tav paces in frustration around the room before heading back to her own. It seems so unlike him—and after what he said last night? She could cry just remembering it… 

She supposes this is how it needed to end, awful as it may be. The only way out is by killing Astarion.

She’s not ready to do that and it shouldn’t be on Gale’s head either, he never had anything to do with any of this until she dragged him into it! They could’ve simply reconnected at the party as friends and nothing more and let everything between them lie in the past where it fucking belongs, but now she’s had a little taste of him again and his poetic way with words, dredging up memories of how he did everything for her and how he wept when she left.

Perhaps he does hate her, and she’s earned it, she thinks; even before all of this mess, it was her who left him behind in his tower in Waterdeep, her who broke his heart and then came running back to Astarion, knowing what he’d become after the ritual. Gale said it already: she was too short sighted and impatient to stay behind and work through things, just jumping off to whatever came next without any consideration or remorse. She only longed for Gale after it was too late, and he doesn’t deserve that. He always deserved better than what she gave him.

It’s not too late to salvage things here—Astarion doesn’t have to know what she said to Gale, so maybe if she’s on her best behavior, never lying or whining or crying again, he might be like he was in the bath the night before. Of course, she’d have to either accept or push out the memory of what he’d done with the wine… 

Maybe it’s just his fucked up way of showing her love. Maybe he truly doesn’t know how to please her and misinterpreted her sorrow and anguish for that of boredom? She had harped on how boring it is stuck inside the palace.

When you’re stuck with someone for eternity, you’ve no choice but to cover up the blemishes of the person who owns you. What else is she to do, live here hating him forever without even a fleeting moment of happiness? She’s forced to ignore his wrongdoings if she doesn’t want to live in eternal agony. She has to adapt, overcome; that’s what people do, right?

When Astarion returns home, before the sun sets for once, Tav’s in the garden planting new flowers she sent the servants to fetch. Unable to reap the rewards of food she’s homegrown, she more often opts for pretty, bright flowers and anything with a pleasant smell. It’s something to keep her busy, as many of her hobbies are.

“Darling,” he starts, “my day’s ended early. Care to join me in the city while the sun’s still out?”

Her eyes widen at the suggestion. She should say no—images of him fucking Gale and making him ask for it run through her mind and she tries to punch them down, bury them forever and forget it all ever happened and adapt.

“Please,” she answers, setting her trowel down and standing, turning to face him. “Where are we going?”

Astarion steps forward and softly lays a hand on her arm, careful to avoid where her garments had been dirtied from digging in the soil.

“It’s a surprise,” he says. “Change into something nice. Perhaps that black dress I picked up for you last week?”

He offers a suggestion, not a command. Gods, is he really trying in the only way he knows how? Maybe he didn’t know what an awful idea that all was. He’d poured it in her glass too, and she thought it was a pleasant experience at the time.

Tav puts on a smile; almost fake. Almost. Astarion’s giving her what she asked for and has been craving for so, so long and she knows you can never take these moments for granted in this palace. 

Tav changes into the black dress as he requested. He brought it home for her only a few days prior to the party and she remembers how mad she was with herself for liking it. She wanted to fight him and hate him for keeping her confined and not allowing her to pick out her own clothing, but as always, she knew she had to cling onto any little pieces of happiness possible. And being gifted a dress you like after being brought so many dresses and shirts and skirts that she despised—all perfectly tailored for his gaze—was refreshing.

Tonight, she does her own makeup too; quickly, so as to not miss out on the bit of sun left in the day. It reminds her of when she found joy in prettying herself for him every evening and he couldn’t keep his hands off her when they returned home.

She hopes that he’ll notice her beauty tonight and when he tears off her clothes, it won’t feel like a performance or a duty.

He takes her the long way through the Upper City, walking the streets hand in hand, admiring the beautiful scenery and basking in the fresh air. They pass by a flower store and when Tav insists on going inside, he manages to stealthily buy a bouquet of red and white roses and presents it to her after they’ve stepped back out. 

“For you, my love.”

Astarion bows courteously as she takes the bundle of roses and holds them to her nose, inhaling deeply. 

“Oh, they’re beautiful. Gods, they smell wonderful. Thank you.”

“Not nearly as beautiful as you,” he compliments with a dangerous smile on his face. 

Tav’s sure she’s daydreaming. Out in the sun, in the public eye? The little bow he did? Oh, it’s intoxicating. They were madly in love once, and they will be again, surely! 

Astarion takes her to a theatre for a show and it's like they’re a normal, happy couple once more, with a real, fighting chance at making it through. This must be what it’s like when you’re married for decades and the spark dies out and you rediscover it (is this how things could’ve gone with Gale? she thinks), because she can’t recall the last time she felt so fucking alive. Astarion takes her by the hand and leads her to their seat, a velvet loveseat on a private balcony with an excellent view of the stage. 

It’s perfect. It reminds her of why she came here in the first place, of that sweet man inside. She feels vindicated, affirmed that she wasn’t completely lost, she was right the whole time! He’s been there, he always has, she just needs to be patient and navigate this new life with him. 

He’s even paid for a personal attendant during the show, offering food and wine and even passing a silver goblet to Tav with a knowing glance and a polite, ‘For you, my lady’. Astarion indulges in cheeses and reds and whites and Tav looks over in envy as she drinks her heavy, thicker red wine, but she wears a pretty smile on her face. A smile of patience. If she’s patient and kind and teaches him how to love again, he’ll turn her into a true vampire, and maybe he could extend more of Mephistopheles’ blessings?

The sun’s set once the curtains close and they take their leave, but the city certainly hasn’t quieted. As they walk the streets, Tav still clutching the bundle of roses tightly to her chest, the taverns are nearly bursting with the sounds of music and laughing and liveliness. 

Their next stop is a luxury attire shoppe. 

“Treat yourself, dear. Pick out anything you’d like.”

“Really?”

“Of course, dear,” Astarion says, taking her bouquet and playfully pushing her at the small of her back towards the racks of clothing. “What’s the use of riches if I can’t spoil my little love?”

Absolutely giddy, Tav excitedly sorts through racks of garments and spots a few dresses that she takes to the private fitting room. Astarion follows her and takes a seat, watching her cycle through the garments and look down at her figure to judge how she thinks they look on her body.

She tries on an elegant lingerie gown, burgundy and made of sheer fabric that ruffles around the low neckline and along the flowing hem at her calves. She twirls in it and laments not being able to see it in the mirror, because it certainly makes her feel like royalty.

“Come here,” Astarion beckons and gently sets the bouquet on the floor. “Let me see it up close.”

Tav steps forward in it and once she’s in arm’s reach, he pulls her forward, right into his lap, grabbing her thighs and adjusting her to straddle him before holding her waist. 

“It’s perfect on you,” he says, leaning forward to kiss along her neck. “Trying on that sheer dress with your black bra and panties on? I’d say you wore this one to tempt me…”

“We’re in public!” she protests and she pushes him away, but her heart and strength’s not in it; she’s laughing and barely nudges his arms. 

“Then you should be quiet, shouldn’t you?”

Astarion tucks her hair back behind her ear as he continues his kisses along her neck, fired up by how she tilts her head for him and shifts in his lap. Tav’s treated with more gentle, affectionate pecks along her collarbone to her shoulder and he carefully tugs at the sheer fabric, dropping the gown down to her elbows. 

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks as he guides the gown over her arms. 

“N-No,” she admits quietly. 

“Good girl.”

He picks her up and flips her over onto the sofa, her back meeting the cushions and he kneels between her legs. He holds one leg and rests it over his shoulder, pressing his lips to her skin and giving her intense, fierce kisses from her calf to her thigh, lowering himself as he goes until he’s on his hands and knees with her thighs over his shoulders. 

“Do your best to be quiet, my love,” he says. “But I doubt you’ll be able to.”

Any response Tav might’ve been conjuring evaporates and she throws her head back into the sofa, exhaling deeply as Astarion impatiently yanks her underwear to the side and licks a long stripe up her slit. Oh, it’s been so long since he got on his knees for her—if nothing else solidified this as simply a fever dream, this certainly does. 

She covers her mouth with her palm and yanks at his white curls as he laps up her gushing arousal, drinking up every drop that weeps from her cunt and then taking her clit into his mouth, sucking lightly, just enough to make her squeeze his head between her thighs and clamp her hand over her mouth so harshly it almost hurts. It can’t be more than a minute before she’s fucking shaking and her thighs are vibrating against his ears. 

“Close already, pet?” he taunts, looking up at her with a devilish smile on his face. 

“Astarion—please—it’s just—you haven’t…”

Astarion’s free hand grabs her thigh firmly and pulls her into his face, burying his nose and mouth into her cunt, alternating between lapping at every fold he can and tonguing her aching clit until she’s arching her back for him and moaning loud even with her mouth covered, orgasm coursing through her and Astarion draws it out, licking and sucking and holding her tight against his face until she’s thrashing about and he’s satisfied in his work. 

“Sweet thing,” he whispers as he slides her fully soaked underwear over her legs. “You can’t help but be loud for me, can you?”

“I—I tried,” she answers, rolling her head aside and wiping beads of sweat from her brow. “The shopkeep will throw us out—”

“Thinking of other men while you’re with me?” he tuts, shaking his head. “Bad girl. Don’t concern yourself with him, love. Focus on me.”

Tav shivers when he hastily shoves her bra up over her breasts and takes them into his hands, kissing the space between and thumbing her nipples. It feels like old times again, she thinks; she tries not to—she’d really rather just be in the moment—but it’s just such a huge, undeniable difference between his behavior days ago and now. It was only a couple nights ago he came on her face and pushed it into her mouth, leaving her to please herself…

Astarion takes one perked nipple into his mouth and teases it with little flicks using only the tip of his tongue, eyes wandering upwards to her and as they make eye contact, she frees herself of any thoughts of how bad things might’ve been before. Before now. Before their new outlook on life. 

“Ah, please,” she whimpers, stroking his hair affectionately. “Please…”

“Tell me what you want,” Astarion says. “Ask me anything, and it will be yours.”

“Bite me,” she answers. “Drain me, fuck me, love me.”

[aeferkssr]

could be anyone tbh. its our abandonment issues and we get to choose the characters

you two were close, impossibly close. so close that you struggled to breathe as you buried your face into his chest, your hands gripping at his back to hold on what more of him you could grasp. so close that if you two got any closer, your atoms would combine to create a single being.

in all honesty, you were terrified. terrified at the fact that you could lose him. terrified that he would lose interest in you and walk away with someone else; that's what everyone else does anyway.

the people whom you once called friends never seemed to share the same ideal. they all seemed so in sync, so inseparable. you just stuck out like a sore thumb, a black sheep in a herd of white, blemishless sheep.

so you and your blemishes dared to find comfort in your lover. maybe he wouldn't go to parties alone and leave you in your bedroom to rot, maybe he wouldn't purposely ignore and disregard you in piblic spaces, maybe he would care enough to remember things about you.

maybe he would care enough to pay attention to you.

oh, dear child, he does. he's absolutely enamored by you. you might be too far down in the fog of despair known as your head, but he wishes to bring you back to light. back into his arms, where you belong.

© aeferkssr || mlist.

[clownmaggot]

After hours in Pizzaland was the same ordeal every night. Drinking, smoking and whatever card game the performers could come up with- but mostly poker. They never had enough cash to bet real money, instead opting to use whatever discarded or forgotten belongings were left behind under the bigtop’s bleachers. All of it was for fun though, items would be given back if the finder truly wanted it, and even then they didn’t care if their belongings were borrowed. They were a family after all.

A small blue clown opted to clean the trash this time, letting everyone go to their trailers early. Their game went on for a little too long and Gorgonzola fought ferociously for his friend Sharpe’s rather pathetic haul of one beanie baby-esque doll. A drunken game of slapjack between the two rang out laughter the entire night. Gorgonzola’s pitiful yelps in pain and equally sad slap backs had everyone’s sides hurting. Sharpe knew why Gorgonzola wanted it, and the wedge loved to make things difficult for him. It was a mutual love and rivalry between the two. Their act of being the antithesis of each other leaked into their relationship like an ongoing joke. The two consented to the other being a goofy thorn in each other’s side, it was impressive how much they committed to the bit.

A fairly large woman sat behind him, her skin made of a soft and spongy mocha cake. She gently brushed her cream hair out of her face as she watched her smaller clown husband carefully placing empty bottles into a trash bag. She giggled softly as she watched him stumble, knowing he had been joining in the fun a little too much. Earlier she had offered to help him clean, wanting to go back to her trailer together, but he refused to let her move a muscle. Looking down, she lovingly eyed the newly acquired doll he had won for her. They both adored dolls, and this one in particular was as cute as a button. A little blue elephant lying flat on its stomach. It was the softest material she had ever felt before, she couldn’t help but to stroke her new prize. Tomorrow was their day off, and while they had originally planned to visit the library on floor one, she really wanted to stay home and clean the stains off the toy. “ Do you think they’d like this toy? “ Tira giggled, watching Gorgonzola hold onto the makeshift crate table for dear life. “ Of course they would! “ Gorgonzola smiled, he was so goofy when he was completely wasted. But even when he was impaired, her laughter sent his heart fluttering.

“ Do you think we could just maybe stay home tomorrow? “ Tira hummed, giving the doll another look-over for any more blemishes.

“ Anything you want! “ The clown hiccuped cartoonishly as his voice slurred, raking in the trash off the table into his garbage bag, the bottles clinking together as they hit the bottom. “ I would love to stay home. “ Her smile. Her damned smile. It melted his very being every time her crimson lips curled into her rosy, raspberry cheeks. His heart felt so full whenever he looked at her. The beauty and joy she brought into his life was unparalleled. His pace picked up, quickly throwing the empty bottles away and thankfully not having to worry about cigars or their containers to clean this time around. He wanted to get home as quickly as possible, feeling slightly guilty that she was awake for this long and late. “ Hurkay. I think that’s all we have to worry about. “ The clown wobbled in place. “ Need some help? “ “ I think.. Can you hold my hands? “ She held out her soft, cakey hands to which he immediately held in his own.

His wife exhaled, carefully getting off the crate that she was seated on with the help of himself, putting all of his drunken focus on this one moment until she was on her feet. “ Thank you dear. “ … The two made the trek back to their trailers, the usual meet-up spot was quite far off from the rest of the fair. A bit of blank space full of fake grass and storage crates no one really traveled to. They walked hand and hand through the amusement park, talking about the usual. Her hypotheticals getting humorous reactions out of her intoxicated little husband. Most of the time they didn’t have much to talk about, their day-to-day being all in the same. Performances, poker, circus happenings, maybe the oddball customer here and there. Hypotheticals sparked conversation, a way to escape their rather mundane lives, and if there was anything they loved the most, it was hearing the other talk. “ Do you need a break? “ Gorgonzola squeaked, looking up at Tira nervously. “ What? Oh. I’m fine sweetcheese. We’ve only started walking. “ She looked down to him, her thumb caressing his hand that tightened in hers. “ Okay, if you need to sit down let me know. “ “ I will. “ Tira reassured him. Their walk continued, they were halfway to their trailers now. They were cutting through the park itself, admiring some of the prizes that could be won at the carnival games, eyeing the new posters for upcoming performances, and giggling at how Sharpe would have a musical number in “ Gorgonzola the Clown meets Sinbad the Sailor. “ Everyone gave him hell for it and Sharpe was embarrassed beyond belief, but he was an unknown treasure when it came to singing. Gorgonzola told him as much, but Sharpe of course told him in the most loving way possible to fuck off. “ Okay, but what if you were to see the outside? How’d that make you feel? “ Tira hummed after a pause, thinking of more hypotheticals for them to explore. “ Happy, as long as you’re there with me! “ Gorgonzola chuckled, swinging their arms a bit as they walked.

“ What would be the first thing you’d do? “

“ Hmm… “ The blue clown paused. “ Probably see if the grass is as soft as they say in the books we read. “

“ Do you think that’s true? “ Tira asked.

“ I hope so. “

Finally, they approached a ring of trailers that held their troupe. A small ring of rocks in the middle contained a pile of ash from the night before’s cook-out. God that was so much fun, even if they did run the risk of being outed from stealing some of the vendor’s food, every second and burnt fallen marshmallow was worth it. He wondered if they still had leftovers… oh who was he kidding. They probably didn’t. It wasn’t like them not to go all out on something like that. Over indulgence was a rarity, might as well go big.

They walked to Tira’s decorated red trailer. Gorgonzola, though still rather intoxicated, helped her up the few steps she had to scale. The inside was cozy with hanging lights. Tira could barely fit into it at this point, a while ago it was just big enough to survive in. The two would be lying if they said it wasn’t cramped, yet she still insisted he sell his own trailer in favor of staying in her bigger one. Though it was cramped, they didn’t mind having less of their own personal space if it meant they got to stay with one another.

“ There you go~ With all your new friends. They’ll love you. I promise. “ 

Gorgonzola looked over to the end of the trailer, smiling ear to ear at his beloved Tira, placing the newly acquired elephant into a glass case of forgotten toys as well as the dolls they made themselves. Right next to the case sat a small desk and a sewing machine, under it was a little sweater she had been working on a few days prior for another one of their creations. 

“ Do you think he’d look good in a raincoat? I think he’d look nice in yellow. “ Tira thought aloud, tapping her finger against her chin. Gorgonzola tied the top of the garbage bag and set it aside their own bin. “ I think that would be a good look for him. “ He agreed. “ But I think we need to conserve our material for a bit. “ “ You think so? “ “ Yeah, we’ll need it… Probably shouldn’t get so attached to it either, there’s no telling how much baby vomit that thing’s gonna get covered in when you pop. “ “ But then I’ll just love him more. “ Tira’s words made his heart feel at home. “ I don’t think I can win in this situation~”

After a bit of preparation, undressing and redressing into their nightwear, the two held each other tightly in their bedroom. Gorgonzola was careful around her midsection, feeling paranoid that she was as fragile as glass. Their embrace lasted in pure silence with nothing but the gentle creak of a ceiling fan breaking it. The clown could remain like this for the rest of time. If everything stood still in this moment, he would be satisfied for the rest of eternity. His eyes fluttered, believing she was asleep, and began to drift as well.

“ Gorgonzola. “ Tira’s groggy, but seemingly troubled voice rang out.

His eyes shot open, immediately sobering up from her anxious tone. “ What’s wrong? “

“ What would you do if you lost me? “ 

Gorgonzola’s heart lurched at the thought. To live without her? The pain would be immeasurable. The mere suggestion there’d be a day in his life where Tira wasn’t with him or worse. Tears would well in his eyes, had he not been so mellowed out by alcohol. What would he do? He had never felt this way towards anyone like this before, his heart was so full of love, and to think that there would be even a moment in this life he’d go on without her… One thing he knew was for sure. 

“ I would never be the same. “

His answer seemingly satisfied her, he knew her pregnancy was scary. He was afraid for her too. Tira had a bad habit of preparing for the worst, and unfortunately Gorgonzola found himself right there with her. He refused to let her stay down, even if his head was filled with the panic of the uncertainty of the future. He loved her beyond love. Nothing would happen to her. He would never let anything happen to her.

…

….

….. Pasturo stood atop the tower. His eyes wide and wild as a starved, caged tiger. His breathing was ragged and audible. His fingers curled and clung to the side of the tower wall, staring down onto the small building below. Nothing in this world mattered to him more than the destruction of the two men occupying that accursed building. His soul was consumed with hatred, a bitter emptiness that could never be refilled. The bone chilling wind made his painted face numb but the excruciating pain of holding that expression for hours remained. There was no religion that provided a hell cruel enough for them, no god merciful enough to strike them down for the sake of everyone else. He craved catharsis, he wanted his rightful justice to devolve into depraved torture beyond comprehension.

These feelings were indescribable, anger, rage, none of these words compared to the raw emotions that burned him alive. Robbed of everything that could have been. For what? Nothing at all. He was alone and without his family for nothing more than a tyrant’s make believe fantasy and robbed of a friend because he wanted to see what he longed for and couldn’t have. There were no words he desired to share. There was no talking him down, there was no question he wanted to ask. Gorgonzola wanted to ask the two “why?” but Pasturo saw it all too clearly. There were no words to be shared.

There was only vengeance. When the smoke cleared, nothing would ever be the same ever again.