#I HOPE YOU'VE BEEN WELL AND HAD A PLEASANT SUMMER!!!!<3

[argiopi]

hello argi welcome back from the woods were the woods fun how were the woods!

after wandering back into society i felt like a wild beast trying to play by made-up rules so i drove 2000+ miles in four<?> days out to the mountains while concussed

woods were great i highly recommend to anyone needing to uproot their life 👍

(you know what was a fun discovery. there is a wildly overproportionate percentage of queer & autistic people in outdoor careers. who knew!!)

[joelscruff]

feelings on fire (joel miller x f!reader) 18+ PART ONE

"trying to play it coy, trying to make it disappear"

⚠️ new series alert! ⚠️ and also my 1k follower celebration!!! (altho it might as well be the 2k celebration now considering how fast my following has grown. thank you ;-;) i polled my followers a little while ago to choose between 3 different fic premises and this one was the winner! it was originally meant to be a stand alone but i'm actually more interested in making it a brand new series, so i hope you guys enjoy! i'm not exactly sure how many parts this will be yet, i'll let you know when i do. title and lyrics are from 'bad liar' by selena gomez.

summary: you're back from college for the summer, staying with your devout catholic parents in your childhood home while they order you around and try to keep authority over you. as an act of rebellion you ask your new neighbor mr. miller to teach you how to play guitar, but it turns out there's a lot more he wants to teach you. (no outbreak, no use of y/n) rating: 18+ explicit (minors, do not interact) warnings: (for this fic in general) age difference (reader is in her 20s, joel in his 50s), innocent/inexperienced reader, dirty old man joel, corruption (but it's consensual), praise kink, dirty talk, general smut, mentions of religion (reader's family are very catholic) -- (for this chapter) wet dreams, mentions of masturbation. word count: 5k ao3

The sun is warm and pleasant on your bare skin as you lay out in the freshly mown grass of your backyard, absorbing the heat and smiling languidly despite the humidity. You're grateful for your family's wealth on days like today, knowing that at any moment you could take a few steps and dive headfirst into the cool water of your pool, fresh and inviting. It's been about a month since you returned and you've spent almost every day outside among the green grass, the chlorinated water, the burning Texas sun. It's been heaven.

The backdoor suddenly swings open and your father's voice booms out into the backyard, "Family meeting," he states, loud and serious, "Five minutes."

Or hell.

With a groan you slowly sit up, hands digging into the thin towel laid out beneath you. You know better than to ignore an order like that. Being back from college for the summer has certainly had it's perks; no annoying roommates, no loud parties, a large backyard and pool to yourself, but having to deal with your parents again certainly isn't one of them. You'd thought coming back after three years might have softened them a bit, lowered their guard, made them less strict. Instead, it's almost had the opposite effect.

You slide into your flip flops and walk begrudgingly inside the house, making note of your mother standing anxiously by the stove with her arms crossed. What's the issue now? At least once a week your father calls these "family meetings", which always pertain to you and only you, seeing as you're their only child. Last week they'd spent half an hour berating you about forgetting to put the garbage out, the week before they'd tried to explain the importance of an early bed time to you, like you were seven.

You're a grown woman, a full fledged adult. Sure, you're only twenty one, you're unemployed, you're currently in the process of obtaining an arts degree that probably won't secure you anything tangible in the real world, but you're an adult nonetheless. You only have one year left of school before you can leave all this behind and start fresh somewhere else. You'd thought coming back home for one more summer would bring nostalgia and happiness, a few months of normality before life exploded in front of you.

Turns out your parents had pictured something different.

Your father gestures toward the kitchen table, urging for you to sit. You hate when they do this, make you feel small and childish while they both stand above you and reiterate rules they've had your whole life, rules that apparently you'll never grow out of. You wonder what rule you've broken now.

"We've noticed that you barely leave the house," your father begins, voice deep and authoritative, "We were under the impression that when you came home you'd be spending time with old friends, doing some volunteering again."

"Going to church," your mother adds beside him, a frown permanently etched on her face, "You've only gone twice since you've been here."

Call the cops, you think to yourself, forcibly holding back an eyeroll. Ironically your father is a police officer, and you highly doubt he'd ever come if you called.

"Instead, you just spend all your time in that backyard," he continues, nodding along with your mother, "We didn't invite you back to simply laze around all summer, there have been clear expectations you're not meeting."

You take a deep breath, feeling a hint of anger and stubbornness burning in the pit of your stomach. You shove it down, back to that secret hiding place you've cultivated throughout all these years of having to deal with them.

"I'm sorry, dad," you say, trying to sound as earnest as possible as you look to him and then your mother, "Sorry, mom."

"Sorry doesn't cut it, we need to see action," your father replies quickly, brow furrowed, "No more lounging around in the backyard on weekdays, that's a weekend activity from now on, we clear?"

You nod, "Clear."

"We want you to get involved in something," your mom takes a step forward, places her hand awkwardly on your shoulder, "Why don't you call Bethany? She's always looking for more helpers at Sunday School, or maybe Alice? I hear she's been volunteering at the soup kitchen for the summer."

You haven't spoken to either Bethany or Alice since you left for university three years ago. The thought of calling them, let alone having to work with them in either setting, makes you feel ill. You nod again, pretending to agree.

"That sounds good, I'll call them tomorrow morning," Both of your parents smile, appeased, "I think I'll go for a walk now, if that's okay. Clear my head, think about things I can do to improve."

"That's the spirit," your dad says, wrapping an arm around your mother, "Remember, be back before dinner or the door will be locked."

"I know," you nod, forcing a smile, "I won't forget."

--

Well, that's it, then. You'll have to leave.

It sounds dramatic to say that your parents telling you to get off your ass is enough to send you packing, but it goes so much deeper than that. You've spent your entire life doing everything these people say, nodding and smiling when you're meant to, apologizing for everything, doing anything you can to appease and impress them. You'd spent your high school years in youth choir, church group, organizing fundraisers, studying your ass off, tutoring, joining as many extracurriculars as possible until you had no free time. And even then, nothing ever seemed to be enough for them.

When you'd left for college they'd both cried at the airport, held you in their arms and told you with sincerity that they'd miss you so much. Your mother had kissed your face and held your hands and your father had hugged you for the first time since you were eleven years old. And because of their sudden burst of emotions, of affection, you'd actually missed them once you left. You remember you'd cried on the plane, scrolling through pictures of them on your phone until the battery died, thinking to yourself that maybe they weren't the horrible, authoritarian people you thought they were.

They called you once a week while you were at college, asking for updates, telling you they missed you, giving you neighborhood gossip that made you laugh and feel nostalgic for home. Being away from them, it was like they suddenly became two entirely new people, bonded together by their suddenly empty nest and seemingly trying to do right by you now, even if it felt a little too late. You'd thought about coming home a few times for a visit, but the memories that triggered the anger in the pit of your stomach kept you from doing so. You'd kept them at arm's length until you felt ready to come back.

And now you're back, and nothing has changed. They're the same people they always were, expecting too much of you, thinking they can control you, never quite believing that you're trying your best. You'd told them before you came that you just wanted to relax this summer, spend some time at home, maybe meet up with some old friends - keyword being maybe - and they'd seemed totally on board with the idea. There had been no mentions of keeping busy, no mentions of Sunday School or soup kitchens or rules. Then you'd arrived and realized how stupid you'd been to believe that they could ever change.

Your entire life you've been their perfect girl, their A+ student who volunteered and read bible verses and tutored the neighborhood kids, sacrificed your happiness more times than you can count for the sake of keeping them satisfied. But that's the thing: they're not satisfied, and they never will be.

Your flip flops smack against the concrete of your suburban street, sun beginning to set in the distance as you think about how exactly you're going to escape this hell. Yeah, you could just walk out the front door without a word, but it's not like you have anywhere to go or the money to do it. You have your plane ticket for your return flight back to school, but it's not 'til September and it's under your father's name. Your family might be wealthy but none of that wealth has ever gone directly into your pocket, and you doubt it ever will if you just bail on them in the middle of the night with no warning.

Your thoughts scatter when you hear someone call out your name nearby. Your head swivels and you see one of your neighbors, Mrs. Lillard, waving from her front porch. You wave back, give her a small smile.

"How's college treatin' ya?" she calls to you, taking a sip from a bottle of beer, "Got a boyfriend?"

Your cheeks warm immediately and shake your head, "Not yet!" you call back.

"I bet you're battin' 'em all away," her voice is slurred and you're sure that's probably not her first beer of the day, "Nobody's good enough for ya, huh?"

"I guess," you say awkwardly, continuing to walk and hoping she won't ask you to join her for a beer, "How's your husband?"

"Pain in my ass," she responds with a grunt and takes another swig, "Bet you can't wait to have your own white picket fence, perfect as you are."

Her words make you uncomfortable but you just give her your signature fake laugh and flip your hair, waving again, "Bye, Mrs. Lillard."

Your face falls as soon as you turn around, anger burning again. You've spent so much of your life being the picture perfect little suburban girl, doing everything your parents say, saying your prayers and reading to the elderly, killing yourself to get straight A's and only speaking when spoken to. Your reputation is widely known around the neighborhood; the sweet little girl, the pure and innocent God fearing angel. You've portrayed yourself as that girl for so long that you almost don't know which part of you is real anymore.

You keep walking down the street, eyeing the sunset as you go and wondering what would happen if you just didn't go back home tonight. As your father had said, he locks the door every night after dinner; you don't have a key, you've never had a key. You're only allowed into your house on the basis of trust and good merit. If you just refused to go back tonight, how would they react? The thought of doing something like that sends a warm flush of rebellion across your skin, eyes bright with intrigue. But where would you go?

You turn the corner and your nose is suddenly hit with the delectable scent of a barbecue, smokey and delicious. You slow a bit, closing your eyes and breathing in the warm air, stomach growling. You suddenly realize that if you don't go home tonight you'll also miss dinner. Another rule broken. You keep walking, trying to follow the scent like some kind of bloodhound. Maybe you know whoever's cooking and they'll invite you to eat with them.

A few houses down you start to hear the sound of music. There must be a party going on, a birthday or some other special occasion. It's only as you get closer to the sound that you realize it's not being played from a speaker or stereo, but from someone's front porch; a real guitar, live and acoustic.

You approach the house in question and see a man sitting on his front step, guitar in hand as he strums a steady tune. He's looking down, watching his fingers, monitoring his movements, but you see dark brown curls with hints of grey peppered throughout, a stubbled jaw line and curved nose. You slow your speed, furrowing your brow as you try to place him. You're not sure you've ever seen him before.

His music is calm and inviting, a plucky sounding tune that seems vaguely familiar. You're suddenly filled with intrigue, trying to place the song and slowing to a complete stop in front of the house without meaning to. You watch the man's callused fingers pick away at the strings, fast and professional, like he's been doing this for years. He probably has.

You're still trying to place the song, biting your lip and swiping through songs in your mind like an invisible rolodex. Johnny Cash? Bob Dylan? It sounds like one of those songs your parents would forbid you to listen to as a kid, the ones with devil worship in their lyrics, sung by bad men who didn't believe in God. You'd always questioned this logic, wondered how songs about living out in the country or falling in love could be inherently against your religion. They didn't even listen to it, just blindly told you it was against the rules.

Suddenly the man stops playing and you realize the song has come to an end. He looks up then, notices you standing there at the end of his walk with your furrowed brow and flip flops. His eyes are brown, expression startled at first but then fading into something softer as he gives you a small smile.

"Been there long?" he asks, voice crackling slightly, like he hasn't spoken much today.

You shake your head quickly, "I'm sorry, I heard you playing and I-"

"S'alright," he replies strumming his guitar absentmindedly and giving you a shrug, "I don't mind an audience."

He's southern, definitely a Texan, but you're sure you've never met him before. His face and voice are unfamiliar to you, but certainly not unwelcome. He's older, probably in his 40s or even 50s, but he's handsome and slightly boyish in a way despite his greying hair and freckled skin. He reminds you of one of those men on album covers your father had slammed down one day in the record store when you were nine, yelled at you in front of everyone that the men who made that music were filthy sinners. It hadn't stopped you from listening to them, though, curiosity getting the better of you.

Is that who you're looking at now? A filthy sinner?

"You okay?" he asks slowly, tilting his head. You realize you're just staring at him, gathering your thoughts.

You shake your head again quickly, feeling yourself blush under his gaze, "Sorry," you repeat, "I'm uh, I was just passing by and I heard you playing that song. It sounded really familiar."

He gives you a crooked smile and a nod, "Tangled Up in Blue, Bob Dylan."

"I knew it was Bob Dylan," you say, a satisfied smile spreading across your face. That song was from one of the albums you'd listened to in secret, one of the only times you'd had to delete your browser history. You feel pride swell in your chest at the smile you elicit from the man in response, like he's recognizing a fellow music lover.

"Good ear," he continues to lightly pluck at the strings of his guitar, "You play?"

"Um, not really." It's a half truth but mainly a lie, you've never played in your life. You feel slightly disappointed in yourself and you're not sure why; it's not like you've ever felt any kind of urge to learn, especially considering your parents would've made sure you only learned appropriate songs. When would you have even found the time between all your extracurriculars?

"Well, it ain't difficult," he starts playing the song again, slower this time, "Pretty repetitive chord progression, room for some adlibbin' here and there once you get the hang of it."

You nod like you understand what he's talking about, suddenly lost in the way his fingers pull at the strings, make the music come to life out of nothing. His hands are big, fingers long and thick as they curve back and forth, up and down. It's hypnotic to watch. He stops again and looks up, catches you staring.

"How old are you?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

You swallow, unsure what exactly the right answer is. Part of you wants to lie, tell him you're older than you actually are so he doesn't just see you as some bright eyed kid. This is the first person you've encountered since coming back who doesn't know who you are, doesn't know about your reputation. You could tell him anything, be anyone, and he'd take it at face value.

"I'm twenty five," you lie, but it sounds unnatural in your mouth.

He looks you up and down, eyes raking your body in a way you're unfamiliar with. Like a man. Like the way your roommates back in college get looked at, sensually and flirtatiously, being eyed up by drunk guys at the bar who only have one thing on their mind. You feel your heart begin to thrum quicker in your chest; is that really how this man is looking at you? This grown man, not a high school crush or a college fratboy, a real man?

"Sweetheart, we both know that's a lie," he says with a chuckle, eyes coming back to rest on your face, "I'd guess twenty."

You make a face, "I'm twenty one, actually."

He laughs again, putting his hands up in surrender, "My bad, twenty one."

You watch as he starts to strum once again, something new and unfamiliar. You listen for a few moments, eyes trained back on his fingers, watching him play.

"You wanna come in for a bit?" he asks, voice nonchalant, like he's asking you something completely casual.

And maybe he is, but the words make your eyes widen, your breath catching in your throat. The way he'd looked at you just then, laughed at your words, wanted to know your age... now he's inviting you into his house? You've never actually been flirted with before, not when it mattered, and you're not entirely sure if that's what's happening. But it feels like it, even though you can't imagine how someone like him could see anything sexy about a girl like you.

"...Why?" you ask quietly.

He looks up at you with another smile, still plucking the strings, "If you need to ask then maybe I read you wrong," he chuckles again, eyes trailing down your legs and taking in your short dress, the way it stops at your knees, "Now that I really look at you, maybe I'm talkin' to a good Christian girl."

"You're not," you say it too quickly, "I mean, I'm not. I'm not a good Christian girl."

"No?" he smirks, "Don't have a good southern daddy waitin' for you to come home? Momma waitin' with a pie in the oven?" he's not being serious but you feel your skin flush at the accuracy of his words.

"Maybe," you mutter, hand going down to touch your dress nervously, "But maybe I don't wanna go home."

He nods and stops plucking, licking his lips and thinking to himself. You have to admit, there's something about him that draws you to him, something masculine and new. He's much, much older than you but not in a way that creeps you out or makes you want to run away. You find yourself hoping he'll ask you to come inside again so this time you can give him the right answer, the one he wants to hear.

"You probably should," he finally says, then stands up on his porch steps and slips his guitar onto his back. The strap digs into his broad shoulders, accentuating his size as he suddenly towers over you on the step.

"Sh-should what?" you ask breathlessly, and you wonder if he can tell your heart race has picked up, see the thumping of your pulse in your exposed neck.

"Go back home," he says with a shrug, "I mean, if they're waitin' for you..."

"They're not," you say it with firm finality, shaking your head, "I'm twenty one, I do what I like."

He walks down the steps then, getting closer and closer to you until he's suddenly standing directly in front of you. His eyes cast downward, assessing your expression; you swear he looks at your lips and licks his own again.

"So would you like to come inside?" he asks again, peering down at you with a dark sense of desire that makes you swallow roughly, feel a light and steady thrum between your legs, "Let me teach you how to play that song?"

Here's your chance. Just say yes.

"N-no," you gasp, taking a step back from him, "Um, n-not today."

He smirks, almost like he knew that would be your response. He hitches his guitar up his shoulder and gives you one last smile before turning around and walking back up his steps.

"Well, I'm here if you change your mind," he calls back to you, reaching for the doorknob on his front door and peering at you with another side glance, still assessing you, "Would love to teach a pretty thing like you how to use her fingers."

You feel your lips part in surprise, an unfamiliar tingling sensation flooding your body as he gives you a wink and walks into his house, shutting the door behind him. You've still got that steady throbbing feeling in your underwear, something you've only felt a handful of times. You know what it is, you're not completely clueless, but you can't remember the last time it happened.

You take another step back slowly, heart still pounding in your chest as you stare at his closed door. Then you turn on your heel and speed walk back the way you came, flip flops slapping against the ground aggressively. You revel in the way your thighs rub together as you walk, soothing that ache.

Any thoughts of not going home have gone from your mind. You need to ask your parents who this man is. As soon as possible.

-

You get home right before dinner, giving yourself just enough time to formulate exactly how to ask your parents about the man with the guitar. You're slightly afraid that you might seem too eager, too curious, and that they'll see right through you; you can't imagine how they'd react to knowing their perfect little girl is getting butterflies over a middle aged man.

But that's what you have: butterflies. In your tummy, all over your skin, between your legs. Being talked to the way he did, being looked at the way he did, it's making you feel hot all over, itchy and uncomfortable but in a good way.

The last time you felt this way was during your first week of college, at a party you'd gone to with your roommate. You'd seen him across the room, tall and blonde, watched as he licked his lips and looked you up and down. He was gorgeous, an angel you were convinced God had placed at this party just for you. You felt that tingle between your legs, swallowed down the nervous lump in your throat and imagined what it would be like to be kissed by him.

Then he'd approached and you realized he'd been looking at your roommate the entire time.

Your mother is just beginning to plate the meal when you slip into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table beside your father. She serves you both with a smile and sits, then extends her hands to both of you.

"Bless us, O Lord, for these, Thy gifts," she begins quietly, and you quickly hang your head and close your eyes as she continues, "which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen."

"Amen," you and your dad echo, then begin your meal. Just the same as always.

"How was your walk?" your father asks.

Here goes nothing.

"It was nice," you say, nodding thoughtfully to yourself and hoping you sound nonchalant, "I said hi to Mrs. Lillard."

"We've been praying for her," your mom interjects immediately, "She's an alcoholic, you know."

Your mom stays on top of all the neighborhood gossip, part of the reason you feel she might know something about the mysterious man. With a nod of your head you continue, "And then I saw someone else, a man playing guitar on his front porch, but I've never seen him before."

"Oh, him" your mom rolls her eyes, "Mr. Miller. Piece of work."

Bingo.

Your eyebrows raise, intrigued, "How so?"

"Kindness, dear," your father says with a disapproving nod to your mother, "He's done nothing to us."

She sighs and shakes her head, "You're right, I'm sorry."

The conversation is definitely going somewhere but it's already taking a turn into dangerous territory; you're not one to question, to interfere or interject. Pressing them further might make them suspicious, but you have to know.

"What did he do?" you ask, trying your best to sound casual, "If you don't mind me asking?"

Your mother is about to speak but your father gives her a look, almost a warning. She closes her mouth and sits back in her chair, waiting for him to answer you instead.

"He didn't do anything," your father explains, "Your mother invited him for dinner and he declined, that's all."

"It's the way he declined," your mother sits forward again, voice curt and irritated, "He was very rude."

"Rude?" You can tell your mom wants to talk about it, dredge up something she hasn't been able to discuss for a while; you're surprised she hadn't already told you over the phone while you were at college.

"This isn't appropriate conversation for the dinner table," your father says sternly, and you're not sure if he's talking more-so to you or your mother, "End of discussion." As usual your mother folds in on herself, picking up her fork and starting to eat again.

"Your father's right," she says, though you know she doesn't really believe that, "Let's just eat."

You wonder what the man - Mr. Miller - could have said to make your mother react this way. It's not unusual for her to get stiff and bothered by people - it's pretty easy to push her buttons, actually, but the list of things that offend her is long and detailed. He could have said pretty much anything to set her off. The specifics are lost on you.

You resign yourself to defeat and eat your dinner, sincerely glad that the tingling sensations in your body have subsided. You do not need to be feeling like that with your parents in the room.

-

You dream about him.

It's muddled and confusing, taking place simultaneously back at college and in your childhood bedroom, but he's there. In both places, somehow. You're back at that first week of college party, but instead of the blonde boy it's him standing across the room, eyeing you up and down. But this time he doesn't go for your roommate, he walks over to you and looks deeply into your eyes, gives you that delicious smirk and brings his hands down to touch your waist. He's so big compared to you, so much older. He pulls you in with a strong grasp and holds you to his broad chest, runs his hands down your back.

Then you're both transported from the college party to your parent's house. You're on your bed, sitting next to him atop the covers and watching him play guitar. You watch his fingers, long and thick, hypnotizing you with their movements. He stops playing and brings one to your chin, tilts your head up to look into your eyes again.

"You're not a good Christian girl," he whispers in that southern drawl, breath ghosting across your face, inching closer and closer, "You're all mine, aren't you?"

You wake up with a start and immediately feel the dampness in your underwear, the butterflies back again with a vengeance as your pussy throbs and pulses. You've never felt anything like this before, grasping your chest and reaching for your bedside lamp in the darkness. You sit there in bed for a few moments, catching your breath and waiting for the feelings to vanish again, for your aching core to stop reminding you that it's never been touched, not once, even though you know it's absolutely begging for it.

With shaky hands you reach down and run a finger through your wet folds, shivering at the soft touch. You've never masturbated before, never had sex or anything else you've learned about from your friends at college. They'd looked at you with disbelief when you'd told them you'd never even had an orgasm; one of them had gone so far as to ask if she could give you one.

"No," you'd said curtly, "No thank you."

Now you sit on your childhood bed with your legs open and a finger pressed lightly against you within your underwear. You're not even sure what to do, where exactly to touch, how to bring yourself to completion. You're twenty one years old but you've spent your entire life being the good, pure, God fearing girl waiting for marriage like her parents taught her.

"Enough," you whisper into the darkness, "I'm done waiting."

You yank your finger out of your panties and lay back on the bed, switching off the lamp and closing your eyes again. You've already decided before you drift off that you'll be paying Mr. Miller another visit tomorrow, as soon as possible.

He told you he wanted to teach you how to use your fingers; you intend to make sure he does.

[itsbubbleteataro]

The Radio Host and the Reporter

Pt 3

Parings; Human!Alastor x Fem!Human!reader

Warnings; drinking, ooc Alastor as he's a little on the drunk side?

1923 - Summer

You and Alastor had been together for a few months now. You've even met his mother, a wonderful woman with thick curly black hair and chestnut skin. A pleasant woman who had just fallen sick. The stress of his mother falling ill had only spurred Alastor to go on more hunts.

Still, the two of you managed to keep your secrets under wraps. However one day he became very close to finding out yours.

Alastor had gone to a speakeasy and you had taken the opportunity to sneak out while he was away. You used your bronzing makeup to look you more look masculine, and had wrapped several bandages around your torso to make you appear flat like a man. You stuffed the toes of your loafers with cotton so they would fit. They were a men's size, so they would naturally be a bit large on you. Second you threw on the dress pants you had borrowed from your brother as well as the dress shirt. You tucked your pen in the shirt pocket as you adjust the suspenders and tighten the belt.

Looking in the mirror you fix your hair to be stuffed in your paperboy cap, adjusting so a few strands are out to make you look masculine. You then open up the window in your room, and jumped out, closing the window behind you after grabbing a small pad of paper that fits in your pocket.

Skipping the parts of land that are prone to leaving foot prints, you make your way down to a speakeasy to gain more information on your next story. Unfortunately for you, it's the same on Alastor is in after a rough day at work.

Walking in your greeted by lighting of the establishment. The sound of smooth Jazz by a subpar band. The smell of drinks fill the room. You look around, eyes landing on a certain familiar form, hunched over a few fingers of rye. His hand in his hair that has long returned to its naturally curly state.

Against your better judgment you go ahead and walk inside, getting a drink yourself. You just hope that Alastor is too lost in his own thoughts to notice you. As you walk past the table you hear a very familiar voice calling to get your attention,

"Hey, newshawk. Prowling for a new story? Come here lend me your ear. I got a story you might wanna hear"

You look confused for a split second before you realize that Alastor is tipsy. That paired with your more masculine appearance made you realize you may be finally be able to ask straight forwards questions to him. Not that you couldn't normally, but you didn't out of fear of your little secret coming out.

Alastor is a smart man, there's no denying that. He had questioned the type writer he had found in your home when he came over for the first time. You struggled to even have a passable excuse, saying it was a gift from your brother.

Now here you sat, next to him, note pad open and a finger of rye infront of the two of you. You click your pen and clear your throat. You had to tread carefully here, if he were to even recognize your voice, you knew it would all be over for you. The cat would be out of the bag.

Recently you have started to cover missing people's reports. You were a bit glad Alastor was willing to answer any questions you may had, it would be much better and easier than breaking into the radio station and looking around for hints yourself.

You took a sip of your rye, and take a deep breath, trying to relax your voice as you spoke,

"Thank you sir. You are Alastor correct? Working at the station in town?"

You smile inwardly at the sound of your voice, now sounding a bit raspy. Alastor nods his head confirming your questions.

"Surely you have then heard that, oh what was his name, Charles Smith? Yeah Charles Smith. He went missing a few days ago."

You watched as his hand tightened on his glass, his knuckles turning white from the strain. You raise an eyebrow and make a note, thinking he was simply just close to the man. You ask a few more questions, watching his reaction carefully as well as his answer.

As the night ticks on, you notice that Alastor seems ready to leave. You take that as a hint and excuse yourself. You quickly make your way home, shedding your disguise, and hiding your notebook.

You dawn a simple looking dress knowing Alastor would be dropping by for dinner. You fixed your hair and went to your kitchen

-----------------------------------------------------

[satansapostle6]

folie à deux

Sometimes poison is sweet.

Selina Romanov and Draco Malfoy met when they were only eleven years old. The two of them have always shared an intense bond, always having gravitated towards one another. But the question still remains, as the years pass by, is their connection one of passion, or delusion?

Warnings: Contains Mature Themes/Language, Themes Such As Sexual Content, Violence, Abuse, Sexual Assault, Eating Disorders

Five.

The snow was falling more heavily outside as Selina sat watching on the train to London. The two of them shared a compartment with Elspeth and Amana, making for a pleasant and drama-free ride back to London. Draco sat next to Selina on the train, allowed to sit with her cat on his lap, petting and kissing her affectionately. Freya had always gotten along very well with Amana's cat, a male tabby cat affectionately named Rat. Draco was impatient to get off of the Hogwarts Express as it approached the platform in London.

  "No! Give her back!" Draco protested loudly as Selina took her cat away from him, carefully putting her into her crate. 

  "Relax, we'll be at the manor soon enough," she sighed as they sat, waiting for the train to come to a stop.

  "I forgot. What did you want for your birthday?" Draco piped up, looking over at Selina.

  "What?"

  "Your birthday. It's in January, you know," he reminded her jokingly.

  "I'm aware," she promised him. "Why?"

  "I want to know what to get you for your birthday," he pointed out.

  "You don't have to get me anything," she laughed, as her friends exchanged looks. 

  "But, we want to," Amana insisted. "What do you want?"

  "Surprise me," Selina told them, "I don't need anything for my birthday."

  "Fine, it'll be a surprise, then," Elspeth conceded, "Won't it, Draco?"

  "Sure will," he agreed as they all lined up to leave the train. 

Selina led Draco off to the side as they stepped off the train, aware that Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy were waiting somewhere on Platform 9 3/4 for them. 

  "Happy early Christmas! I'll write to you both. See you guys after the holidays," Elspeth hugged her friends. 

  "See you after the holidays, babe," Amana hugged her. "Happy Christmas."

Selina hugged each of her friends, wishing them happy Christmases as they all parted ways. 

  "Bye guys, happy Christmas," Draco waved pleasantly to the two of them as they waved back.

He and Selina both looked around the platform. 

  "Oh, there's Mum and Dad," Draco pointed, leading Selina over to them. 

She followed him to where Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were waiting for them, welcoming smiles on their faces. 

  "Hello, Mother, hello, father," Draco Malfoy greeted his parents.

  "Hi, sweetheart," Narcissa smiled. "Hello, Selina, it's so good to see you, my dear."

  "Good to see you too, Mrs. Malfoy."

  "Please, just call us by our names," Narcissa Malfoy said kindly. 

  "Right," Selina chuckled awkwardly. "Narcissa. Lucius. Thank you so much for inviting me to stay with you over the holidays."

  "It's our pleasure, dear," Lucius Malfoy said formally. 

  "Of course, our families have always been such good friends, I only wished I could've reunited with your grandmother sooner," Narcissa said, as she hugged her son. 

Lucius Malfoy smiled, taking Selina's hand in a rather charming manner. 

  "Thank you again for joining us for the holidays," he said. "I do hope it wasn't too much of an inconvenience."

  "No, no, of course not," she smiled, wishing she could tell them how relieved she was to be able to stay with anyone else at all, let alone a friend. "I'm so glad you asked me."

  "Good. I'm sure our families will be able to spend plenty of time together in the future," Lucius said.

  "I know I just saw you over the summer, but I feel like you've gotten taller!" Narcissa doted on her sweetly. "Say, you won't find it strange if I give you a hug, will you?" 

Selina's surprise at the question showed as she looked to Draco, who just seemed to shrug as he tried to hide his smile. 

  "Of course not," she chuckled, relishing the gesture of maternal affection as she accepted a hug. 

Narcissa gave her a quick squeeze, smiling as she rested her hand on Selina's back, leading her off of the platform. Draco thoughtfully offered his arm to his mother, linking arms with her as Selina and the Malfoy family headed away from everyone else. Selina noticed just how different Draco was away from school, as she walked beside Lucius Malfoy, who was very formal and gracious in demeanor, in a very paternal sort of way. 

  "How has this year at Hogwarts been for you, Selina?" he asked the way adults often did when speaking with children.

  "It's been good. Quidditch has been a little rough, but it's fun," she made casual conversation.

  "Really?" Mr. Malfoy seemed rather surprised. "Not having any trouble, are you? That McLaggen boy's not giving you any, is he?"

  "Oh, no," she shook her head quickly, "Of course not. It's just... I don't know, you're probably not interested in the social dynamics of the Slytherin team," she chuckled, hoping to change to a more pleasant subject.

  "Actually, I would love to hear about how things are for you on the team. Draco usually updates me in his letters, when he gets the chance," he informed her.

  "Oh. Well, it's just the Slytherin team's lineup could be better, I suppose," Selina shrugged. "Marcus Flint, the one who's been captain the past few years, he's...kind of a strange choice, but I don't think Professor Snape had a particularly overwhelming group of candidates," she reasoned. 

  "Yes, Draco's expressed to me some of his concerns. I must say, I'm inclined to agree with you," he stated. "Truthfully, the idea of you becoming Slytherin's next captain is a promising one."

  "Me?" she looked up at him.

  "Yes, Draco's told me all about your plans to become a professional player in the future," Lucius said, "Has he told you that I myself have quite a few connections in the league?"

  Selina smiled. "Yes, he has."

  "Well, I'll be keeping a close eye on your career. Don't hesitate to let me know in the next few years if you'd like me to go ahead and send a few owls," he offered.

  "Thank you, sir. That really means a lot to me," she thanked him gratefully. 

  "Please, call me 'Lucius'," he urged, dismissing the gravity of the favor altogether. "I'd be honored to make an investment in your career. I expect nothing in return, of course, I would just be happy to see a friend of my son's succeed."

  "Of course," she nodded.

It never really occurred to Selina just how much Draco and his father looked alike. Sure, they had the exact same features, and Draco's middle name was derived from his father, the same way Lucius Malfoy's middle name was Abraxas after his own father, but no one ever mentioned just how well Draco had learned his father's mannerisms, even if the way they executed their movements and speech were different. Draco had perfectly replicated his father's smile, as well as his sneer, and exuded the same confidence, and charisma, when he wanted to. Although to most looking in from the outside, Draco and his father seemed perfectly content with one another. To those who didn't know them, Draco looked up to his father, and his father was proud of him. But from the small things she'd noticed, the way Lucius Malfoy looked at his son with disdain for showing affection to his mother, or the way Draco would gulp and look up at his father, silently begging him to notice whenever he felt he was doing anything mildly impressive, or even the way Lucius would smile at Selina, a smile that would subtly fade once his eyes settled on his only son. Draco had once complained to Selina the year before that he felt his father wanted another child, a girl, to dote on and show his affection to the way he couldn't with Draco. Until now, Selina had thought the complaint to be just another one of Draco's meaningless rants. 

The Malfoys had safely Apparated Selina and Draco back to their luxurious manor, where she would be staying with them. 

  "Alright, I'll let you both settle in and rest," Narcissa sighed as she and her husband returned to the comfort of their own home. "Selina, would you like the room across from Draco's again?"

  "Yes, that'll be perfect, thank you so much," she nodded. 

  "Not a problem, dear. Let me know if you need anything else."

Places had been found for both of their belongings and pets shortly after they arrived. Although all of Selina's things had been left in the  elegantly furnished spare bedroom across from Draco's, the two of them assumed that she would once again be sleeping on the large circular cushion by his windowsill. Draco's room was much more lived-in than the spare bedrooms, with posters and more of his own belongings scattered about. There was something oddly comforting about being in her friend's room, the way it was a perfect extension of his mind that looked and smelled like him, in a  pleasant way. Selina liked the things in Draco's room, from the rings and trinkets on his dresser to the Falmouth Falcons poster on his wall beside his bed. 

  "I'm exhausted. Let's take a nap," Draco jumped into his bed, not bothering to change his clothes. "We'll go to Diagon Alley later."

  "Sounds good to me," Selina sighed.

She went into Draco's bathroom to change her pants, throwing off her sweater as she jumped underneath the blanket Draco had supplied her with. The two of them decided to sleep in, enjoying the start of their vacation. Hours had passed before Selina woke up first. She checked the clock in Draco's room, which said that it was ten o'clock. She peered over at Draco, who was still sound asleep in his bed, smiling as she resisted the urge to find a bowl of warm water for his hand. Finding a long, thin sweater to wear around the manor, Selina brushed her teeth once again before making her way downstairs. She wandered Malfoy Manor with one a particular destination in mind, admiring the beauty of the architecture as well as the family's many material possessions. Selina eventually wandered into one of the family's chambers, where Narcissa Malfoy greeted her. 

  "Selina. You're up," she smiled. "I do hope you've gotten the chance to rest."

  "Yes, definitely," she nodded.

  "Is Draco still asleep?" the woman asked expectantly.

Selina nodded, realizing Draco's mother had been alone since Mr. Malfoy had left for work. 

  "Would you like to join me for my tea?" she offered. "You can sit if you like, I've got plenty."

  "Actually, that looks amazing, thank you," she decided, sitting down across from Narcissa, who poured her a cup of tea. "This china is amazing," she complimented.

  "Oh, why thank you, it was a wedding gift, actually," Mrs. Malfoy said. "I haven't used it in ages, but I thought I'd bring it out again. It's so nice to have company... Here you go."

Selina gladly accepted the cup of warm tea, staring in awe at the beautiful red roses on the china set. 

  "It's rose hip and lychee, imported from China, if I'm not mistaken," she remarked. "I believe this is the blend Lucius and I discovered on our trip there. It was beautiful."

  "I'll bet. What time of year did you go?" she asked curiously.

  "We went in the spring... You wouldn't believe the cherry blossoms. It was like snow, but better," Narcissa reminisced happily.

  "Wow, that does sound beautiful."

  "Do you have any interest in traveling?" the woman asked.

  "Yeah, I think I do," Selina Romanov thought. "I think it'd be nice to see the world."

  "Well, I'm sure you'd get to do that playing Quidditch," Narcissa offered. 

Selina sipped on the tea, pleasantly surprised by how much she liked it.

  "Wow. That is good," she nodded appreciatively.

  "Is it? Perhaps I'll send a box to your grandmother for Christmas."

  "Mmm, she'd love that."

Selina indulged in the tea and pound cake set out on the coffee table, amazed at how good it was. She was able to sit in silence with Narcissa for a short while, not feeling awkward or pressured to speak. It was a pleasant silence, the kind that she never could've had with her own grandmother. 

  "Are you hungry?" Narcissa questioned after a moment. "I could have something made for you."

  "Oh, no, this is perfect," she promised, fully satisfied. 

  "Alright, I'll have something made once Draco's awake, I'm sure he'll be wanting those Belgian waffles..."

After a while of enjoying her polite tea with Mrs. Malfoy, Selina noticed the woman seemed to have something on her mind. She couldn't help but think how much she took pleasure in spending time with Narcissa, the way she wished she could have gotten to know her own mother. Selina knew that she had to have been a very lonely woman, what with Draco usually away at school, and her husband always at work. Selina felt for her, seeing Narcissa Malfoy almost like a surrogate mother in the few years she'd actually gotten to know her. Narcissa was kind to her, and thought of her the way she would a family member, something Selina wasn't used to. She noticed that, as cold and formal as Narcissa was to the outside world, she really was a warm and gentle soul, once you got to know her. Narcissa Malfoy was a kind and beautiful woman, with long, dark hair streaked with white over the years. She had intelligent eyes and a disarming smile, the kind that was rare and valuable in nature. Getting to know her made Selina wish even more that she'd gotten more time with her own mother, to see how beautifully she would have aged with time.  

  "You know, Selina, my son speaks very highly of you," she said softly, her voice cracking with slight sadness, "To be quite honest, I'm so glad Draco's found a true friend. Those are hard to come by in this world."

Selina nodded, sharing her genuine smile. 

  "I can tell how much you care for him, you know. I know you're a good influence on my son, I can tell by his letters," Narcissa chuckled. 

  "Why, what does he say?" Selina Romanov asked. 

  "It's not so much what he says as it is what he doesn't say," she supplied, her eyes twinkling as they shared that little secret.

The two of them were interrupted as Draco came bounding into the room, his hair a mess as he wore the clothes he'd had on since the train. 

  "I'm hungry," he thought aloud, as Narcissa gave Selina a knowing look.

Draco and Selina enjoyed a plentiful breakfast before Narcissa had given them permission to use the Floo Network to travel to Diagon Alley. Both of them dressed accordingly for the cold, snowy weather, in their layers and coats. 

  "So, where to first?" Selina asked as they leisurely walked around in the snow. 

  "Let's head to Knockturn Alley!" Draco Malfoy said enthusiastically, running off before Selina could say much. 

  "Your mother won't mind?" she asked pointedly.

  "No, I come here with my father all the time," he replied dismissively. 

  "Alright," she nodded, following him to Knockturn Alley.

Knockturn Alley was an area not far from Diagon Alley mostly meant for the Dark Arts, with Dark creatures and artifacts and such. Selina had been there a couple of times with her grandmother, but other than that, she was told to avoid it. Many of the witches and wizards who could be found skulking around there looked questionable, at the very least. 

  "Stay close to me," Draco ordered her, making sure she was right next to him.

  "I'll be fine, thank you for your concern," she rolled her eyes at him. 

She followed him down Knockturn Alley, the both of them looking for good stores to visit. 

  "Are you alright with choosing your birthday present here, or at Diagon Alley?" he questioned.

  "You mean my Christmas present?" she asked.

  "No, I already know what I'm getting you for Christmas," he replied, sounding bored as if it were obvious. 

  "Where to first then?" Selina looked around, ignoring the Dark witches and wizards leering at them.

  "First, we pick up your Christmas present," Draco declared, walking her over to a store called The Coffin House. 

  "You're going to let me see it?" she raised an eyebrow.

  "No, not bloody likely. Wait out here," he told her, walking in as she stood outside in the cold, wondering what he could have possibly gotten her from The Coffin House. 

She sighed to herself, crossing her arms as tightly as she could as snow lightly fell. An older witch with dark hair slowly approached her, smiling widely. 

  "You, my dear, are beautiful," she said in awe. 

  "Yeah, and not afraid to use an Unforgivable Curse," Selina frowned, drawing her wand. 

The woman frowned as she realized she wouldn't be getting what she wanted, slowly walking away from her in defeat. Selina Romanov impatiently waited outside for Draco, not appreciating the cold. It was a few minutes before Draco exited the shop with a black bag in hand. 

  "Got it," he told her.

  "It better not be something dead," she threatened him. 

  "Relax, I couldn't find your mother's femur," he retorted. 

Selina smirked at the joke as they walked down the alley.

  "I can't wait til I'm able to go to the betting shop," Draco said to her as they passed it.

  "My father made a decent amount of money there," Selina recalled. "My grandmother hated him for being a gambler. Still does."

  "Does your grandmother like anything?" he questioned as they walked towards the shops that were known to sell various knickknacks.

  "Mmm, I don't know," Selina thought. "Wine?"

The two of them decided to enter the Ye Olde Curiosity Shop, where the wizard who ran the shop seemed ready to kick the two of them out until he realized who had entered.

  "Mr. Malfoy," he nodded curtly to Draco, who simply nodded back as they looked around.

Selina saw many random and interesting objects, including various cursed trinkets, miscellaneous supplies, and items that had belonged to various Dark witches and wizards. Selina had always had a fascination with the Dark Arts, not necessarily in that she wanted to practice them to the extent of committing crimes against humanity, but more so in that she was curious about the nature of Dark magic. Selina's only experience in performing Dark magic was on par with others her age, only having used fairly simple spells against others either in a joking manner, or in self defense, although she had already demonstrated an undeniable gift for it. Selina was a talented duelist, which she had demonstrated in front of her classmates at Hogwarts the year before during the short-lived Dueling Club.

One Year Ago

  "Excellent, now, I'll be needing another pair of brave volunteers for our next duel!" Gilderoy Lockhart, the previous year's Defense Against the Dark Arts professor announced. "Hmm. How about you, Miss Romanov? Care to demonstrate for us?"

Selina Romanov stepped up onto the platform, noticing Professor Snape standing behind her. Professor Snape gave her a rather intense nod of encouragement as her Head of House, clearly all but ordering her to win. 

  "And, who here would like a chance to duel against our talented young Miss Romanov here?" Lockhart asked the students cheerfully.

At first, no one's hands were raised at all. Draco gave his friend an appreciative grin, as Crabbe and Goyle laughed at everyone's hesitation. Eventually, a single hand was raised as the eerily handsome Professor Lockhart grimaced uncomfortably. Everyone was surprised, especially the other Gryffindors also participating in the school Dueling Club.

  "Mr. Weasley, normally I would certainly be happy to allow you to participate," he began carefully, "But given the age difference between you and Miss Romanov, I don't think it would be  very prudent to, uh—"

But, he was of course interrupted by Professor Snape. 

  "Professor, Romanov is perfectly capable of participating in a duel against the likes of Fred Weasley," Snape drawled, sounding almost bored, "If anything it's Mr. Weasley we should be worried about."

  "Oh, very well, then," Lockhart allowed it uncomfortably as Fred Weasley stepped up onto the dueling strip with a mischievous grin. 

  "You sure you want to do this, Weasley?" Selina said calmly before they raised their wands.

The other Slytherins followed her in mocking Fred, convinced that she would be victorious. Quite a few of them had gotten quite mean, shouting things like 'Snap that ginger', or 'Poor Weasley'. Some were definitely more creative than others. Professor Lockhart and a considerable portion of the students spectating had their concerns about a second-year girl dueling against a fourth-year boy, but neither Snape nor Selina seemed the least bit concerned about it.

  "Actually, I'm not come to think of it," he replied thoughtfully, "I don't think I'd feel too good about beating a girl."

The other Gryffindors laughed in turn, as Selina readied her wand.

  "Really?" Selina raised an eyebrow. "I was thinking the same thing."

The Slytherins who had been watching all laughed and cheered for her, with Draco and the rest of their gang murmuring and pointing in Fred Weasley's direction. 

  "Come on! Knock him on his arse, Sel!" Draco called, earning cheers of agreement from the Slytherins and some of the Ravenclaws. "If you don't, I'll be your second!" he said enthusiastically.

Fred only grinned in response as the two of them bowed, taking a few paces backwards. They both turned sharply and pointed their wands at one another. A few sickles were thrown at Fred's feet by some Slytherins who were paid by Draco, which had earned some cruel laughs from the other students, discouraged by Professor Lockhart.

  "Ladies first," Selina Romanov smirked as she allowed Fred a head start.

  "If you insist."

  "Remember! You two are casting your spells to disarm, and only disarm, your opponent!" Lockhart prompted firmly. "One. Two... Three!"

It didn't take long for the both of them to disregard the instructions. 

  "Aqua Eructo!" Fred boomed. 

But before he could even finish casting the spell, Selina had used non-verbal magic to cast a shield charm, which caused the violent jet of water that had shot out of his wand to be fired back at him. Fred Weasley was knocked to the ground by a blast of spraying water, leaving him sitting on the floor soaking wet, in front of the whole school. All of the Slytherins laughed at his misfortune along with the others in the Dueling Clyb, observing them as he hopped to his feet. 

  "Relashio!"

Selina Romanov dropped her wand, quickly rectifying it as she caught it before it fell to the ground. She raised her wand, aiming it at Fred Weasley as she cast a surprisingly powerful Weakening Hex. Fred was astounded by the potent effect her spell had on him already, causing him to feel fatigued and powerless in his magical abilities. 

  "Locomotor Wibbly!" he attempted to cast the Jelly-Legs Curse against Selina.

  "Remember, we're disarming only!" Lockhart yelled, only to be completely ignored by the students, who both had their own predetermined agendas. 

However, due to his impaired magical ability, he had only succeeded in causing one of her knees to involuntarily wiggle, an effect which she easily shook off. 

  "Flagrante!" Selina shouted.

Fred Weasley's wand felt as if it were actually catching on fire, the heat burning his hand. He dropped the wand immediately, fearfully tending to his hand as he feared that it might have been severely burned. 

  "Agh!"

  "Alright, alright now, that's enough of that," Professor Snape announced, walking on the strip towards Selina, "I'm sure Mr. Weasley's had enough public humiliation for one day. You see, Lockhart, surely you realize, if anything, Romanov would have been better off dueling you yourself, if anything," he baited him.

He rested his hand on her shoulder, indicating that their dueling match was over. Draco Malfoy and the rest of Slytherin complained loudly at the duel being cut short. The Gryffindors seemed appalled by the spells that had been cast against Fred, although he didn't seem to upset about it himself. Fred merely looked over at Selina, chuckling to himself as Lockhart attempted to check if his hand had been burned. 

  "Miss Romanov, once Dueling Club comes to a conclusion, you are to be in my office," Snape said in a hushed tone.

*****

After everyone had been released from Dueling Club, Selina had reluctantly followed Professor  Snape to his office, her demeanor calm and  composed.

  "Professor, if I've done something wrong—"

  "You've done nothing wrong," Snape replied passively as he stood beside his desk. "I have no complaints about your performance today, however..."

He narrowed his eyes at her, eyeing her almost suspiciously. 

  "I must ask you where a second-year such as yourself came across spells like the ones you used today in your duel against Weasley," he expressed with a hint of suspicion.

  "I... I learned them from my mother's journals," Selina Romanov replied. "My mother wrote about a lot of different spells she used. She also wrote about the spells my father used, and the ones he was gifted at. I practiced them on my own. I even came up with my own, better versions of some of them."

  "Yes, I see... and I'm assuming your mother's journals were what helped you in learning such advanced magic, such as non-verbal spells?" the dark-haired man assumed. 

  "Yes," Selina responded dutifully. 

  "I see. I must express that in your short amount of time here at Hogwarts, you've demonstrated a particularly advanced predisposition towards spell work," he said, "Particularly hexes, and other, shall we say, slightly Dark-leaning spells."

She examined his expression carefully, trying to determine whether or not she was in any danger of getting herself into trouble. 

  "'Hexes'?" she echoed cautiously. "Dark spells?"

  "Yes, I seem to recall many occasions on which you've used magic to defend, or more accurately offend," Severus Snape stated, "Or was it not you who paralyzed Pansy Parkinson, elongated Marcus Flint's teeth, or illegally swelled Marcus Belby's head in the past year?"

Selina decided not to answer the question directly so as not to accidentally incriminate herself. 

  "You don't seem to be looking to punish anyone for all of that," she mumbled.

  "Not particularly, no, although I don't seek to reward the behavior, either," he responded. "Although, don't see any problem with a Hogwarts professor simply offer, shall we say, additional instruction to a student they feel to be in possession of the proper skills," he hinted quietly. 

  "What exactly are you offering, Professor?" she inquired curiously. 

 "An opportunity to, shall we say, research similar spells, purely for education purposes, of course," he said quickly. 

  "Really?" she asked suspiciously. 

  "You know, Miss Romanov... Many witches and wizards over the course of history have ascended to the level of inventing their own spells," he provided. "How would you like to achieve that same level of prowess some day?" he asked. 

Selina smiled slightly. "I would say I'm definitely interested."

  "Tuesdays and Fridays, my office. Three o'clock," was his only reply. 

One Year Later

Selina and Draco wandered around the shop of strange, miscellaneous objects, searching for anything that interested them.

  "Look at this," Draco chuckled in amusement, holding up what appeared to be an old diaper. "A cursed diaper that suffocates babies."

  Selina stared at it blankly. "...What the fuck."

  "Come on, it's Dark magic, Sel, what do you expect?" he laughed at the strange objects they found.

  "I'm less confused by the 'suffocating babies' part than I am by the 'cursed diaper' part," she informed him. "Why specifically use a cursed diaper if you want a baby dead? Why not just kill the baby?"

  "Well, outright murdering a baby just sounds ridiculou, I mean, that's just stupid. What kind wizard would just go and kill a baby?" Draco argued dismissively. 

  "Voldemort?" she offered, earning a sharp look from the shop owner.    

Draco shook his head at the situation, dropping both the argument as well as the diaper. 

  "This looks promising," Draco held up an antique brooch. "Ooh. It shoots silver darts," he read the card attached to it.

  "Put that back," she groaned.

  "Why? Don't tell me you're afraid," he teased.

  "I am afraid. Afraid you'll poke an eye out," she scoffed.

The pair continued walking around Knockturn Alley, both careful not to be seen by anyone. Draco and Selina both were well aware that it was entirely possible they might run into someone they knew. Draco led Selina into an apothecary, where he was greeted by a Mr. Mulpepper. 

  "What can I get for you today, sir?"

  "Just those," he replied, pointing to a small jar on the shelf behind the man.

  "Yes, sir," Mr. Mulpepper nodded, placing the jar on the counter in front of them. 

  "What the hell do you need human vocal chords for?" Selina whispered. 

  "Don't worry about it," he muttered, nodding to the shop owner. 

He named a price as Draco Malfoy handed him a selection of coins from the sack in his pocket, as the older wizard nodded and allowed them to take the jar. They left the store together, continuing to look around, staying hidden as they walked through the alley. 

  "Come on, let's just go to Cobb & Webb's and then leave," she murmured. 

Draco followed as she headed off to the shop. They were greeted, or rather, not greeted, by an indifferent witch who allowed them to peruse the store as they pleased. The witch, who was fairly young, approached Draco and Selina as they aimlessly looked around the shop.

  "Hello," she said politely. "You two finding everything alright?"

  "Yeah, thanks," Draco nodded, suspicious at her surprisingly pleasant customer service. 

The pretty young witch smiled, her jewelry and stylish coat giving her the appearance of a perfectly normal girl in her early twenties, with dark hair and bangs, as well as painted red lips. What particularly stood out about her to Selina were her big blue eyes and moderately prominent Cockney accent. 

  "You two looking for his-and-hers Christmas gifts?" she asked them.

  "Actually," Selina corrected her awkwardly, "We're not—"

  "She won't tell me what she wants for Christmas," Draco interrupted, rolling his eyes at her in annoyance.

  "Ah, I see," the girl nodded, still smiling normally. 

  "Because I don't really want anything," Selina told him, "I told you you could get me anything."

  "You two really are cute," the witch grinned, walking over to a glass display case. "Come take a look at this. You've got money to burn, yeah?" she asked Draco.

  "Oh, yeah," he bragged, nodding as if he didn't even need to hear prices. 

Selina took a look at the display case, which was filled with rather attractive jewelry.

  "Are these cursed?" Selina looked up.

  "Some, yes," the girl breathed, "Others, not necessarily."

There was a wide assortment of displayed rings, bracelets, necklaces, and other accessories adorned with various jewels and stones. They watched as she unlocked the display case, gesturing to the contents. 

  "You can pick them up, if you like. Or, well... maybe ask what they are, first," she advised humorously. 

  "Right," Selina agreed cautiously.

  "Have either of you been in here before?" the woman working in the shop asked. 

  "Yeah, we both have," Draco nodded, examining the pieces. 

  "I don't think we've met. I just started working here not too long ago," she said. "Bellicent Cobb. My grandfather started this place."

  "Nice to meet you," Selina said to her, deeming it not a good idea to give this girl her name. 

Draco just barely allowed his fingers to touch a little gold bracelet embedded with green gems. 

  "Like that one, do you?" Bellicent Cobb asked. "It lets you talk to snakes. Like Parseltongue, you know?" she said crudely. 

  "Really?" he questioned.

The girl nodded.

  "My mother was a Parselmouth," Selina remarked.

  "No way," Bellicent said in awe, "Really?"

Selina nodded, staring at the bracelet. 

  "Why aren't you a Parselmouth, then?"

  "Is your father a man?" Selina asked her.

  "...Yes," Bellicent replied, emphasizing the obviousness of the answer.

  "Then why aren't you a man?" she demanded.

  "Right, fair enough," the witch accepted the argument. "My father used to tell me stories, but I hardly knew they existed. At some point, I just kinda assumed they weren't real," she remarked. 

  "Most people usually do," Selina nodded. 

  "You two go to Hogwarts, I'm guessing?" Bellicent Cobb asked.

  "Yeah. Did you?" Draco questioned.

  "I did," she nodded proudly. "What Houses are you?"

  "We're both in Slytherin," he said with an air of prominence. 

  "Oh, so was I. I was a Beater on the Quidditch team," Bellicent revealed.

  "You don't say," Draco seemed mildly impressed. "I'm Seeker, she's a Chaser," he pointed back at Selina.

  "No way," Bellicent grinned, "Cool. If you don't mind me asking, what are you two doing in here today? We don't get many people your age. Well, hardly any, really. Have you been in here with your parents, or something?"

  "Yeah," Selina replied. 

  "What're your names?" Bellicent asked curiously. "Maybe I know them."

  "I'm Malfoy," Draco introduced himself. "This is Romanov."

  "Oh, yeah... I think I know of a Mr. Malfoy," the older girl nodded, turning to face Selina. "But you... you're a Romanov?" 

  "I am," she replied. "You might have heard of my father. Ilya Romanov."

  "Ah, the bloke that's in Azkaban, yeah," she nodded quickly, "I see it. He used to come in here a lot, you know. Years ago... You kinda look like him."

  "Did you know him?" 

  "I mean, not really. I was a kid. He used to come into the shop when I would sit in here with my father," she recalled. "He was a pretty lively bloke, that one. His voice seemed to fill the whole damn shop. Always send to come in after going down to the betting shop down that way. Used to go one for days about those creature fights a bunch of blokes used to bet on. They still have them. Always getting shut down, I hear. A bloody mess."

  "Yeah," Selina sighed, "That was definitely him. Say, Bellicent, what does this one do?" she studied a rather unusual tiara adorned with a round red gem in the center. 

  "That..." she paused for a moment, "Makes you spit fire."

Selina made a face at Draco, who shared the silent sentiment.

  "I don't think we want that one," he decided without much thought.

  "Yeah, it's a hard sell," the young woman agreed sympathetically.

Selina looked at the little display of various rings in front of her, finding an ornate silver ring with an eye-catching black jewel on it. 

  "Can I pick this one up?"

The shopkeeper nodded as she held the ring in her hand, admiring its beauty. It had a look of danger about it, which was more attractive to Selina than unnerving. 

  "That one senses danger," Bellicent told her, earning her a raised eyebrow. "Look... put it on."

Selina trusted her, putting the black ring on her ring finger. She saw that the ring was a bit too big for her finger, watching as the metal slowly shrunk itself until it was the perfect size. 

  "Yeah, that's a nice piece, isn't it?" Bellicent grinned.

  "How does it sense danger?" Selina Romanov inquired. 

  "Like this," she said flatly. 

Bellicent Cobb drew a small dagger from her pocket, lunging towards Selina as she stopped the blade just before it was plunged into her chest. Draco gasped as a loud ringing sound filled Selina's ears. Bellicent promptly sheathed her blade. 

  "What the hell! You almost stabbed me!" Selina exclaimed.

  "Yeah, almost," Bellicent rationalized nonchalantly. "But I didn't, thanks to this super cool ring, which you should totally buy, by the way."

  "You know what, I can't be mad at that," Selina nodded appreciatively.

  "You like that one?"

  "It's definitely useful, yeah."

  Draco made up his mind, understanding Selina's mannerisms. "I'll take it," he declared eagerly.

  "I'll wrap it up," the girl replied, as Selina continued looking at the objects in the case. 

She came upon an expensive-looking watch, which looked new. It was a gleaming silver watch with an exquisite face. The edge of the clock had a beautiful black snake that coiled over and under the edge of the face. 

  "Hey, do you think you could tell me about this watch?" she called to the shopkeeper.

  "The silver one?"

  She nodded. "Yeah."

  "The snake comes to life. Does whatever you want it to do. It's pretty cool. Its bite's poisonous," she recounted as she found boxes for the ring. "It actually belonged to Grindelwald at one point, so it's pricey, but cool."

Selina gauged Draco's reaction, trying to determine whether or not it was an appropriate gift for him. She decided it definitely wasn't, judging by the fact that he shook his head vigorously, a look of discomfort on his face. Selina nodded wordlessly, understanding his aversion to an object that had once belonged to one of the darkest wizards of all time. 

  "You know..." Bellicent returned to the two of them, facing Selina, "That ring you found? It has a twin."

  "A 'twin'?" Draco repeated.

  "Yeah... here," she pulled another silver ring from the display. 

This one was a simple silver ring with a thick band, decorated by nothing but a pattern engraved into it.

  "It looks different, but it does the same thing. My father tells me those rings are kind of famous," she explained.

  "How so?" Draco questioned, trying the ring on as it shrunk slightly to fit his finger. 

  "Well, those rings were made by a wizard named  Astraeus Caddel in the late nineteenth century, for him and his wife Melisande. They're sometimes called the Lover's Rings, even though friends and family members use them a lot, too. They made about a few thousand pairs, but if you look closely at these, you can tell that they were one of the earlier sets. If you connect them, they work as a pair," she answered.

  "How?" Selina asked.

  "Well, take your ring, for example. Not only would it make that noise when you're in trouble, but it would do the same thing when he's in trouble," the eccentric girl gestured to Draco. "And, if one of you presses the center, the other one can feel it too. Sort of like a hug, or a tap on the shoulder, but for your finger," she supplied. 

  "I'll take both," Draco nodded.

  "Excellent. Twenty galleons for both, and I'll have them both wrapped up. Free of charge," she told him.

  "Only twenty galleons?" Selina asked, pulling out her money.

  "Well. They're supposed to be thirty for the set, but maybe I like you," she shrugged coolly.

  "Wow. Thanks," Draco told her, handing over all of the money before Selina could interfere. "How do you link them?"

  "Just hold them both in your hand and use the incantation 'Simulaeternum'," she enunciated.  "I wrote it down on a piece of parchment. It's in there."

Selina nodded, easily remembering the information. 

  "I'll tell you what. You two ever wanna do some buying or selling, you come back here to me, or send me an owl, and I'll help you out," Bellicent offered. "Try and win a game for Slytherin, alright?"

  "Alright," Draco agreed. 

They visited Borgin and Burke's afterward, not finding anything of interest, and had returned to Diagon Alley, which was significantly more cheerful, especially considering it being around Christmastime. It had stopped snowing outside, and the sun was half revealed by a parting in the clouds in the sky. 

  "I still have to get you something," Selina reminded Draco.

  "You don't have to get me anything," he excused her.

  "Oh, that means nothing when I say it, but you say it, and it's law?" she spoke up.

  "Yup," Draco nodded as they walked together. "Ugh, it's cold."

  "Want hot chocolate?" Selina suggested.

  "Yes, please!" he groaned. "With whipped cream and marshmallows!"

  "Come on. Rosa Lee Teabag always has it around the holidays," she dragged him off to the tea shop.

The tea shop was filled with both packaged tea for purchase, as well as a very small cafe that made hot and cold drinks. A young wizard was working at the cafe. By Selina's estimation, he was probably not much older than seventeen, maybe about eighteen or nineteen, or twenty at the most. 

  "Hi," the dark-haired boy smiled charmingly as he saw Selina, "What can I get you?"

  "One hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows, and one warm apple cider, please," she smiled. 

  "Coming right up," he nodded, turning to make the drinks.

They were ready in almost an instant, prepared by floating kitchenware. The boy behind the counter put lids on both cups, handing them off to Selina.

  "Here you go. On the house," he gave a sly smile.

  "Thanks!" she exclaimed with sarcastic enthusiasm, making her voice more high-pitched than it normally was. "I'm thirteen!"

His smile instantly faded into a mortified grimace as Selina happily handed Draco his cup, the two of them quickly walking out. 

  "That was bloody brilliant!" Draco Malfoy chuckled. "I mean. That we got stuff for free," he corrected himself. 

They both stood outside for a moment, enjoying their warm drinks. 

  "Mmph! That's delicious," he grunted. 

  "Okay, where to?" Selina questioned. "We're not giving up until I find you the perfect Christmas present."

  "Quidditch supplies!" he cried, leading the way. 

  "Quidditch supplies, it is."

Draco took the small bag he'd gotten from Cobb & Webb's, handing it off to his friend to hold onto.

  "Here. Early birthday gift."

  "It's a gift for both of us," she decided. "Thank you. That was a really cool find."

  "Yeah, it was. Can't wait to press the shit out of my ring during classes," Draco snickered.

  "Oh, I'm sure. You know, if you think about it, those will be good for Quidditch," she thought. "I'll know if a Bludger's coming for you."

  "And I'll know if Monatgue's coming for you," he smirked, earning a hard flick in the ear. "Ow!"

Selina sipped on her warm apple cider as he opened the door to the Quidditch supply store, the both of them looking around excitedly.

  "Okay, get out of here," she told him as she went to explore the store.

  "What did I do?" he complained.

  "Go look around! I'll pick out a gift for you while we're in here," she told him, "I want it to be a surprise!"

  "Fine," Draco complained, reluctantly wandering off to the section that was full of merchandise for different teams. 

Selina looked through the aisle of kits and armor, hoping to find a nice pair of gloves, or perhaps something similar. She had kept in mind the teams that Draco liked, his favorite of which being the Falcons, which were best known for their violent playing style. This was something they'd had in common, mostly because Selina had grown up listening to her father's yelling and ramblings about the Falmouth Falcons. Although she was hesitant at times to like anything that Ilya Romanov liked, she had no problem sharing a favorite Quidditch team with him. Much to her surprise, she had discovered a perfect pair of black leather gloves, which were made by a brand that she was aware was a favorite of a few of the players on the Falmouth team. She selected the gloves, happy to have found something so perfect for Draco. Satisfied with what she'd found, she joined him in the merchandise section, looking with him at different jerseys and other clothing, eventually settling on a Falcons jersey for him along with the gloves, which she paid for while he looked around the store. They ended up eventually wandering Diagon Alley aimlessly, looking at each shop they passed as they strolled around for over an hour. 

  "You know, I'm kind of craving ice cream," Draco thought aloud.

  "Ice cream? You might as well eat the snow off the ground," Selina scoffed in disbelief.

  "Come on! Let's go to Florean Fortescue's," he whined incessantly for ice cream, not unlike a child. 

  "You've got an insane sweet tooth," she told him as they continued on, heading towards the ice cream parlor. 

  "Who wouldn't want ice cream?" he demanded defensively.

  "Me!" Selina laughed. "It was just snowing out!"

  "And now it's not," Draco pointed out opportunistically.

  "Alright," she sighed.

She accompanied him to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, which was very festively decorated for the holidays, despite it being practically empty due to the cold weather. Mr. Fortescue even seemed shocked to have customers as they entered. 

  "Hello, welcome in!" he said, startled by the amount of customers. 

  "Hello," Selina smiled charmingly. "Do you know what you want?" she asked Draco.

  "The usual," he nodded to her. "Split it with me."

  "Alright, sounds good," she agreed cooperatively.

  "Anything I can get you two?" Florean Fortescue asked.

  "Yes, just one strawberry sundae, please," she requested.

  "That'll be three sickles and ten knuts."

Selina reached for her coins, just as Draco decided to cut in and pay the man. 

  "Thank you, sir. Coming right up."

Selina raised an eyebrow at Draco, pretending to have an issue with him paying. He usually liked to show off his wealth by throwing money around and paying whenever he got the chance, but only around girls. He usually only paid for things around Selina, or Pansy Parkinson, whose praise he especially enjoyed.

  "What? I can't help if you're slow," he huffed. 

They sat down at a table in the corner, setting into the cold ice cream parlor. 

  "I haven't had a sundae here in years," she said after a moment.

  "I love the sundaes. They're perfect. Just the right amount of sprinkles," he expressed passionately. 

Selina hid her smile from him, shaking her head as she ate her share of ice cream.

  "The strawberry sundae's the best. I love the strawberries he puts on it," she contributed. "Once, he told me there's orange liqueur in the syrup."

 "Hmm. Really?" Draco tasted it curiously. "I can kinda taste it."

They had spent an additional couple of hours at Diagon Alley after the snow had cleared up. Once they had arrived back at Malfoy Manor, they found Narcissa at home sitting by her fireplace. 

  "Oh, Draco, you're  back," she nodded, seeing them enter the hall. 

  "Want to go out on our brooms?" Draco suggested. 

  Selina sighed. "I'm kind of tired... I'll probably do school work and then sleep for a bit."

  "Whatever you want. I'm still going out," he decided, running to get his gear. 

Selina was exhausted and eventually took a short nap. Although she had been able to rest her eyes, she still could not slip into a full sleep. She could see the darkness behind her eyes as she laid there, half tuned into the noise around her, which wasn't much, until voices had moved the stairs in the east wing of the manor. She was paralyzed with sleep, but could still clearly hear the voices that she recognized as being belonging to Draco and Lucius Malfoy. 

  "But, Father," she could hear Draco protest, "It was just because of the exam—"

  "Don't make excuses, Draco, it isn't the professor's fault your attention span is abysmal, at best!" Lucius projected haughtily, his voice echoing through the manor.

  "But, that's the thing, I've actually been trying! Mother just told you, I took extra lessons after class!" his son complained. "I really tried, I did my best!"

  "If that is what you would call you doing your best, then I suppose I'm in need of a new heir!" 

  "Father! It's only one P, the rest of my grades are E's and A's. I even got an O!" Draco pointed out.

  "Don't be lazy, you know that you're only as good as your worst grade, and for a Malfoy, a 'P' is just unacceptable!" the man bellowed.

  "Father, I'll keep working at it, I promise!" Draco pleaded.

  "Oh, I'm sure you will," Lucius muttered, laughing at his son under his breath.

  "But, Father...!"

  "What do you want from me, Draco!" Lucius exclaimed. "First, you insist that I tolerate your nonsense, and then you continue to badger me after I've already given into every one of your pathetic whims!"

  "Father, I just... I just wanted you to watch my new maneuver!" Draco yelled.

  "And why would you think that would be a productive use of my time?" Lucius Malfoy demanded angrily.

  "Because, I... I haven't been home since summer, and I-I just thought... it'd be fun," Draco trailed off, losing faith in his own argument.

  "Well, if I spent all my days sitting around and doing what you think is fun, this family wouldn't eat a bite," Lucius continued ignoring him.

  "Father..."

  "What, Draco?" Lucius questioned unpleasantly. "What?"

  "You-You just never seem interested in anything I have to say!" Draco cried. 

  Lucius Malfoy seemed flabbergasted. "Now why on earth would I have any interest in your excuses for poor grades—?!"

  "I'm not just talking about that!" 

Selina could hear the break in his voice.

  "I'm talking about how you're never happy to see me, and you hardly write to me unless it's to check my marks, or ask me if I won a match!" Draco Malfoy's breathed out erratically, as if he were talking while crying. 

  "Don't be ridiculous!" his father scoffed. "I am perfectly polite to you when you visit."

  "That's it, your just polite!" Draco yelled, agitated by him. "You're just polite, you give a little smile, you ask me what you always ask, and you try not to roll your eyes at me and you try to find some excuse to send me away, or leave. You hardly even tell me you like me when we're not around other people!"

Selina sat up, concerned as she heard Draco and his father on the stairs. 

  "I'm sorry I don't have time to coddle you the way your mother does! Perhaps I should quit my job, and feed you pea soup, and change you every day?!" he suggested sarcastically.

  "Father, you don't even talk to me unless you have something to say about how pathetic I am, or how horrible I'm doing! I'm trying, I'm trying to do everything I'm supposed to do, and be everything I'm supposed to be! Don't you see that I'm trying, don't you see that you're just being mean?!"

  "I don't have time for these hysterics and incessant whining, talk to me when you're not just pathetic and emotional!" Lucius stormed off as Draco ran up the stairs, panting heavily. 

Selina saw as he ran into the room. He was fuming and had hardly noticed her. He seemed restlessly angry, running at his trunk in front of his bed before violently kicking it. 

  "Fuck!" he yelled, grabbing ahold of his foot as he frustratedly fell to the ground.

Selina got up, kneeling down beside him as she tried to see if he was alright.

  "Draco," she said worriedly, "Hey... Are you okay?"

He was completely unresponsive, crying and yelling non-verbally as he lashed out at the floor. 

  "Draco, hey... Come here," she sighed, pulling him into a hug. 

He practically laid out in her lap as he sobbed furiously the sounds he made while crying sounding more like angry yells and grunts. He still pounded his fist on the ground, crying as she tried to soothe him. Selina brushed his hair back from his forehead, trying to wipe his face. She grabbed her own sweater off of the bed she'd been sleeping on, using it to wipe away the tears that covered his face. 

  "It's okay," she whispered, trying to get him to breathe as she wiped his tears. 

He sat up reluctantly, still crying, his throat full of quiet, sad choking sounds as he practically went limp and allowed her to dry his face. 

  "You're okay," she whispered, "It's just me. I'm right here, just breathe." 

He began to settle down, his breaths becoming deeper and slower as he sat up on his own on the floor against the bed. She didn't force him to speak, gently rubbing his back as he allowed the last few years he had in him to escape. He panted heavily, trying to force himself to breathe as he frantically grabbed on to Selina's hand. He squeezed her hand forcefully, keeling over as he felt his heart beating too fast. 

  "I'm sorry," he murmured, embarrassed of himself.

  "Don't be sorry," she scoffed, angry at Lucius Malfoy for the anguish he'd caused his own son. "You're okay. I've got you."

Draco shook violently in her arms as she pulled him over her lap, still hugging himself as he cried. Selena knew that the reason Draco always had a habit of hugging himself tight when he was crying or upset was because, usually, no one else was ever there to hold him. She saw the way he seemed to forget to allow her to hold him, not used to the idea of someone wanting to help comfort him. As indecipherable as Draco's good qualities were to most people, Selina knew that underneath everything, he felt scared and lonely and didn't have anything to do with it. As much as Draco tried to avoid facing himself by forcing others to do the same, preying on their insecurities and their weaknesses, he himself was plagued by it every moment he spent alone, which it seemed was even when he was with others. Selina looked into his eyes, trying to see the same boy who rolled his eyes at just about everything his teachers said, and pushed first-years in the halls during passing periods, but right now all she could see was the little boy who just wanted to show his father a trick he'd done on his broomstick. Draco eased his own discomfort by being mean or making jokes of everything, but even then he was left with a sense of longing, not necessarily just for things he'd lost, but also for things he realized he might never have had in the first place. 

  "I hate him," Draco sniffled, his tears wetting her shirt, "I hate him."

  "I know," she agreed calmly. "Just try to—"

  "He's an arsehole," he sniffled in anguish. 

  "Okay," she nodded, not knowing what would help. "Okay."

  "I'm sorry," he groaned as he tried to stifle his crying.

  "You have nothing to be sorry for," Selina promised him.

  "But... I'm making a mess of your shirt," he told her, feeling horrible for the mess he was causing, both physical and not. 

  "I don't care about my shirt," she said firmly. "I care about you."

Selina didn't know if she was making much of a difference, but this seemed to be enough for Draco. She allowed him to clean himself up before they ate dinner downstairs with his parents. He sat quietly eating his soup, seeming to sink down into his sweater as he sat at the table, adamantly avoiding eye contact with either of his parents. It was an almost silent and rather uncomfortable dinner with the Malfoys, which wasn't exactly unusual in their household, however it was unusual at least when the family had company. 

  "Selina, are you liking the soup?" Narcissa desperately made dinner time conversation. 

  "Yeah, it's very good," she nodded, glancing over at Draco to make sure he was doing okay. 

If there was anything Narcissa Malfoy could do, it was glossing over the drama in her household and ignoring it. 

  "How are you liking the soup, Draco?" his mother asked rigidly. 

  "I like it, Mother," he replied respectfully.

  "What's the matter with you? Why are you all silent all of a sudden?" Lucius Malfoy spoke up, earning a look from Narcissa. "Not that I'm complaining."

Selina's immediate reaction was to check on Draco. He still seemed determined to fix his gaze on his bowl of soup, suddenly gripping Selina's hand with a trembling one. He shook vigorously as he squeezed her hand beneath the dining table. She stared at him, frozen as she tried to soothe him.

  "Lucius," Narcissa urged him in a quiet whisper. "Stop it."

  "Oh, come on, I'm only asking him a question, Narcissa," he said with a loathsome smile on his face. "If the boy can't handle being asked a simple, question how do you expect him to handle a position at the Ministry?"

  "Darling. Stop," Narcissa said under her breath. 

Selina Romanov was looking at her friend, trying to get him to allow himself to calm down, but all she could see was him staring intently at his mother, begging for her to notice him at all. Although her face remained expressionless and cold, Selina could tell Narcissa resented her husband's spiteful demeanor. Selina tried to distract Draco, starting a random side conversation so as to allow him to focus on anything else.

  "Did you have fun outside, flying out in the snow?" she asked him.

  "Yeah," he nodded, eating his dinner, "It was fun."

  "Draco,  why so quiet tonight?" Lucius criticized. 

  "Because," Draco Malfoy muttered in defeat, "We've seen what happens when I try to talk."

  "What did you just say to me?" Lucius scoffed.

  "Lucius. Drop it," Narcissa warned. 

Lucius ignored her wishes.

  "If you're going to talk to me that way in my own house, disrespect me as if you have ever done anything on your own, without my help or my money, or even my name, at least have the decency to enunciate," Lucius said condescendingly. 

Selina's grip on Draco's hand hardened as she felt a small sound escaping her throat, begging her to say something, anything at all. 

  "Don't," Draco stopped her, a pleading look in his puffy, bloodshot eyes. "...Don't," he begged.

She watched, feeling useless as be quickly went back to quickly finishing his dinner, a defeated expression on his face as he didn't do anything other than contain his tears to save himself any further humiliation. Draco was just about dead silent for the rest of the night, no longer having anything to say at all. 

  "Do you need anything?" Selina asked tentatively.

  "No. I'm okay," he told her. "I'm going to clean up."

  "Okay," she nodded, sitting on her bed as she waited to check on him. 

He had taken his shower for the night and sat up in his bed, staring at nothing with wide eyes. Hating seeing this distant look in his eyes, Selina closed her eyes for a moment, praying silently that trying to cheer him up somehow would work. She took the shape of a fearsome black raven, flying in front of Draco's windowsill as he watched the little bird that now sat behind him. He watched thoughtfully, not saying anything as the black bird flew up off of the windowsill, perching onto his shoulder as he sighed. The bird cocked it's head to the side, making him chuckle as he still saw Selina's human form in her actions as a raven. He gently tapped the top of her beak with his finger, attempting to pet her in her animal form. 

  "You always did know I liked animals," he admitted. 

Selina nodded her tiny head as a bird, flying off as she landed back on her own bed, sitting up with perfectly normal posture as if nothing had happened. She couldn't think of anything particularly profound to say, and so she just sat up on her own bed in silence, sighing as she pulled out her parchment and pen, composing a letter to Jasper. 

"Dear Jasper- 

I got to Draco's alright. Things are tense right now, to say the least. His father's already gone and started these awful fights with him. I feel like there isn't much I can do. He's fine, I think, but he just seems so unhappy. I think me staying here is the only thing that's preventing him from breaking down completely. I'm not sure if that's a good thing. How was your first day home? Are things with your parents alright? Write me whenever.

Selina"

She sat up in bed, sealing the letter in an envelope as she handed it off to Draco's owl, petting him as she allowed him to fly out the open window. She sat back down on her bed, Freya jumping up to lay with her. Selina sadly pet the cat, hoping she wouldn't pick up on her owner's sadness. Turning to face Draco, she scooped up the cat, walking over to his bed and placing the cat on his lap.

  "Do you want to sleep with her tonight?" she offered. 

He only looked at the cat for a moment, softly petting her with his fingers. He studied her movements with immense focus, using her as a positive distraction.

  "Yeah..." he nodded slowly, "Yeah. Please," he said.

  "Of course," she sat on the bed, petting her cat with him as they watched her blankly. 

It was about a half hour before both Draco and Selina had fallen asleep. She woke up sitting up in his bed as he laid underneath the covers, his head tilted to the side as he frowned and furrowed his brows in his sleep, as if something was bothering him. He moved around uncomfortably as he slept, not seeming peaceful at all. Selina rested her hand on his shoulder for a moment, getting up reluctantly to sleep on her own bed. Her sleep that night ended up being just about as peaceful as Draco's.

*****

Selina woke up early in the morning before Draco. She rose, cleaning up before walking downstairs in the close she'd worn to bed, her silk robe wrapped around her for a small amount of warmth. She ended up once again sitting down with Narcissa, who gladly offered her a cup of tea. 

  "Is Draco sleeping?" she asked, receiving a nod in return. "How's he doing?"

  "I think he's alright," Selina answered the vague question. 

  "Good... good," she nodded slowly, looking down at her saucer of tea. 

  "Good tea," Selina smiled, hoping to diffuse the awkwardness.

  "Mmm. That, it is," Narcissa nodded. 

They were silent again as they sipped the warm tea and ate the biscuits that the Malfoys' seemingly invisible staff prepared. 

  "You know, I'm very fond of the wintertime," the woman broke the awkward silence, listening to the sound of the crackling from the fireplace. "Looking out at the snow through the windows, from the comfort of your own home, being beneath a blanket and in front of a fireplace—"

  "Your son is hurting," Selina said suddenly. 

What she had said earned a strange expression from Narcissa Malfoy, her eyes wide in fear like a deer in headlights, and her lips pursed unpleasantly. 

 "Draco goes to sleep at night thinking his parents don't like him," she said plainly.

  "That's preposterous," Narcissa attempted a laugh, "Lucius and I love him—"

  "I didn't say he thinks you don't love him," Selina shook her head sadly. "I said he thinks you don't like him."

  "How do you mean?" Narcissa set her cup of tea down, trying to listen. 

  "He feels unwanted... He feels like he's not the son you wanted," she advocated for her friend.

  "I can't imagine why he'd think so," she practically lied.

  Selina frowned, the sadness of her friend's living situation dawning on her. "You can't?" she asked, not believing her.

  "Selina, dear, Lucius's behavior toward our son is his own," Narcissa told her, trying to convince her everything was alright. 

  "Did you show him that?" Selina asked. "Did you tell him his father was wrong? Did you tell him you were proud of him? Did you ask him if he was alright? Did you tell him you love him? Did you even look at him when he stared at you, begging you to say something, anything at all?" she questioned.

A painful, far away look grew larger and larger in Narcissa Malfoy's eyes. A mother's guilt, Selina realized, was one of the most devastating things to witness.

  "Draco knows that I love him," Narcissa assuaged her own guilt.

 "Does he?" Selina asked quietly, tears in her eyes as she tried to defend her friend. "Because he's afraid to initiate things with you both. And he doesn't like to cry in front of you, or anyone. He avoids the mirror when he walks into the bathroom, even if it's just for a second," she recalled sadly.

Narcissa quickly wiped a tear from her eye, hoping Selina wouldn't notice. But she couldn't stop herself from saying what she felt as she spoke. 

  "He punches the walls when he's alone, and even in his sleep, he seems to feel like crying. He's always trying to self soothe, and he tries his best to contain his emotions, even if he starts to shake like he's going to explode, because he's afraid of the reactions he might get, and I think you know the reason for it," she spoke softly. "I don't know if you notice these things, but I do. I know when my friends are unhappy, and Draco's unhappy a lot. Even when he's not alone, he stills seems to think he is. And I don't know how to comfort him," she confessed, losing control of herself as she began to cry for her friend.

  "Oh, God..." Narcissa Malfoy sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. 

  "I don't know how to comfort him, and I don't think I can, because whatever's going on with him... it keeps piling up," she stated. "He's angry, and he's confused, and he's afraid. He's thirteen. He's starting to have more than he knows what to do with, and I know what that feels like," Selina thought.

She stopped for a moment, trying to force her thoughts onto a linear path as the both of them stared at nothing, trying to find a way to avoid one another. 

  "You know, sometimes... I really don't know how to help Draco, like I see him struggling, but I can't figure out what kind of pain he's in," Selina admitted, feeling useless, "And I watched my father murder my mother."

  "Selina..." Narcissa tried to find the right combination of words, but it just didn't seem to come to her. 

Narcissa Malfoy moved around in her seat on the sofa, a certain lonely sadness as she tried to cope with her thoughts, while her husband was off at work. 

  "I really am sorry about that, you know," she looked up. "I know I might casually mention the old Christmas parties with your parents, or memories of your father... But I really do feel badly about what happened to Adeline," she stressed with glassy eyes.

Selina stifled a whimper, feeling like a small child as she listened to someone else discuss her dead mother. 

  Narcissa sighed. "I might not show it, but... I really do miss her. Very much. She was a good friend, and a kind person. And I resent very much that she was murdered," she confided in Selina.

  "Then say so," Selina Romanov pleaded. "Say how you feel. Tell me you miss my mother too, tell me you're sorry she's gone, tell me she was murdered."

Narcissa cried softly into a handkerchief that she'd pulled from her coat pocket, wiping away one of many tears. 

  "And tell your son that you love him, tell your husband that his son needs to hear that he's proud of him," Selina begged selflessly. "Be brave, Narcissa. Say something."

  "I can't," she shook her head regretfully. "Nothing I say will make any difference."

  "You won't know unless you try," Selina sighed. "Why stand by, watching the people you care about suffer when you know you could've said something?"

As Narcissa met her eyes, Selina saw a surprising amount of shame in them.

  "I've never been good at 'saying something'," she thought aloud. "Sometimes, I don't think it something that people who were in Slytherin can do. We keep quiet, and we stay silent so long as we get what we need."

  "Slytherins are supposed to be ambitious, and determined," Selina insisted. "There's nothing determined about giving up on the people we love."

Narcissa Malfoy frowned sympathetically, sitting in silence.

  "I don't exactly know what it is that made me more Slytherin than anything else," Selina admitted, "But I do know that the part of me that belongs in Slytherin is also the part of me that says and does what I want. I don't feel like I belong in Slytherin when I let people get away with saying things they shouldn't. I don't feel like I belong in Slytherin, or anywhere, when I let myself get pushed around."

  "I think you're too smart for your own good, sweetheart," Narcissa said, her tone not necessarily conveying a compliment.

  "I think so too," she glanced up at the ceiling, in the direction of Draco's bedroom. "The smarter you are, the more bad things you notice."

  "Is it all bad?" Narcissa asked. "What you notice about my son? ...Is he really that unhappy?"

  "He doesn't have to be," Selina decided. "He seems happy when you write him, or send him little things to let him know you're thinking of him. He seems happy when he does something that makes him feel proud of himself, and he gets to share it with other people. He seems happy when people show him he means something to them."

Draco's mother considered what she'd said, fiddling with her wedding ring as she considered her actions as both a wife and mother. 

  "I love Draco very much, you know," she said sadly.

  "I know you do," Selina promised her, not wanting to seem crass.

  "You know, you get married, and you think that's the most love you'll ever experience," she reminisced with a blank stare, "But then, you become a mother, and you realize it's not even close. Not close whatsoever."

  "I can imagine," Selina nodded with sympathy for the woman. 

  "A real mother loves her child more than anyone. Even her husband," Narcissa said with firm belief. "Your mother was that way, you know. I could see it in her eyes when she looked at you, even just for a second."

Selina's demeanor softened as she became more comfortable with the underlying emotions that Narcissa had surrounding Adeline Romanov's death. 

  "The love I'm able to feel so deeply for my son feels good, most of the time," Narcissa said, "But then, sometimes, I start to feel guilty, not because I'd done anything wrong at all... But because I know I would if it was for my son."

Selina nodded understandingly, knowing that in her own way, the way she indulged her husband's ego was, in its own twisted way, for her son.

[father-time-and-baby-new-year]

rhinestone eyes

PAIRING: Rich Boy!Eren x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS [present+future]: infidelity, dubcon, gaslighting, manipulative and toxic behavior, toxic relationship, sexual content, yandere tendencies, suggestive hand-holding

part one

kofi

There's a sneer on Eren's face as green eyes behind Versace aviators glide over your form, staring you up and down. His gaze is so penetrative, it makes your teeth chatter. Maybe he was just checking you out. Maybe he was scrutinizing every blemish.

You suddenly feel so very small in your tennis skirt, the tight collared shirt stretching over your breasts, and wished that today out of all days wasn't when you decided to dress a little more stylish.

"Fancy seeing you here." His voice is nonchalant but there's a tone of humor that accompanies his brisk words. How long would it be until he laughs at you?

He scowls, "Are you mute or something? Why aren't you greeting me back properly?"

"Eren," You took a deep breath, "What are you doing in Paris?"

It occurs to you that you've never seen him out of his uniform before. He's wearing a light blue button-down, half the buttons left unfastened, polo shorts, an expensive black watch glittering on his wrist, silver rings on his slender fingers, and a thin silver chain dangling around his neck.

He's also acquired a new piercing, industrial, judging by the bar across his ear. The silver glints harshly under the sun.

"Are you done burning holes through me?"

You blush, embarrassment coloring your cheeks: "No, I'm just surprised." You tucked a loose lock of hair behind your ear, "Didn't expect to run into anyone I knew in another country."

You were just taking a pleasant walk in the acclaimed Champs-Élysées, the avenue every bit as a picture-perfect postcard as it had been described.

"Have you eaten?" The question is spoken with a sigh like he couldn't believe he was asking you this, and you couldn't either.

"Oh, um, no?" You responded, bewildered.

He runs a hand through his dark hair, which reached the nape of his neck by now: "I know a cafe around here. Let's get brunch. We'll talk there."

You don't know what possessed you to nod but you did so, trying to match his quick and long strides. The walk was silent, presumably because the two of you were saving your burning questions for the cafe.

He rolls his eyes when you stutter through your French. He raises a hand, and simply tells the waiter his order and dismisses him. His French is flawless and you're tempted to ask him how it's so good, but you already know the answer. Probably had hordes of tutors to help him.

Merci Monsieur

"Wait," You remark to Eren, "I didn't order."

"I ordered for us. Pain au chocolate, savory crepes, eggs, and ham. Coffee after. For me. Hot chocolate for you because you don't drink coffee."

Oh. That actually sounds good. How did he know your beverage preferences?

He fishes out a cigarette from his pocket, skinny and hand-rolled, "So what are you doing here? No offense but you don't exactly seem like you can afford a vacation to France. "

Now is your turn to sigh. You've nearly forgotten how blunt he could be: "Here on an internship. For art" You supply.

"I assume you just regularly come to Paris every summer?"

He doesn't deny or verify your statement, "Something like that."

"So you're staying at a hostel or?" He asks, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke that makes your nose wrinkle.

The waiter comes by with food, and you turn to Eren with a sour look, "I sincerely hope you're not going to smoke while we're eating."

To your utter surprise, he ashes the cigarette. You were expecting a witty and mean retort at the very minimum, not silent compliance.

You pick up the earlier conversation, "Well, I'm actually staying with my boyfriend." You mummer the last word quietly but the viridian-eyed boy's ears are keen. You don't notice how his grip on the knife tightens.

"You're staying with your boyfriend?" He repeats.

You nod, "Yeah, he's an art student too."

The rest of the meal is completed in sparing small-talk and lengths of silence. But it's not awkward. It's weird. On one hand, having brunch with Eren Yeager in fucking Paris, heir to a billionaire pharmaceutical company should feel surreal, but it's strangely peaceful. You feel more at peace sitting across from him in France than you did when he sat next to you in homeroom.

When it's time to pay the check, Eren looks amused by the very notion of you digging into your purse.

"What kind of gentleman would I be if I let the lady pay?" His words are spoken with a teasing smile.

You roll your eyes but can't help a glimmer of a smile from peeking through on your lips, "Didn't take you much for a gentleman."

He tosses his black card on the bill, "You'd be surprised."

What's there left to do now? Is it time to part ways? There's a part of you that craves more but life has taught you to not be greedy when you already have so so much.

You dabble the corner of your lips with a napkin, "Well, this has been fun-"

"Wait, uh, do you wanna check out the Louvre? Since you're an art student and all, you might uh enjoy it."

You stare at him. Is he tongue-tied?

"You've probably there been a million times already."

"Yeah...but you haven't been, right?"

You blink before breaking into a smile that Eren is sure is going to give him heart palpations, so sunny and bright.

"I would love to!"

You guys check out Mona Lisa for the sheer novelty, and you're bouncing around the museum, oohing and ahhing at the chiseled statues and Renaissance paintings. There is so much history here, it blows your mind.

Eren finds himself watching you more than the paintings. You have this veneer of snark that you wrap around yourself like a protective gauze (maybe that's how you maintain your survival in a world of hyenas) but you're different now.

You're yourself. Watching you here come alive in unbridled enthusiasm, eyes widened in passion, makes him reach out to his pocket and fish for his disposable film camera. He doesn't know if he's ever seen anyone in his vapid life look like the way you do, so filled with a zest for things that are greater than themselves.

He wants to burn you into his memory, praying to all the gods that you won't notice when he takes a picture of you admiring a bust of a goddess. He slyly tucks his camera back into his pocket.

The world seems to stand still when you tug his hand to show him a painting, an expression of unadulterated wonder on your face. But when you realize you pulled his hand, you immediately drop it like hot coals.

Why do you look so worried? Why do you look so scared?

"You can hold my hand if you want. It's-it's okay." He can't believe he's gotten the words out.

You're taking too long, your hands still hanging limply by your side, an indiscernible expression on your pretty face. Eren doesn't understand why it makes him so mad, why your sudden hesitation grated his nerves. Deciding to make your choice for you, he grabs your hand, squeezing your palm as he flashes you the charismatic smile that's got him out of countless incidents.

He doesn't like the expression of worry marring your features. Where did the happy jovial girl go? Just a few seconds, you were poking him with sparkles in your eyes, "Look at this Eren!" and "So beautiful, right?"

He forces another smile: "Show me the painting you wanted me to see." Maybe it was meant to be a request but it comes out as a demand.

You cast a glance at your joined hands, his grip borderline painful. "O-okay."

You lead him across the floor, and Eren can feel the stares of people around him. They are smiling. An older woman utters a "Un si charmant couple."

You take him to a grand painting. It's haunting and dark, swirling with so many shades of dusty red from vermillion to scarlet. A pregnant woman lies reclined, arm hanging and head lolling. She appears to be asleep, and there is a cacophony of men around her portrayed in varying degrees of stress.

"Death of a virgin", you breathed.

Such a macabre name, Eren thought as he gazed longer into the painting. He loosens his grip on your hand, testing whether you would pull away.

You don't.

It's raining outside and you're giggling.

"Fuck" Eren swears, "I'll call a cab."

You're a vision drenched in rain. Your clothes are soaked, and he could see the outline of your bra from your thin shirt. But it seems like you don't even care.

"Let's just enjoy it!" You cry out. There are thick droplets stuck in between your eyelashes, and you smell like rain too. It's dangerous, he can see chords of purple lightning flash the sky, thunder booming, and it's like you're dancing, the way you move so effortlessly.

You hook his hands in yours, "Doesn't this feel good?"

He feels like all his sins are being washed away, all the impurities and muck that clung onto him after nineteen years of existence. His heart nearly jumps out of his throat every time he looks at you.

He cups your chin and kisses you. When he feels the threadbare resistance, he kisses harsher, tongue and teeth swallowing your protests, coaxing your mouth open with a skillful pinch to your nipple. He pulls away just before you feel like all your breath has been robbed.

You're stunned speechless, "Eren...I...h-have a boyf-"

He kisses you again. And this time you kiss back, holding nothing back.

taglist: @candy-hime @cinnamon-n-roses @forwardpair

inspo: @candy-hime's rich boy!shoto. the iconic golf club one <3

[sunkaashi]

— OVERTIME

↬ Pairing. College!Atsumu x Manager!Reader

↬ Genre. Fluff. A hint of enemies to lovers if you look really closely.

↬ Warnings. Mentions of alcohol. I guess nothing else? Let me know if you think I'm wrong!

↬ Summary.  Atsumu Miya is hopelessly in love with you, but how could he ever catch your attention if all you do is ignore him? Well, maybe his plan starts to work out when he finds out that whenever he stays longer for practice, you have to stay too.

↬ Word count. 1.7k

↬ tris' note: I wrote this in the spur of the moment, but I had so much fun! feedbacks are extremely appreciated! if you wanna be added to my general taglist, fill out this form.

anyways, did you know that only hot people reblog the works they like? NO? well, now you do ;) jk, but reblogs help me tons and I'm very grateful for them <3

Sweat dripped down the back of ATSUMU's neck as he jogged around the college tracks for the nth time that afternoon.

"Just one more lap." He kept telling himself over and over again as if repeating it would make it any less of a lie.

But who could blame him when this was the only moment of the day that he could spend with you? When he just knew that, by the end of that turn, you'd be there to receive him, water bottle and towel in hand? If anything, that just drove him more and more motivated to get to the finish line.

Those seconds in which your hands slightly brushed off against each other's; the way you laughed whenever he tripped over himself, too tired to carry on; the sarcastic sneer on your face every time you scolded him for wasting your time, but still wouldn't leave. To Atsumu, that was his reward, better than any shining trophy.

"Oi! Miya!" Your voice woke him up from his trance as the blonde boy finally shot up a glance at you. He rested with his hands on his knees, chest going up and down in strong and unsteady motions, legs still trembling a bit from the training. "We've been here for almost two hours! Everybody has left already, and I want to go home for God's sake!"

Atsumu snickered at the way your voice got higher with each word, deflecting from his gaze while you said you wanted to leave. He also didn't miss how you knitted your eyebrows together just before going off at him, carefully scanning his shaky body.

"Ya could've left, ya know? I never asked ya to stay!" He replied, smirking a little while making sure to stare right into your pupils.

If eyes are the windows to the soul, that must be the reason yours were so beautiful to him. As he tried to get an answer through them, he also delighted himself in such a vision. That's why he was quick to notice their slight tremble at his remark.

"And leave you to die?!" Your voice, once again, cut him off of his daydreams. "You've been running for more than an hour after a pretty rough practice, if you go into cardiac arrest who's gonna call an ambulance?! I'm the team manager, I don't want any deaths on my back!"

In his defense, he was only there because of you, but — obviously — he wouldn't tell you that. He decided to just laugh it off.

"Well, that's something you don't see every day!" He teased.

"What?!"

"Yer’ worried ‘bout me!" Atsumu said, trying to suppress the smile forming in the corner of his mouth.

Even though his tone was playful, he knew something was off when his words were left hanging in the air, no snarky comments added to the back-and-forth banter you were both so used to.

Seeing your widened eyes, he started to question if he was right or, worse, if he had crossed a line.

You gulped down as if this would prevent you from spilling something you shouldn't say. Atsumu was dying to know what it was.

This had become a little routine of yours. Staying for a couple more hours after practice as you helped him out for a while. At first, he knew you're just doing your job, after all, you were there to assist the boys, it didn't matter who they were. Still, he couldn't shake the thought that maybe, just maybe, something had changed as the months went by.

He remembered it perfectly. It wasn't that long before that you used to curse him for making you lose such precious time of your day. He knew you had your reasons! Staying overtime underneath the unforgiving sun, having to catch up on your studies while sitting beside the filthy running tracks, surrounded by sweaty and dirty athletes.

Even so, it wasn't pleasant for him either. Jogging for endless hours, the summer heat consuming him as if hell were just around the corner.

Usually, he would run only half of those miles. But how could he stop? How could he stop knowing that the minute he did, you'd have to go home, and he would only see you the next day? No, he needed more time to win you over. He needed those small talks in between his breaks. He needed every single one of the few glances you exchanged every time he ran past you. He needed to hear you giggling at his jokes at least once more.

What once felt like dragging insufferable after hours, began to seem like less and less time over the weeks. Those little details were what made it all worth it. They were his private entrance to heaven.

And he believed that you might've been starting to feel the same way too.

He'd caught the way your lips curled up into a shy smile the last time he'd offered to walk you home. He also had noticed how your irises shined a bit brighter whenever he bought you food, worried because he knew you'd be there with him for those extra periods. He'd seen the way you laughed at his childhood stories just a tad too hard, always asking for another one.

Atsumu had always been aware of how he comes off to people: the arrogant self-centered jock. He never really cared about any of those things, but he did care about how you perceived him. The man just hoped that soon enough, you'd learn he was more than what others wanted him to be. Not a pretentious athlete, albeit a normal guy as any other, just with an ambitious goal set to his mind. And whenever you shared one of those intimate moments, he thought that, perhaps, you were one of the few people that actually saw him for who he was.

Still, that didn't make it any easier to admit the feelings he'd developed for you.

"Oi! Are ya alright?" Atsumu said, trying to catch your attention, a delicate expression laying on his countenance. "I'm sorry if I overstepped in any way, ‘kay? It was a joke, I promise." You didn't answer him just yet.

"Hey!" He proceeded, lifting your chin up so you'd look at him. "Now I'm the one getting worried 'bout ya! Snap out of it and get back to hating on me before ya realize I might have a heart!" Atsumu mocked himself, but shied away from your glare while doing so.

At least he'd made you chuckle.

“I always knew you had one, Miya." You said, rolling your eyes at the man. “I just didn’t know it worked!”

“Oya! That was mean!”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” You asked, arching your brows.

“Well, maybe, but it wouldn’t hurt if ya were a little nicer to me once in a while!”

“Yeah? How so?” The words slipped past your lips without missing a beat, and Atsumu couldn’t help but wonder if the flirtatious undertone was something he had only imagined. He decided to take the bait.

“For starters...” Atsumu began, slowly making his way closer to where you were standing. “Ya could buy me a beer after we’re done here.” Was he crazy or did he really see your shoulders relaxing at his words?

“Oh, is that easy?” You responded in the same toying manner.

“Hold up!” He said, raising his hands to the air. “That’s just the first step!”

“And then what?”

“And then…” Atsumu continued, moving further towards your figure. “Then ya could let me hear that beautiful laugh of yers a few more times.” He completed, stealing a giggle out of you. “Just like that.”

“Great, so I’m halfway through it.” Your tone may have been monotonous, but your eyes told him otherwise. “Anything else or can we get this over with?”

“Maybe, while yer’ laughing, ya could finally realize that I’m not as bad as ya think I am.” He pondered, moving a loose strand of hair out of your features, clearing the view to your gaze.

“Now you wanna tell me what to think?” You scoffed, crossing your arms.

“Is just a suggestion! Take it as ya wish!” He winked at you.

“And what if I told you that I already did?”

“Ya did?” This time, he sounded soft, breaking out of the teasy character for a second.

“You’re not bad, Miya... Far from that.” 

“Well, that’s a shock.”

“You don’t look surprised.” You stated, pointing out the crescent grin on his face.

“Too much wishful thinking made me ready for this moment.”

“And what exactly is this moment… Atsumu?” The way you said his name, in a hushed voice, almost like a secret meant to be shared by only the both of you, gave him the green light he needed to go on.

“It’s when I finally kiss ya.” 

Atsumu was quick to grab your waist, pulling you closer to his chest, and finally closing the gap between you two. His gawk rapidly traveled from your mouth to your eyes, longing for a confirmation. It didn’t take a second after your subtle nod for him to merge your lips together, your body melting at his touch. His grasp was gentle, but firm, like you were something he treasured, something that he never wanted to let go of. And by the way you gripped onto his neck, the boy could tell he wasn’t alone in this.

Atsumu moved his palms all the way up your back, briefly running his fingers through your hair, but resting them upon finding your face. His tender touch cupped your cheeks in between his hands, pushing away just when he inevitably ran out of breath. 

"Do I still have to buy you that beer or is this nice enough for you?" You said, unable to repress a smile.

“Hm, I’m not sure… Why don’t you kiss me again and we'll see?"

© sunkaashi — 2021.  all rights reserved. do not repost, plagiarise it, translate it nor reproduce this post as your own.

[linsallyworld]

So I'm sorry for taking so long but uni is truly getting on my nerves. But here we are hope you like it.

Chapter 3

The Iron Lady

Chapter 4

Words: 3600

"I hate that woman." That's what you say when you sit next to Asami and Korra on one of the sofas in the library. Most of the school was in class at the time, you were supposed to be studying for Professor Tenzin's history test, but you couldn't stop thinking in those eyes and those words. She seemed to have been teasing you for the entire reading of the play and now there was the iron lady again.

"Oh, you're doing a great job demonstrating that." Asami murmurs under her breath and your eyes go straight to her, who was actually reading her notes.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Asami just shrugs, but there is a small mocking smile in the corner of her mouth that makes you narrow your eyes.

"What was the year of the French revolution again?" Korra inquires, clearly bored as she flipped through a book with a cover that clearly said "Ancient History".

"1789." You answer without taking your eyes off the window. That was the kind of information your brain easily retained.

"So ... About what happened today ..." You glance at Korra again, only to notice the mischievous smile she has in her mouth as she places the book on the table in front of you. "I would say Professor Beifong is at the very least trying to provoke you and I don't even need Asami's great perception skills to realize this." A sigh leaves your mouth while you roll your eyes. Resentment starts bubbling up in your blood just remembering how suddenly she was all indifferent and bitter again. What was the problem with this woman being at least cordial?

"I have my own assumptions, but I will keep them to myself until further notice." Asami murmured again under her breath and you decided you truly needed some air.

"I'm going outside." You announce and Asami just nods, but Korra gets up.

"I'm not going to read anything before the day before the test, I don't even know why I keep fooling myself." You smile sideways and Korra puts an arm around your shoulder as you go out into the courtyard. There is a nice smell in the air, there were people mowing the football field and the moist smell that comes to your nostrils is pleasant, it calms your brain. "Oh don't fuck with me." You turn to Korra with a frown, but she's not looking at you. She's looking across the courtyard where a girl in a green blouse and a huge braid is heading to the building where the art classroom was seated. It takes you a second to realize who it was ... Kuvira.

"No ..." You start murmuring, trying to put a slight judgment on Korra's head. But she's already smiling from ear to ear, taking you by the hand. You know this is a stupid idea, you would end up screwing yourselves even more. Yet Korra never cared about that, which is why she has spent so many hours in detention.

She's already running and it's extremely hard to follow her pace as she grabs your hand. There is no one in the building. You should know there wouldn't be. Most of the classes here were before the break and now that most of the seniors were having some free time, there was no reason to be in the furthest part of the school. It was the perfect strategy, you had to admit that.

Korra crouches as soon as you reach the corridor that leads to the art room. You imitate her gesture, even if it's so stupid you don't know why you just didn't run the other way when she started pulling you.

You lean against the wall, the door to the art classroom is right next you. Korra gets a little closer and your heart starts beating clearly fast. This could end incredibly badly if Professor Su saw you and even worse if Kuvira saw you. Korra leans over, just enough to be able to look through the window glass.

She quickly comes back, covering her mouth to avoid laughing. Her blue eyes are twinkling with amusement.

"They are making out!" She announces in a completely nonstandard and extremely hoarse whisper. You don't want to see. But at the same time you are already here. Then you lean over Korra to look out the window, just enough for your eyes get a view.

Kuvira's sitting at Professor Su's desk at the back of the room, where she usually kept the paints for painting lessons. Professor Su's between her open legs, her hands so firm on Kuvira's hips you are sure she's leaving marks. You can see how her head is moving and how the kiss seemed to be the beginning of something else.

"I thought Kuvira was a top." You whisper when you crouch next to Korra again and she has to cover her mouth to keep from laughing.

It's at that moment you hear footsteps.

The sounds of heels hitting rhythmically on the floor. The panic begins to materialize in you. It could be any teacher ... Or worse ... It could be Professor Beifong.

You stare at Korra in panic and she widen her eyes the same way in your direction. What were you going to do? If it were another teacher, the chances of Professor Su and Kuvira get screwed were certain ... But if it were Miss Beifong ... She would know exactly what you were doing there.

There was nowhere to run. This was the corridor that led to the art classroom, the other rooms were distant. Either you would get into the art classroom or you would run towards whoever was there.

"Come with me." Korra gets up and you don't hesitate to take her hand, because you have no idea what to do. She pulls you up and then towards one of the corners of the wall. You are about to ask what the fuck is she going to do when Korra grabs your wrists, getting them around her neck and then wrapping her hands around your waist. You widen your eyes and she does the same in warning before leaning over to put her mouth on your neck. She doesn't kiss your skin, but that doesn't vanish the shiver running through your body. Korra giggles and you hit her on the back of the head, finally realizing what she just did.

When the footsteps approach you throw your head back, an Oscar-worthy performance that makes Korra giggle softly once again.

"But what ... WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?" The voice made you freeze in place while Korra jumped away from you. You can hear some sounds that sounded a lot like cursing from inside the art classroom.

Professor Beifong has both hands resting on her waist, her posture so harsh she could break a wall. You swallow. Oh it wouldn’t end well.

"Forgive me, Miss Beifong ... I couldn't help myself." You look from the corner of your eye to Korra. She was walking on thin ice here and knew it well. The teacher's face looked hard enough for your legs begin shaking.

But it is gratifying to make her so mad. Taste a little bit of her poison herself.

"This is a school not a brothel." She announces each word so slowly, almost as if she's trying to control herself so as not to grab your neck and suffocate.

"We are aware of that, Professor Beifong, we're sorry." Korra tilts her head in such false regret you would be really surprised if Miss Beifong believed. But her eyes were not on Korra, they were on you. The same look from the play. Why? You ask yourself and have to avoid the urge to raise an eyebrow in defiance.

She was about to say something. Probably "detention until the end of the semester", but then ... Kuvira walked out the door, looking pretty well fucked. Her braid was messy and her clothes were wrinkled. Professor Beifong's gaze seemed to pierce a hole directly in the girl's shirt.

"Get out of my sight. THE THREE OF YOU." She screamed the last part and you didn't hesitate before taking Korra's hand and running down the corridor, deciding she might as well take out all that anger on Professor Su.

When you told the whole story to Asami she wasn't angry ... No, she laughed out loud at the whole situation and kissed your cheek when she noticed the worried look on your face.

"It's okay, Y/L/N." She looked at you for a moment and you frowned. "I wouldn't even object if you ever want to try." You widen your eyes in her direction and Asami lets out another chuckle before settling on the couch with the book she was reading. "Jinora's going to love this one." You sit next to Korra and together you wait for a moment just to reflect on everything.

"We really should be going home." You mumble and Korra chuckles before pushing your shoulders gently.

"You guys can go ... I have to stay for training today, Coach Bumi is picking on us because college evaluators are going to start coming to watch." You nod and feel pure pride resting on your chest. Your friend could be extremely stubborn and end up putting you in a lot of trouble, but she was good at what she did, the best you've ever seen and deserved that scholarship more than anyone else.

"I'm going to study some more, I think I can go back with you." Korra nods to her girlfriend and then looks at you. A new sigh leaves your mouth. You could not study particularly well in the library, so it was better to find Jinora, Mako and Bolin to go home.

"See you two tomorrow." You kiss the girls' cheeks and then grab your backpack.

Jinora, Mako and Bolin were at the school gate, waiting for you. You grinned and explained Asami and Korra would stay. So you started walking.

You had never noticed how therapeutic this way home was for you. Just walking with the people you liked, sometimes rubbing your hand in Jinora's hand, watching the sun go down over the horizon and feeling the light fresh wind. Summer was almost here, summer vacation ... It was your last year at school, the last year of studying things you didn't like just trying to get into college.

"Have you decided what you're going to do when you finish school?" You ask Jinora. Mako and Bolin's house was already down the street, so they waved and smiled at you before they left. Jinora shrugged for a moment.

"Daddy wants me to be a teacher like him. In fact he's already infecting Ikki with this idea and since she's the little girl in daddy's eyes she is already wanting to go on a preparatory course to teach in high school." You frown at the thought. You were lucky to have comprehending parents. When you finally told them you liked girls, mom hugged you so hard you thought you could suffocate and dad chuckled because he already knew. You had amazing parents and they would always support you, even if you wanted to go to college in drama and cinema.

"What do you want?" You correct the question and Jinora grins at you with the corner of her lips. She looks so beautiful when she smiles like that.

"I have been thinking a lot about psychology or medicine. I want to help people." It's noble of her and Jinora was exactly the type of person who would do that. She looks up and her short hair falls down the back of her neck, locks of hair with chocolate color. "Can you imagine that we will probably never have moments like this again?" A lump forms in your throat at the thought. You grew up with these people. Professor Kya healed your first scratches. You used to have dinner at each other's house every weekend when you were kids. And then the second year came. Korra got tired of flirting and kissed Asami on the Fourth of July holiday. Bolin started dating Opal, Jinora started dating Kai and little by little some things disappeared. You grew up, that was the truth you often tried to ignore. You guys grew up. "Sorry ... I didn't want it to sound like that." You sniff, feeling some tears have accumulated in your eyes. How are you supposed to hear Jinora give a speech on graduation night without bursting into tears if you could barely think about it all ending without your heart squeezing to the point of leaving you breathless? "Hey." Jinora holds your hand in hers. Her hand's hot and seems to scare away any bad thoughts. You take a deep breath and look at your friend. Her eyes are warm too, so sweet.

"I think I will be your first appointment." You joke and she chuckles, squeezing your fingers one last time before releasing your hand. You notice her cheeks look a little flushed.

You frown. No. Korra was imagining things for sure.

You guys talked a little more and she laughed a lot at the whole story about the fake kiss with Korra. You were already thinking about faking an illness tomorrow just so you wouldn't have to face Professor Beifong.

You kissed Jinora on the cheek before leaving and she smiled brightly at you before following the path to her home alone. You still watched her go, her hair shining in almost the same shade as the sunset.

You didn't want to have one last time. High school could suck sometimes. But you loved your friends and the thought of losing them made you want to throw up.

(...)

"Hey, muscles." You greeted Korra with a smile when she stopped next to you in your locker. She leaned over to put a kiss on your cheek and you yawned right away. You hadn't slept very well last night, thoughts about the end of the school year, college, your friends, and certain green eyes did not leave your head. It wouldn't be surprising if it simply exploded at some point in the near future.

"What class are you having now?" Korra asked as she stuffed the geometry book into her backpack. You forced your head a little sleepy to think straight.

"Biology." With Professor Kya. You liked her a lot, she was one of your favorite teachers, she was cheerful, but not the silly type who doesn't develop the topics and just moved everyone to the next grade. She knew how to be strict as well and lectured about marine biology like no one else.

The buzzer sounds in the distance and you close your eyes for a brief moment, wanting to the damn person who created that shit to be dead. Your head started to throb. It's not like you're worried, Professor Kya was relatively relaxed with schedules, she was late sometimes. So you take your time getting what you need for the next classes. Korra doesn't look incredibly excited for the geometry class and looks at you with exhausted eyes. Coach Bumi certainly made her work out like crazy yesterday, he could never leave the star of the team with a poor improvement.

You pull the last book into the backpack and then throw it on your back, ready to face the day as best you can.

That meant you would probably sleep in some class, perhaps Professor Su's who didn't care greatly about it.

"Hey, you two!" Your tired head takes a few seconds to realize whose voice it is and when you do, your eyes widen, just like Korra's. You turn back almost at the same moment to face Professor Beifong.

God. She was deadly beautiful that day. Heels, tailored pants, a belt with a golden buckle, and that black silk shirt with the first two buttons open. Why did you have to be so weak for a woman so stupidly thick and cruel?

"The buzzer rang. Are you deaf?" You bite your lower lip hard enough to draw blood in order not to roll your eyes. She was on a bad day, you could tell by the heavy steps and the way she crosses her arms under her chest while facing you and Korra. Her eyes seem to shine, seem to ask for defiance. You were so tired and honestly, you were not in the mood for this little superiority game Professor Beifong seemed to appreciate playing so bad.

"We're on our way, you don't have to be all cranky pants on that, professor." Your eyes spot on Korra and the tiny smile she has in the corner of her mouth. Oh shit. You had extremely stupid friends. This was not the fucking time to tease Professor Beifong's humor, perhaps someday she didn't seem to break a wall with her shoulders it might work.

Professor Beifong looked at Korra for a moment, from the shabby shoes she liked to wear to the tip of her dark hair. A predator analyzing the prey. It takes everything in you to just not get in front of Korra.

"It looks like you're trying to get detention during the team's training for the rest of the semester." Your eyes widen. And you don't have to look at Korra to know hers are the same. This was real thin ice. Korra couldn't miss the team's training sessions, that was the college scholarship you were talking about ... You think she is probably bluffing because ... Who would leave the quarterback out of training? The director herself would not allow it. However ... When you look at Professor Beifong's eyes it's pure defiance you see shine there. If anyone could do that kind of thing at this school, it was her.

“Hey, she just made a little joke. There is no need for all of this. ” The woman's head turns slowly towards you as if she remembers your existence only at that moment. It's so evident when her eyes narrow, calculating, watching. You may feel your heart rate increasing, but for some reason, you aren't holding it back. You look back at her, because...Man, she is a teacher. She can't kill you in the middle of the corridor and if she wants to take that shit out of that temper...She can do that on you and not on Korra.

"Do not provoke me, Ms. Y / L / N." The way she says those words. It's calculated, like everything she says. She knows perfectly well what she is doing to you. The breath catches in your throat for a moment. Because her jaw is firm as a rock, you are sure she could cut your finger if you tried to run your hand over there. Even if you were never going to do that. You don't remember seeing that expression on Professor Beifong's face directly at you and you would lie if you said that it doesn't scare you.

Because she still looks like a high school teacher. But the way she tilts her head and her eyes shine in your direction makes a shiver swing your spine. She could break your neck with just that look. So easily.

You swallow. And it looks extremely dry.

You were a true brat with authority issues.

Because what comes to your head next... It's just that expression of indifference. That damn indifference after she got her face flushed reading a play with you.

Fuck that she was pissed. She could get mad and walk around this school as if she were the worst thing that ever came upon earth, but you knew she wasn't.Because she smirked at you. Because she had that sparkle in her eyes when she did. Because she got flushed when she read that play.Because she had feelings.

You just want to stop pretending you don't realize that.

Fuck. You shouldn't.

"Or what?" As soon as the words leave your mouth you regret it. When Professor Beifong swallows you are sure she will actually break your neck and you can’t even say you don't deserve it. You believe you can hear her teeth gnashing inside her mouth as if she is holding it up so as not to do anything worse than just scream. Oh you were so fucked up.

You're a stupid brat. Because your next thought it's about how sexy she looked when her lips were pressed like that.

"Detention." She growled. Professor Beifong ... She growled. An eyebrow raised towards you almost like a spasm of anger. Your fingers are shaking. Why do you want to touch that scar so badly? "Only. You." Each word was said separately, while the breath came out very weakly through the teacher's nostrils. She was pretty mad. The color started to appear on her face, a red shade you don't know if you've seen on her. She points her finger at the school corridor and it's Korra's turn to grab your elbow and pull you hard away from Professor Beifong. Her grip is difficult, but you can still turn your face to see Professor Beifong's fingers tremble as they point where you are supposed to go.

You have never seen her so pissed off. Not even when half of the class cheated on the English test last year.

That was what you would have to deal with after class.

It would be better to just have a stroke. But perhaps even that wouldn't spare you from Miss Beifong's fury or you own hots.

[fragileizywriting]

locker talk (chapter 2) is out now!

pairing: Luka / Marinette (Viperion / Multimouse) word count: 8,961 / 16,208 (in total) chapter: 2/3 rating: E summary: “Is everything okay? You’re looking a little lost. Did something happen at Uni, again?” “I’m peachy,” Multimouse wheezes, snapping back into focus. What was she even doing here, again? What was the point of showing up? She can’t even remember. Right. Right. Seduce him. Sort of. Or at least confess. Or at least get to kiss him again… “Perfectly peachy. Everything is so much wetter— better— now that I’m here. Nothing happened at school— I just— oh gooseberries.” Luka barks out a laugh, running his fingers through his hair. She wonders if his hair is as soft as it looks.

AO3 | Start Here | Chapter One Link | You Are Here! | Chapter Three Link

Thank you so much for the love you've given me for this fic! I appreciate every single one of you so much 💕💕💕💕

The third chapter will be posted very soon!!!

She’s showered. She’s shaved. She’s gotten shampoo in her eye.

She hopes the redness isn’t noticeable.

Multimouse is many things— friendly, approachable, known as Paris’s sweetheart with many sweet bakery treats named after her using puns, such as Multi-feuille, or Multideleines— but they have no idea that she sits on top of the Liberty’s roof, wiggling her toes over the Seine, trying not to bite her lips raw at the thought of trying to seduce the guy she’s already had a feverish moment with.

It’s a soft night, with small dots of twinkling stars that burn and force their way through the light-polluted Parisian night, but she doesn’t mind how it’s dark enough out that no one can really see her unless they purposely go looking for her. She’s practically invisible, with the closest street lamp to her still being too far away for her to be illuminated by it. No one knows that she’s here— no one knows that she’s hiding in the shadows.

Quiet— quaint— small and hidden away like an actual mouse that sticks to the shadows so that she isn’t seen. She’s not sure if it’s Mullo’s instincts that coerce her to stick to the shadows or if it’s just her nerves.

After all— getting here, onto the Liberty, was half of the battle for her.

She’s never done this before. She’s never even considered this an option… how does she do this? She doesn’t even have a solid plan.

And Multimouse never not has a plan.

Even if she knows that Viperion— no, Luka— likes her, thinks about her sexually— she just can’t shake the feeling that her confession isn’t going to work out in her favor, that she’s going to walk away embarrassed and humiliated.

She can prepare and prepare again and over prepare for whatever she’s planning all she wants— but it’s the actual doing part that she usually gets stuck on. She can shower, she can shave, she can get shampoo in her eyes— she can text Juleka to maybe casually imply that she’s going to try to confess to her brother, not mentioning that she’s going to do it as her superhero identity instead of Marinette, and actually get Juleka to push everyone out of the house on one nice and evening Friday night— but none of that matters if she doesn’t actually get here.

She got here.

And now is dawdling on the next step— actually talking to him.

She has to try. Juleka had cleared the boat of stragglers in record time when she found out that she’d been planning on confessing to her brother— Multimouse seriously has no idea how the girl managed to get her mother off the boat, but she’s gone. It’s just him in there now. She’s grateful that she doesn’t have access to her nails to chew them through, because she’s shaking like a battery from how much her nerves consume her.

She plays with her necklace between her hands as she leans forward to put her elbows on her thighs, looking out to the water below— looking down at how the only open-blind window on the boat flickers with light as he passes next to it.

It sounds like he’s finished taking his shower— but all of it is really muffled, given that he lives in the equivalent of a metal can with sails— but either way, she stands up and starts to creep her way towards the front entrance of his house before she can convince herself that this is a bad idea and that she should turn around and book it and pretend that she never thought of this idea in the first place. Besides, it can’t be that bad of an idea, right?

This is a bad idea.

This is a very bad idea— oh— oh no.

She barely finishes knocking on the window next to the door before he pulls it open with a yelp and a curse spilling out of his lips, halfway through putting on his shirt. She stands there, transfixed, trying not to burst into flames as she catches the sight of toned and defined muscle from years of hard-earned wins against Hawkmoth disappear behind the widest shirt in existence with a heavy-metal band logo she’s never heard of, and how those muscles trail down and disappear into very low-riding sweatpants.

She knows he has muscles— she knows how big his arms are and that the pattern of his scales on his suit aren’t just to give the illusion of abs— because she’s seen him many times before with barely anything of a shirt on when the summer heat in Paris is too rough and everyone piles onto the Liberty to attempt to catch a draft.

She’s seen the way his back muscles move when he’s helping tear down stage sets for his band— she’s had many glass bottles of soda slip out of her hands at the sight of him naturally keeping up with Ivan and Kim’s strength— she’s seen all of it. Luka is nothing short of strong.

But now she knows just how it feels to have those same muscles pressed up against her. She might faint. “Uhm.”

“Hey! Sorry— I didn’t know you were going to come over tonight— you scared me with that knock. I thought I had the whole boat to myself.” Luka smiles at her, using his arm with the snake tattoo that wraps and coils around his forearm to pull out a couple necklaces of his own from underneath his shirt. Even though the shirt is wide, it seems to have a bit of a problem wrapping comfortably around his shoulders— and the neckline is wide enough to show his collarbones.

What does she even focus on? What does she want to look at the most?

“Sorry—” She blinks fast. Shirt. Chest. Arms. Sweatpants. Smile. Lips. Lips that bruised her neck so badly she had to keep her hair down for the entire week just to hide it from Alya’s enthusiastic gaze. Kissable lips. Lips she imagines all over her body all the time. Lips that— “S-sorry! Uhm. I’m just, uh— I didn’t mean to scare you!”

“I’m kidding, Mousey—” He’s all teeth when he smiles. She knows how those feel on her skin now, too— she knows how it feels to have him drag his mouth and lips all over her jaw— she has to lean against the door frame to stop herself from collapsing from how much she wants to feel it all over again. Her skin feels sensitive just at the thought. “I just got out of the shower and it was totally quiet out there. Really did think it was just going to be a quiet night by myself. Even mom’s out— probably went to go harass that last cop that gave her warning for the noise complaint. What do you think?”

Had he thought about her in the shower? He’s not flushed at all— nothing indicative of anything he had said inside the closet about how he’s always thinking of her— but Luka’s usually not one to lose his cool. It’s impossible to get a gauge out of his emotions when he hides it— something he’s incredibly good at when he’s Viperion. She’s shown up after his shower— presumably the time where he thinks about her in the most private way— and there’s absolutely nothing telling her that it’s true.

She never would’ve known if he hadn’t told her in the closet.

Assuming he even was telling the truth…

“Mousey?”

She snaps back into focus. “Oh! Right! Uhm— are you busy? D-do you want me to leave? Come back another time? When you’re not busy? Very busy?”

“Busy? Yeah, right,” He snorts good humoredly. “Busy on my laptop watching videos, probably. This place is an absolute bust when there’s no one here— you’re doing me a favor by being here.”

“S-so you don’t want me to leave?” She eeps. If he even makes one single implication that he doesn’t want her to show up, she’ll turn around and leave with no hesitation— her nerves are eating at her to the point where she’s ready to run anyways.

“No, of course not. Stay. Please.” He adjusts his necklaces to stop tangling with each other. They jingle when they hit together— a pleasant clinking noise on a pleasant night, but she’s busy taking in how shiny and pearlescent his arm is with the beautiful blue color on the coils of the snake’s body and how it matches the gold diamond shapes in strategic places. “You’re always welcome here, you know. I love it when you’re here.”

“Yep— yes. Totally.”

His hair is so much blacker and so much more bluer when it’s wet. She can’t stop staring at him, her mouth shaped into a circle, as he looks down at her with a shift in his brows when he’s stopped focusing on his necklaces. “You okay?”

“Wet.”

He blinks very slowly, speaking to her so softly, almost as if she’ll scamper off if he startles her. “Oh. Are you?”

“I meant— I meant your hair—” She squeaks, trying her best not to catch on fire from the way her cheeks heat and steam, waving her hands in the air, steaming harder when he laughs. “Sorry— oh my gooseberries I’m so sorry— that was so weird I didn’t mean to say that outloud, I mean, I just, I didn’t know you wash your hair at night— uhm— it just caught me by surprise!”

“Take a breath,” He smiles.

“Sorry,” She does.

“You need to work on your meditation again, you’re not focusing as well as you usually do.” He tilts his head with a wink. She tries her best not to follow the drops of water down his neck, down to where there’s a very obvious bruise on the side of his neck. Oh. Oh. She did that. She… she did that. She bit him. And grinded on him. And listened to him talk about how much he wanted to finger her— “Is everything okay? You’re looking a little lost. Something happen at Uni again?”

“I’m peachy,” She wheezes, snapping back into focus. What was she even doing here, again? What was the point of showing up? She can’t even remember. Right. Right. Seduce him. Sort of. Or at least confess. Or at least get to kiss him again… “Perfectly peachy. Everything is so much wetter— better— now that I’m here. Nothing happened at school— I just— oh gooseberries.”

He barks out a laugh, running his fingers through his hair. She wonders if his hair is as soft as it looks. “Alright, let’s backtrack for a bit so you get your focus back. Do you not wash your hair at night?”

She’s so thankful for this man.

“My hair is too thick for that, I need to wash it in the mornings or it’ll never dry.” She ignores her voice crack. What is she doing, talking about hair care at his door, eyes missile-locked onto the bite mark on his neck? Why is she like this? “A-anyway! Sorry to— drop in on you— I know it’s really late— uhm— I just wanted to, uh— talk? To you? Maybe? But, again, it’s okay if you’re busy— watching videos is always really fun, isn’t it? I totally won’t mind—”

“You’re thinking too much, Mousey.” He grins. “It’s fine. I’ve never not wanted you here before, right? Let’s shut the door before someone sees you.”

As if Paris would believe anyone gossipping about Paris’s sweetheart dropping by a houseboat in the middle of the city, chatting up a man only a year older than her during the night time. She’s pretty sure that everyone is convinced that she’s perpetually stuck at the age of fifteen, instead of twenty four— always too small and too cinnamon roll and too pure to be sneaking into men’s houses, because that’s not what Multimouse does.

Sometimes being adored by millions and being put on a pedestal by this city is taxing. She doesn’t mind being considered sweet and friendly— but it’s exhausting to have to hear the slight infantilization the city ends up pushing on her. Maybe she should try cursing in public during a fight— see how many people she ends up disappointing.

She wonders if Luka hates being considered the silent, brooding type. He’s approachable— but most people on the internet and Alya’s commenters on the blog assume that he’s dark— mysterious— handsome and well spoken almost like a prince.

If only.

He has a mouth of a sailor. She’s seen him get coffee foam up his nose from laughter whenever she tries the aerial rope and continuously ends up failing. He doesn’t know how to swim, even though he lives on a boat— he writes so much music in his notebooks that his room is an absolute mess of paper that he tries to keep organized using folders and binders and sticking loose leafs of poetry on the walls.

The last time they watched a documentary about penguins, he’d cried the whole way through, talking about how he wishes he could help all the exhausted and freezing little chicks. Not to mention whenever there’s a documentary about rodents on the television, he ends up crying too, smothering her in hugs that makes her face burst into flames.

The comments did get it right about the handsome, though. Very handsome.

“A-are you sure?��

“Come on. I want you inside.”

She closes the door behind her, making sure that her tail isn’t snipped off on accident, trying not to loop the words come and I and want and you in her head. Even with all the nasty, absolutely dirty things he’s said to her already— somehow that manages to get her knees to almost buckle.

“So, uhm, is your family home? Juleka? Maybe?” Her voice is absolutely not this high! Get it together!

He blinks at her curiously, thinning his lips as he no-doubt tries to keep his laughter in. Luka’s always been a tease. “You know the answer to that, don’t you?”

Does he mean that he knows that Marinette was supposed to show up to his house? Oh, no. What has she done? Was it a bad idea telling Juleka to possibly go to Rose’s house, and maybe spend the night there, if all went well? How does she get out of this one? “W-well— I—”

“Best hearing in Paris, after all, right? You’d be able to hear if anyone else was on the boat with us.”

Duh. God, she feels like an idiot. “Y-yeah. I know. I just— I just wanted to know. To hear you say it, I mean.”

“Did you?” His face transforms into one full of humor, and she can do nothing but bite her lip raw at how handsome he is when his eyes crinkle in that boyish way of his. “What did you want to hear me say, Mousey?”

Anything. Everything. As long as he keeps talking, she’ll be miserable— but loving every moment of it, and he’ll have no idea because Luka doesn’t know that she knows he’s Viperion and thinks about his voice so often that she’s constantly balancing on a hair trigger.

“Uhm—” She taps her fingers along her thighs. “I— you know— I just wanted to hear you say that we’re alone.”

“Only that?” He hums, turning around to go probably drop off his towel back in the bathroom.

“Yes?” She’s never been so unsure before in her life, and she flounders as she follows him further into the boat, following him into his room just past the kitchen. “I mean yes obviously— why would I— need or want more— uhm— that would be— weird and definitely wouldn't make any contextual sense— I mean it’s not as if I—”

He pauses to look at her. She does her absolute best not to burst into flames. “You know, I’ve never realized it until now— you are absolutely one horny girl, little mouse. Dropping by and immediately asking me to start pillow talking you—”

She doesn’t even hear him, bouncing on the balls of her boots, squeaking a floorboard that is always loose no matter how much the Couffaines try to glue or hammer it down. She’s certain she’s watched them rip out just to put back a new floorboard— and yet it still continues to squeak. “That’s not true! That’s totally not true I’m— you know— I’m just—”

“Yes?”

“It’s just that your voice is melodical— it’s so soothing and you know I have anxiety and things but being able to hear your voice always makes me calm down— it’s so nice to just— just relax— and let someone else think of things for me—”

“Breathe, Mousey.”

“Thank you.” She gasps in air, proving his point for him.

His eyes shine with something as she sucks in her breaths. “How long have you been waiting for me to pull you inside and take care of you?”

She whines, crossing her arms. “You’re being totally unfair right now, Luka, you can’t just start talking dirty to me—”

He laughs, pulling open the door to his room. “I’m not talking dirty to you, not yet.”

“And just assume that I’ll listen—”

He pauses again to look at her, and it’s enough to make her bite her lip by how absolutely jaw-dropping he looks. “Oh, you won’t? And here I thought that’s what you wanted. Is that not what you wanted?”

“What do you—”

His eyelashes are black smudges against his cheeks as his gaze drops to her lips when he brushes her jaw with the back of his hand. “Do you not want me to take care of you in the way you want? Do you not want me to tell you all of the filthiest things you want to hear?”

“Gooseberries you have no idea how much I’ll listen if you do because I will— I promise you I will— I mean I’ll do anything as long as you keep talking— I promise— I’ll be good for you, I promise—” She almost smacks her forehead in an attempt to stop squeaking out her words, instead choosing to nearly rub her cheeks raw with her gloves.

Gentle and giant hands reach for her wrists with such slowness it almost boarders asinine. “Hey. Don’t hurt yourself— that looks like it hurts.”

She drops her hands from her face without question, letting him pet and smooth away the redness from her skin. “But— I— come on, I have to focus first! At least let me try to say what I came here to say, don’t just immediately flip the script back on me!”

He turns to walk into his room, leaving her standing there, looking around and wondering if that was an invitation to start talking. He’s cleaned his room a bit— there’s no laundry on the floor this time— but his room still continues to look like a snake’s den from how cluttered it is.

He sits down comfortably in that pouf chair of his, the one she’s always wondered how it fit through the front door. Maybe they floated it in through the window, she’s not sure. It’s massive— huge— full of stuffing and fun to sit on whenever she’s here for a party and is starting to feel drunk, or here to goof off in his presence whenever it’s just the two of them and she has nothing better to do. It’s close enough to Luka’s bed that it feels like a challenge, for her, and she always feels victorious whenever she manages to convince herself to sit there.

“How long have you known, Mull?”

“K-known what?” She freezes at the doorframe, finally realizing what’s happened when he simply spins the leather strap of his miraculous on his wrist, looking at her with raised brows. “Uhm.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh oh. Oh no. Oh no. How did you—”

“I don’t think you make it a habit of begging any man you come across, unless you know who they are already.”

“I— yes— only you, Luka. I’ve only begged for you.” She nods very slowly.

“Don’t worry, I won’t bite.” Some form of a thought twinkles in his eyes as he says it. “Not yet, at least. Don’t freak out, it’s okay that you know. I kind of figured you knew. It’s okay.”

“Y-you did?”

“Of course.”

“But—” She gestures around. “How?”

He tilts his head, looking at her with such a curious face. “Intuition, I guess. Or maybe paranoia. Hey, have you known for longer than a year?”

“Ah—” She shifts on her feet. “No. Sort of. I kinda was guessing it, but— I mean— I got genuine confirmation about a month ago.”

“Have you been showing up because you knew?”

“No, no. I didn’t know when I first started showing up— I’ve been showing up because I really like you— you as in Luka, that is. And then I found Sass playing hide and seek with Mullo when I went to the bathroom, and, well I totally didn’t know what to do when I found out that you were actually in fact my partner— and then I couldn’t stop thinking about you and by then I— I had already— fallen in— uhm— with you on both sides—”

This takes him by surprise. “You’ve been here detransformed?”

She pinches her eyes shut. “Uhm—”

“We know each other, don’t we?” He exhales. “That— I mean— that does make sense. You are always so conveniently close by whenever there’s an Akuma that attacks the Liberty— and only god fucking knows why it’s always the Liberty. You’d think my mom would learn after a while to stop picking fights with the cops. Or the government in general. This place is a breeding ground for Akumas— Hawkmoth is one day just going to set up camp around here, I think.”

He taps at his jaw as he thinks. No doubt he’s trying to place her as one of his friends— or maybe his sister’s.

“It’s a good thing Couffaines know how to party, right?” She eeps into the silence, trying not to bolt for the door. Would he try following her? Would he grab her and pin her down so she can’t try to give up from how embarrassed she is? Would he let her go? She’d be far too easy to catch, if he did go after her— she’s weak at the knees at the idea of being in his arms again. “I mean— It’s always so much fun being here but I understand if you don’t want me to— to show up— anymore— and—”

“Little mouse, I hope you know I’m not mad. I can’t be mad at you.” Those six little words makes her legs weak by how thankful she is. She could weep— already starting to feel how her eyes water at the words. “I’d never be mad at you for knowing. I just— I wish I knew sooner, too.”

“I didn’t know what to do—” She hunches her shoulders, trying her absolute best not to curl in on herself but not having too much of a say in it as her body goes through the motions on its own. “I couldn’t just stop showing up, cause then you’d suspect it—”

“It would’ve been okay if you had told me, just like there’s nothing wrong with you telling me now.” He extends out his arm, asking for her hand.

She hides her face in her gloves. “I’m sorry. I really, really am sorry, Luka— I really f-fucked up.”

“No you didn’t.”

Those words fill her stomach with butterflies, stopping her from forming any more tears. “I— I didn’t?”

“Of course not, Mull. It’s okay.”

“But I—”

“It’s alright— I know why you didn’t tell me— it’s okay. I’m not upset at you— I’m not disappointed.” He gives her a smile. “Come here. You look like you’re about to cry— I don’t want you to cry.”

She crosses into his room, making sure to step over the scattered amps and repeaters— his guitar case, too— willingly reaching for his hand by giving him four of her fingers. His smile widens when she makes contact with his hands— his fingernails nearly as black as her suit.

His thumb rubs against the hexleather that wraps around her knuckles, and she tries her best not to sound so needy when she drops to her knees so they can be at a better height with each other. She doesn’t like it when she’s taller, so she fits between the opening of his legs just enough so she can place her forearm on his thighs, looking up at him with what she hopes is a thankful smile, even as her eyesight wavers.

“Congratulations on saying your first curse word,” He pets underneath her eyes with a laugh. She can’t feel it, because of the domino mask, but it’s comforting enough to her that her eyes squint at the sensation. “I never thought I’d be the one to hear it first.”

“I’ve cursed before,” Her smile twitches as she tries not to giggle despite the tears that collect at the sides of her eyes. “I just don’t make it a habit.”

“Oh yeah? What other curse words have you said?”

“I think I’ve said ‘ass’ before.” She has to think about it, much to his amusement. “Well. If I hadn’t before, I guess I have now.”

His laughter consumes him. “What a milestone.”

“You’ve been many of my firsts,” She smiles with him. “Maybe hopefully all of them can be with you, too?”

His face blossoms in color— she’s never seen him caught so off guard before. Maybe he isn’t as cool and collected as she’s always thought— maybe he does actually get satisfaction when she says what’s on her mind about how she’s wanting to have everything with him. “God, who are you, Mull? Who’s the girl of my dreams who keeps telling me she wants everything I can give her? Is it even a good idea to tell me?”

“You can know,” She nods, shivering as he brushes her jawline with his black nails and back of his palm. She likes these gentle touches— she likes the way it feels to have such a loving hand on her. “It’s only fair.”

“Hmmm, no. I want you to tell me if you want to tell me.” His eyes narrow at her. “Don’t tell me just to even the playing field. If you want to remain anonymous, I don’t mind.”

It always worries her at how plain kind and loyal he is. He would be completely right if he decided to kick her out— or to turn her away— but instead of any anger or resentment he’s simply there.

He’s always there for her— always making sure that she’s okay. If she’s eaten. If she’s going to get home safely, when the Akuma attacks are at night. It’s hard not to fall in love with a man who cares about her in the way he does. He’s always been a nurturing man— he’s never hard on her, even when he has the right to be.

Well. He’s only hard on her when they’re stuck in a closet together.

“You don’t?”

“Okay, maybe that’s a bit of a lie,” Luka smiles as he looks down at her. His sweatpants are soft against her cheek as she continues to blink slowly up at him, trying not to purse her lips in want. “I’m very curious about who you are, Mousey. I’ve always wondered who’s the girl underneath— I’ve known you since we were fifteen. Of course I want to know more about the girl who takes up so much of my notebooks.”

“I don’t mind you knowing.” She eeps.

“You don’t?”

“No— not at all! I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, really, Luka. Our friends kept telling me to try asking you out— god, Jules especially, but I— I really couldn’t do any of it, I kept chickening out.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“And then I found out that it’s so much easier to talk to you when I’m in the suit— so I— I kept trying to get the courage to ask you out in the suit and then I found out that you’re Viperion and I just didn’t know how to handle it— so I just— and then the closet— and I made up my mind to tell you— you— today about my feelings. Pretty sure your sister was going to fillet me alive if I texted her saying I couldn’t do it. ”

Something clicks in his head, she can see it. “Marinette.”

“Well, yeah, I mean I could’ve tried as myself but I mean I don’t have any faith in myself at all—” She almost bites her tongue. “What?”

“Marinette?” He tilts his head. “The only person I know that could be your height— could be your size— and a girl I’ve barely been able to get a couple of sentences out of.”

“Hi.” Multimouse says, trying to swallow, but somehow not being able to. “Yes. That’s me?”

“Hi,” His smile softens. “That makes sense, you know. Juleka even thought that the hickey on my neck was from you when she saw it, and I didn’t understand why.”

How mortifying. “S-she did?”

“Oh. Oh. That’s why you ended up in my bed that one night, isn’t it? Because you like me and you were too drunk to stop wanting to cuddle?”

She worries her lip between her teeth. His gaze drops to watch her chew her bottom lip almost raw. “Oh. Yes— that’s— uhm. Please don’t hate me— I’m sorry— your bed has always looked so comfortable— and I really wanted to sleep next to you—”

“Take a breath, Mari.” His eyes glitter when she sucks in a breath on command. She would feel embarrassed by how easy it is for her to comply, but all she feels is warmth that starts to coil in between her legs whenever he tells her to do something. “It’s okay. I’m so happy it’s you.”

“You are? You don’t hate me?”

“Absolutely don’t hate you. I’d never be able to hate you— how could I hate you?”

“No?”

“Never.”

“Not even if I got us stuck in a closet together for an hour—”

“Definitely not then, either.” He grins. “Fuck, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that. About you.”

“M-me neither,” She confesses easily, trying not to shift too much between his legs. “I— I’ve been wanting— uhm—”

“Ah, yes. That. You can say it, can’t you?” He leans forward so that she has to lean back in order to not get her face shoved into his chest from the angle. “Can you say it for me? I want to hear you say it, if you’re willing.”

She cranes her neck up to look at him square in the eyes, still sitting on her folded knees and calves, looking at the way his mouth quirks to the side as he licks his teeth. His necklaces dangle— jingle like dog tags between them— hitting her lightly on the collarbone but with just enough pressure to make her make a noise that sounds like an unf. “I— uhm— I’ve been wanting more. Ever since we did it in the closet.”

He almost looks surprised at her admission. “Good job, Mull.”

She feels a little brave. “I want to— if you’re willing— spend the night with you. Please.”

He groans. “Of course I want to spend the night with you. Every night. Keep you here in my room for weeks— you don’t have to ask if I’m willing— but it’s nice to hear it. It always reminds me at how good of a person you are.”

Warmth explodes on her cheeks as she blushes. “I’ve— I’m— I have to ask.”

“I know.”

“I know that I’m the one that is always so shy and timid— but— you deserve to have your boundaries respected too, Luka.”

“I think I like this better than when you call me Vai,” He laughs. He kisses her on the cheek— below the eyelids— where the lip of her domino mask meets skin— missing her mouth entirely even as she turns to try to meet him. She tries not to whine as she grips the fabric that bunches at his knees. “Not that the nickname isn’t good— it’s perfect— but you don’t understand just how many times I jack off while thinking about you calling me by my real name, Mousinette.”

She squeaks at the nickname, trying not to blossom into a full-body red. “I— how many times?”

“Every night,” He says simply, like he’s relaying the weather. He has no idea how his words burn in her core— why her tail becomes so agitated, even if it’s only half sentient— why exactly she gasps as she feels a sharp zing that settles between her legs. “I’m so glad that Marinette ended up being the little mouse I think about every night.”

“Every—?”

“Imagine my surprise, getting out of a shower after thinking about nothing but you and all the noises you made in my ear and seeing you stand there in front of my door.” He grins against her skin. Will he bite her? Snatch her and keep her? Use her as nothing but a bed warmer? “Fuck, Mousey. If I hadn’t been debating on whether or not you knew I would’ve dragged you into my room and onto my bed without even saying hello.”

“Please. Please.” She swallows, the idea of never leaving his burrow almost making her want to pounce on him. “I want that.”

“It’s getting harder and harder to stop thinking about you when you’re gone.”

“W-why?”

“You don’t think I can forget about you after that wonderful performance you gave me, do you?” Even when not transformed, and he doesn’t have any fangs, his teeth graze along her skin in a way that makes her toes twitch in her boots. She shivers as he follows her neck up to the patch of skin behind the ear, nosing into the sensitive area to the point where she pants. “I’ll be honest, I came home that night wanting more.”

“I— I can— give you more,” She tilts her head to the side, letting him kiss and suck bruises into her skin. She bruises like a peach, usually, and for the second time in her life she’s so thankful for how pale her skin is. “S-so much more.”

“Can you?”

“Please— I can give you anything you’d like, just tell me what to do and I’ll do it—”

“Within reason, of course.”

“Within reason,” She parrots, but more out of politeness than anything else. It’s only fair for her to agree— she obviously doesn’t want to be uncomfortable throughout any of this— but her list of potential no’s is definitely dwindling as the nights go on and she is subjected to fantasy after fantasy of what she wants him to do with her. To her. The preposition isn’t important anymore. She wants it all. “But I’d do anything for you, Luka. I— I may not have done much— any— at all before, but I want to. I trust you not to do anything damaging, if that’s what you’re trying to say.”

“No— of course not. I wouldn’t dream of putting you through pain.”

Something cold whooshes in her stomach. “N-no?”

“I’m not a brute, you know— you deserve something gentle— I want to be gentle with you— I’m still worried you’re afraid of me. Besides, I don’t like the idea of hurting you in general, it wouldn’t feel right.”

“No? Not… even a little tiny smidge? Maybe?” She squeaks out that last part, feeling self conscious about the way he pauses. There’s a question forming, she can tell by the way his brows pinch together— she bites her lip to stop herself from making a noise.

His gaze drops to her lips, and instead of responding to what she’s proposed, he whispers out: “Don’t hurt yourself, Mousey.”

He kisses her. Hard— almost painful, ironically— with the way he clicks their teeth together as she whines. He slides his hand to keep it at the back of her neck, kissing her in the same way they had in the closet. There’s a pull at her wrist, and an arm snaking underneath her shoulder, and she finds herself being deposited onto his lap.

Oh, she’s missed this.

Sweet gooseberries. She can already feel how stiff he’s starting to get in these criminally low sweatpants of his— and she hasn’t even done anything besides kiss him a bit and just tell him how she really feels. The man underneath her is honest, and never would be able to lie to her about his feelings— he really is enjoying this.

She wants him to enjoy everything.

Everything.

“What kind of hurt are you into, Mousinette?” He hums. His voice feels like pure ecstasy in her veins as he rumbles out his words, and she nearly loses feeling in the very same legs that prop her up when gives her a swat on her ass, causing her to gasp. The impact is lessened by the properties of her hexleather— but it’s enough to make her face flush and lashes flutter. “Oh. Oh. So you mean that kind?”

“Luka—”

“You’ve never done anything and yet you already know that you like getting spanked. Incredible, little mouse— do you practice on yourself with the things you like?”

She nods. “I’ve only been able to— to try out things on myself, but, yes— I know a lot about what I like— and— and don’t, by trial and— error—”

“Fuck that’s hot. Just how far do your fantasies go, I wonder?” He laughs. “Tell me, please. I want to know all of it— you know, I never got to hear what you think about when you’re fingering yourself— even though you promised.”

“I did. You’re right— I really did. But maybe later, we have other things to do—” She tries kissing him again, but he tilts his head enough so that she ends up kissing the corner of his mouth, and she whines. “Luka, please— I want—”

“I can’t do what you want if you don’t tell me what it is,” He mouths against her jaw. “Please tell me. What was the last idea you fingered yourself to?”

“I thought about how I want you to pin me down—” Her breath hitches when he follows the curve of her spine with his fingers. “I thought about how I want— I need— you to bend me over— and— and take off my clothes— I can be totally naked for you and you can wear every single piece of clothing on you, I promise it’s okay— let me be yours, Luka—”

He hisses. “Shit, Mousey. Where do you want me to fuck you?”

“On your bed— your kitchen table—” She scrambles to come up with answers as he continues to move his fingers up and down her back, petting her so gently it almost feels like a tease. “Outside, too, o-on the— on the deck—”

“Oh, you liked the outside idea, didn’t you?”

“Yes— yes—”

“What do you want me to do to you?” At her whining and begging, he smiles at her with such gentility she feels like she’s melting. “Please. Please tell me.”

She whooshes air out of her lungs. “I want you to finger me like you said you would— finger me until I come three times.”

“Four, Mousey.” He amends. “I won’t be satisfied until you’re gushing all over my fingers. I’ll make a fucking mess out of you.”

“F-four.” She parrots, feeling her eyesight go hazy at the idea. She hears her tail hit something— probably the side of his bed— but she can’t focus enough to pay attention to it. “Eat— eat me out, too. Please. Uhm. M-maybe finger me and— and maybe suck my— my clit at the same time.”

She has to pause so that he can kiss her, coaxing her tongue into his mouth. He sucks on her tongue like he’s trying to prove something to her— she’s not sure what— but regardless of whatever it is, it’s enough for her to whine and pant, gripping his wet strands of hair between her fingers to stop herself from rubbing herself all over his chest and abs.

“You’d do this all outside on the deck of the Liberty?” He hums when he breaks away, licking the bridge of saliva that formed between their mouths.

“More than just that, but, yes—”

He gives a noise of approval that makes her wetter. “What do you think Paris would say if they ever caught a glance of Viperion breeding Multimouse on rooftops across the city, or finding out that you beg for it and don’t stop begging until you’re satisfied? Do you think they would be upset with you because you weren’t behaving like the proper princess everyone thinks you are?”

She wants it. She wants it so badly. The idea is so tantalizing that she can feel that low buzz of an incoming dry-orgasm, never even touched— never even fingered. Oh, how this man is everything she’s ever wanted. Just being able to sit in his lap is enough to get her to want to stain her suit.

“I don’t care,” She breathes, and she really does shift, then, her knees not being able to handle holding her up in any way any longer. She sits on his thighs, her legs spread wide so that they can go over his— everything about him is massive and so much bigger than her. “Anywhere— anywhere you decide on taking me, Luka— I want to do it anywhere you want to, I don’t care if people find out that I’m not their sweetheart— that I’m not their sweet little angel saving the city—”

“Oh, you’re all of that for sure— you just happen to be one horny little mouse, too.” He laughs against her mouth when she moans and grinds her sex against one of his thighs like she knows how to do. Sparks of color bleed against the back of her lids as she chases the orgasm that continues to build and build and build.

He shifts his leg, giving her a better angle. There’s a gasp trying to spill out of her mouth— heat curling between her legs as she continues to rub herself almost painfully hard on the thick muscle that makes up his thigh— trying not to exhaust herself as she rubs and rubs and rubs and— “Luka? Please?”

“Are you asking me permission to come?” He says it like he doesn’t believe her, looking at her with almost an awed look to his face.

“Please,” She repeats, nodding her head hard enough for it to hurt.

“Alright,” He whispers. “You can do it. Come for me without me even touching you— go on.”

She does.

He tightens his grip on her waist and the curve of her spine as she places her forehead down on his shoulder, riding wave after wave of heat that washes over her. Her legs feel like liquid— the space between her thighs even more so. She’s completely and totally doused in a fever that almost makes it claustrophobic to stay in her suit.

“That’s it,” He kisses her ear— her temple— whatever’s closest to him on the side of her face. “Good job, Mousinette. Very good job. You did so well—”

“Luka—” She sighs, trying not to accidentally crush the charms on his necklaces with her fist as she grips them with a hand, trying to get her strength back. “Luka, I want more.”

There’s a bit of an edge to his voice, “Oh, do you? Are you unsatisfied?”

“No— not unsatisfied— I want more. I just want you.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” He laughs. His voice feels like satin on her sensitive skin. “Not that watching you wasn’t good— I don’t think I’ll ever be able to sit in this chair ever again without thinking of you fucking my leg. That was fucking hot, Mousey.”

“Sorry—” She doesn’t really mean it, feeling like she’s on the edge of her seat, even as her body continues to slow down and fill her with good emotions, making her feel as viscous as honey as she curls in his lap. “I’m so sorry— I just— I need— more— Luka— one isn’t enough— I need you—”

“Detransform for me so we can do exactly that, Mousey.” His eyes look dark, pupils blown wide open as he smiles. “Let me fuck you.”

She’s never nodded harder in her life. She calls off her transformation, the necklace that rests on her chest glowing before unleashing her kwami. Mullo blinks wide at the sight of the two of them in an obviously precarious position— the little mouse kwami grinning wide as the suit is done unstitching from Marinette’s body, leaving her in her clothes she wore before leaving her house, her hair falling against her ears and down her back. “You confessed? You confessed! You actually did it!”

“Lolo—” She mumbles into Luka’s collarbone, trying to hide her blushing cheeks. “Come on. Don’t embarrass me.”

“Oh— but— I’m so happy, Princess! I can’t believe you did it! You spent so long freaking out in your room I thought I was going to have to force a transformation on you!”

“Lolo!”

“Hi, Mullo. Sass is upstairs, I think, probably near the sails.” Luka grins, cutting Marinette off with a hand to her mouth before she can continue responding. She squeaks behind his hand— how the rings on his hands feel cold against her skin. “No doubt trying to cover his ears from the noise.”

“A sensitive one to sound, isn’t he?” Mullo winks, giggling behind her paws. “Well, well, you know what to call out if you need us! Try not to be too loud for Sass’s sake, okay?”

Luka makes her lean back from his lap when Mullo disappears through the ceiling. “Hi.”

“Hi.” She whispers back, muffled by the hand that covers her giggles.

“So. You really are the girl of my dreams and fantasies, huh?” There’s a tilt to his head as he says it, looking her over appreciatively. “Give me a second to look at you— I can’t believe I missed all the obvious signs of you being the girl I love.”

Something flatlines in her head. “D-dreams?”

“And fantasies,” He adds, shifting her in his lap with a laugh. “Come on, little mouse. You already know that. You can definitely feel it, too. I’m not lying when I said all I can think about is fucking you.”

“I— I know. I did just spend— I totally just grinded on you until I came, but I mean— it’s— it’s a little harder to believe— when I’m not—” She’s blushing, finally able to feel just how exactly stiff he is in his pants— she cuts herself off with a needy whine. “Oh, gooseberries, I’m sorry, Luka— you know I stutter a lot when I’m very shy.”

He kisses his palm over where her mouth is. “It’s okay. You’re doing okay— great, actually. There’s nothing to be shy or afraid of, Mousinette, even if you’re willingly walking into a snake’s den while being this cute.”

She giggles.

“You really do need to get out of your boat more often, Luka,” She pouts behind his hand. “You’re going to spend so much time on this boat that you’re going to end up landsick if you ever get off of it.”

His eyes drop to her shirt, a teasing look on his face. “Well, if that was your goal for tonight, I’m sorry— I have other plans involving you. You smell so good— are you wearing the perfume that I said I liked on you?”

“I might be.” An impulse buy for sure at the makeup store, but worth every single cent with the way he looks at her now. Ever since she’d worn it that first time and Luka had complimented it in passing when hauling a subwoofer the size of Rose’s full height outside to the deck of the Liberty, she’d known that she’d wear it every day of her life if it meant to get him to look at her for even a smidge longer. “You remembered that?”

“Of course I did. You always smell expensive when you have it on— you went stiff as a board the first time I complimented you. I thought I broke you, and I didn’t get why Jules just kept laughing when you ran off to go help Kagami with the banner— I understand why now.” He laughs. “So, what are you wearing, then? If you went through the hassle of smelling good…”

It’s a shame he can’t see the smile she gives him, a shy and teasing quirk of her lips. “Just my pajamas.”

“Uh huh. I don’t believe you, you’ve got something up your sleeve, I know that look in your eye. Show me what you’re wearing,” He doesn’t pull his hand away from her mouth, and quirks his lips to produce yet another boyish smile when she kisses his palm. “It doesn’t look like you’re wearing anything under that shirt, little mouse.”

“I have something under it,” She mumbles under his palm, but it doesn’t come across well enough.

He takes in the wide shoulders of her shirt— how she’s absolutely swimming in the sleeves that end up at her elbows. She can tell the moment he recognizes the band shirt’s logo on her shirt— a fun and edgy screen-printed design with neon blues and neon pinks with the word kitty section below a logo— because his breath stops.

“Oh, shit—” He uses his free hand to hold her at the rib cage, pressing his thumb inwards, presumably trying to find the band of her bra that she’s potentially wearing— he almost seems to relax when his fingertips finds the wire. “Marinette, I like this.”

She preens under his words, sitting in his lap at a better angle to let him continue petting her heavily under her bust, thumbing at the wire under her breasts. “Oh. Do you really?”

“Fuck— I can’t believe this— this is such a turn-on. As if I needed to get any harder. Whose shirt is this?”

“I don’t know,” She tries to stay still in his lap to no avail when he moves his palm so that he can pet at her lips with a thumb. She melts in his touch, how each touch feels like heaven and soft. “It was one of the leftovers of the first batch we made, I’m pretty sure. I’ve kept it for years.”

“Really?”

“I like sleeping with it,” She tilts her head to the side, letting her hair fall behind her shoulder. The shirt is soft— comfortable— it’s gotten a very lived-in feel to the fabric after the long years of gentle care. She hand washes it to make sure that none of the colors chip away. “Makes me feel comfortable, thinking I’m with you. I— uhm— I—”

“Don’t hesitate, little mouse,” He smiles easy. “You’ve been doing so well already.”

“E-ever since I found it, I’ve been pretending it’s yours,” She tries not to steam red at her confession. She’s grinded on him in a closet, grinded on his leg mere minutes ago, begged for him to fuck her— and yet she still feels embarassed to admit this, too?

Well, to be fair, it is his band’s shirt. After all, what kind of a— best friend? Lover? Budding-relationship partner?— is she, if she doesn’t support his band with all their friends? Even if she didn’t have any romantic or sexual feelings for the man who continues to blink wide at the sight of her in the shirt, she’d still keep the merchandise for sentimental values. It’s one of the few originals— a homemade shirt that they had bought in a batch so that they could at least have merch to sell.

Every time they leave for a tour, now that they’re much better in terms of fame, she keeps it close to her. She nuzzles into the fabric, dreaming that it’s actually him in her arms and him in her cunt as she masturbates to the thought of him, wishing she was in his hotel room across the hall instead of hers.

His face turns pink. “Have you?”

She blinks at the way he seems to turn pinker and pinker the more he continues to look at her. Is that— is he blushing from the idea of her wearing his clothes? “Uhm— I— I mean I obviously don’t have any of your shirts for real, but, it’s nice to pretend—”

“You now have free reign of my closet whenever and wherever.” He almost twitches underneath her. “Please wear my actual shirts anytime you want, little mouse, holy shit. Fuck. Fuck. I’ll start begging if you need convincing— god.”

“Y-you don’t need to do that.” She laughs.

His smile curls dark. “You’re right. Your begging is much prettier than mine.”

She nearly jumps when his hand at the top of her shirt smoothes down her spine, teasing the hem of the shirt, making her shiver from how gentle he is. “I’ll wear whatever you want me to wear.”

“What’s underneath?” He asks, his eyes glittering with a tease that she can read he’ll come back to her request later. “Do you want to show me?”

She nods, giving his thumb a kiss. “Maybe just a peek. I h-have something I want to do, too— i-if you’re interested?”

AO3 | Start Here | Chapter One Link | You Are Here! | Chapter Three Link

[ariddletobesolved]

Days We Spend Under the Sun (Chapter Five)

Written for @helsa-summer-event ☀️

Fandom: Frozen

Genre: Romance, Family, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Whump

Rating: T

Summary: Summer is not her favourite season, but a certain Admiral from the neighbouring kingdom is going to change that.

And the writing strike continues. This one is short and contains a bit of hurt/comfort and fluff (obviously), but please, just let these two have their moments before I throw some twists in. As usual, external links are in the notes. Enjoy!

Prompt 3: Relaxing in the Intense Sun

—

Chapter Five

"It's beautiful."

When the sun went lower in the west, Elsa found herself in Hans' embrace as they sat at the top of the hill which overlooked the open sea. After their little commotion at the river earlier, one that involved the water spirit, Hans suggested that they should go and explore the coast, so there they were. The couple had been watching the sun for a while, and although it wouldn't set anytime soon, the view before them was a sight they couldn't miss.

"Yes, it is." Elsa sighed in contentment, leaning back against his chest. Unknown to her, neither the open sea nor the pale tint of orange that painted the sky was what he found beautiful.

Hans moved to press his lips on the top of her hair, as he pulled her even closer by the waist. The cold radiating from her body, that he could feel through the cotton shirt he was wearing, was oddly pleasant. His hand rested on his lap, letting Elsa trace patterned frost all over his open palm. Having stayed like that for a good thirty minutes, just enjoying each other's presence in a comfortable silence, the former prince couldn't help but think.

Where would it take him, had he not doomed himself in the first place?

Surely, their story would begin differently. Different types of ending would come along, whether it would be better or happier than the present he lived in, he didn't know. Often he woke up in the middle of the night because of the nightmares—one of them was about him being succeeded in ending the eternal winter in Arendelle, and as the result, he would hate himself in the morning. He didn't have blood in his hands, but the guilt was still there. Then again, everything did happen for a reason, and that everyone had roles in the story, him included. He just wished that he could take back the hurt and the pain he had caused her and her sister.

"You've been quiet." Elsa broke the silence, turning her head to face him. Her big blue eyes were filled with curiosity.

He shook his head slightly. "I was just thinking."

"Oh." She let out. "Nothing bad, I hope."

Smiling, Hans took a deep breath. He looked down and noticed that the sleeve of her lilac short dress had lowered, exposing the milky skin underneath. Gently, he moved to fix it, causing Elsa to smile sheepishly and adjusted her sitting position in his embrace.

"I hope."

Sighing, the blonde then nuzzled his cheek, nose grazing his sideburn, trying to comfort him. She frowned, noticing how tense he suddenly got. 

"Is it about your brother?" She asked softly, trying to not trigger anything. His brothers, especially the oldest—the King of the Southern Isles, had always been a sore topic to talk about, and she didn't want to ruin the moment with any bitter topic.

"It's not." He exhaled, nuzzling her hair.

Hans closed his eyes, trying to erase those vivid images from his nightmares, and replacing them with happy memories he shared with Elsa. But those dreams were so intense, he unconsciously tightened his grip on her side.

"Hans!"

Her gasp was enough to wake him from his thoughts. His eyes fluttered open, and he was greeted by a worried looking Elsa. It was not real. He convinced himself. This one is real.

Cradling his head, Elsa pressed her forehead against his. His hands reached out to hold hers, and they stayed like that for a moment. That was until Hans helped her to sit on his lap. Her head rested on his shoulder, as she let him hold her close. She was his safe haven.

"It's the nightmare."

"The one you told me the other day?"

Hans nodded. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." Elsa gave his hand a squeeze. "We have talked about this, Hans." She pecked his jaw fondly. "I love you."

There was a pause, before he, too, said, "I love you." He pressed another kiss on the top of her head. "So very much."

I'd never known love until I knew her. And I'm grateful to have her in my life.

She was reminded of his words she overheard earlier that day, and her lips curved into a smile. Warmth spread across her chest, sensing the sincerity his words held. Suddenly, the thoughts that kept her up the night before began to cloud her mind. Hans told her he stayed for the summer, and Elsa could only assume that he would leave afterwards. Therefore, they should make use of the precious time they had. Hans did plan this trip so they could spend some time together, but deep down, Elsa would like it better to show him more of Arendelle. For twenty four years it had been her home, and even though she was no longer living there, it would always be the place she came back to. Besides, she could see her sister.

Anna. Elsa smiled as she thought about her. Her sister was the queen, and it seemed like she had been doing fine so far. Now that they were no longer at war, at least she knew that Anna would be alright. Her mind drifted back to the time they'd spent together. She admitted, she missed her bubbly personality. After all, Anna's glee had always been so contagious, and she was the sunshine between the two sisters.

"What is it, Kaere?"

Elsa bit her lower lip. An idea popped into her mind, but would he be okay with that? Only one way to find out.

"I want to ask you something." She looked up, meeting his green eyes.

"Fire away."

"Do you mind if we cut this trip short and go back to Arendelle soon?"

His eyebrows furrowed at the question he clearly didn't expect. "Why?"

"I know you have plans for us this summer. It's just, I think it's best if we spend the rest of the summer in Arendelle." She explained while holding his hands. "It's my birthplace, and I would like to show you more of it, the culture and all. I have a strong connection to Arendelle, and I want you to have that too."

Elsa expected him to be upset, then trying to convince her to stick with his plans—he was a smooth talker, after all. Well, the old Hans, she could imagine doing that, but this Hans? That sounded out of character. To her delight, the Admiral flashed her a smile. He brought her hands up and planted a few small kisses on each back.

"Kaere," he gently, tucking some blonde strands behind her ear, "I don't mind."

Hans didn't mind at all. In fact, her suggestion only added more to his anticipation. To cut their trip short might be a good idea in the end. Going back to Arendelle sooner would give him more room to make sure of the whole preparation for his final plan. Also, he trusted Elsa, and she must have had an organised plan for their return trip.

"Alright, then." The former queen grinned, completely oblivious to his scheme. "I'll write to Anna soon to tell her that we're going back to Arendelle tomorrow."

Okay, probably not an organised plan. Nonetheless, Hans would still say yes to any of her ideas. Everywhere she goes, he would gladly follow, even if they're heading to the unknown.

[bullseyegames]

Hmm I've been thinking about idea for the OC prompt since you've asked so,,,, I can't imagine something concrete, BUT I'll give you the atmosphere! A cool, fresh forest with the small amount of cottages and a lot of pine trees. There's a really snowy, but not extremely cold winter and a pleasant chill summer. I'm a bit sorry if it's not really clear but,,, you've asked for a challenge ;)

I did indeed ask for a challenge, and I can also use to this to show off a random Headcannon of mine. :3

Her name is Celestyna. She is a Somali cat with light cream colored fur with light grey across her back and light brown eyes.

She was born to a wealthy family in the center of London. The family had no desire to keep her and her 4 siblings, but before they jumped straight to drowning them the humans decided to offer the kittens to some of their friends in hopes to save them from the trouble. For a moment it seemed the kittens would drown as no one stepped forward to take any of them, but then a miracle occurred. An elderly couple knocked upon the door and offered to adopt Celestyna alone. She was in no position to resist and was quickly spirited away. She could never find her way back home, but part of her knew she was an only child now.

The couple treated Celestyna well and she enjoyed a comfortable life. She also had an unusual amount of freedom for a high society house cat in that her humans would always open the door for her if she wanted to go out. This allowed her to wander London happily with the grace of a high society cat and the protection of a lovely blue and silver collar to protect her from the animal catcher.

It was on one of these escapades that she encountered Munkustrap on one of his patrols. After meeting a few times he showed her the junkyard where she quickly found herself entranced by the jellicles way of life. Her greatest fascination lied with the everlasting cat and the Jellicle choice. She constantly spoke with any cat she could about their faith and the was invited to attend 3 Jellicle balls during her time with them.

This happiness didn’t last forever as she soon learned her humans intended to move away. Not just to another part of London or Great Britain, but to France to retire in the countryside. At first she was distraught at this news and the jellicles at first tried to convince her to stay with them and live in the junkyard. Instinctually she wanted to accept, but she looked upwards at the night sky and suddenly felt a pull away from the yard and the cats she loved. She bid them a tearful goodbye as she quietly left the tribe, promising to always bring the jellicles with her.

Her new lodgings were quite pleasant if she was being honest. The couple had moved to a slightly smaller, but equally well kept, cottage on a large beautifully maintained plot of lands. The summers were cool and mild while the winters were colder than in London but so much whiter and purer. She soon realized the abundance of cats living on neighboring properties and slinking around in the woods made wonderful company and she found herself mixing in wonderfully.

As the time approached for the jellicle ball Celestyna found herself dreaming of the ball occurring in a beautiful patch of moonlight in the Forest. She awoke to the feeling of the same pull she had felt the day she left the jellicles and found herself bolting for the woods. Guided by a voice no one could hear she found herself in a beautiful clearing bathed in moonlight. She glanced up at the moon and felt the magic rush through her as she realized what she needed to do.

Over the next week she spread the word to any cat who would hear it. She invited them to a ball in the forest, a festival of life and death that would end in one cat receiving an immense prize. Cats flocked to this ball and the moonlight pulled any hesitant onlookers in as she instructed the cats in the traditional songs and stories. Cats of all kinds competed to be chosen by Celestyna to win this unknown prize. Eventually an elderly queen stepped forward and sang a heart wrenching song about her desire to see the cat she loved again in the afterlife. Celestyna approached the older queen, took her paws in hers and quietly whispered, “you are the Jellicle choice...”.

Light bathed the clearing as the cats watched with stunned eyes as staircase of moonlight descended from the sky to meet the elderly queen. Standing atop it was a spectral Tom familiar to most of the cats. His identity was confirmed as the elderly queen called out happily to her lover and raced up the stairs to embrace him as they both disappeared in a flash of moonlight. The cats sat still for a moment before letting out shouts of joy and continuing to dance until long after the sun began to peak over the horizon.

The jellicles are a unique kind of cat. Graced with magic and faithfulness unlike any other. The Jellicle tribe we have heard stories about is truly one of a kind. But while we have only ever heard about one tribe, that never meant they were the only one.

They were never the only ones.